by Andi Burns
But after scrolling through endless nuptial-themed knick knacks online, I ended up breaking down and asking Nathaniel anyway. Sure, he’s my assistant, but we’re also friends. Well, kind of. Anyway, I felt no shame. The internet is a trap for the world’s clueless gift buyers. But even my superficial search turned up many duds. Are people really buying giant neon signs shaped like diamond rings? And the wine glasses labeled Feyonce and Bae-Z. Are those flying off the shelves?
As usual, Nathaniel had the right answer. The kid’s all of what, 23? Fresh out of grad school and eager as hell. So, on his recommendation, I bought my sister and her fiancé a silver picture frame engraved with the words “Happily Ever After.”
I walk up Elaine’s front steps to see that the door’s wide open and the party has clearly started.
A cherubic woman who can’t be more than five feet tall accosts me with cheerfulness. “Hello! Welcome to Simon and Elaine’s house. I’m Sandy, mother-of-the groom. And you are?”
I see the resemblance now—it’s all in the hair. “I’m Everett, Elaine’s brother.”
“Oh, yes! Here, let me take your coat. And the gift table is just ahead there. Elaine’s so excited to have you here. Your parents arrived just a little while ago. They’re in the sitting room, I believe…” Sandy trails off.
I smile conspiratorially. “In that case, I’ll head for the kitchen.”
My parents are notoriously awful people. Well, maybe notoriously is a bit strong. They’re not hardened criminals or anything. They are, however, completely self-absorbed and judgemental. So, into the kitchen I go. I spot Elaine over by the counter. She looks totally worn out. I guess I would be, too, if I had to entertain three dozen guests for an afternoon. I help myself to a drink, and just as I’m about to head over to Elaine and give her a hug, I get cornered by my Uncle Leon. I guess our inevitable conversation about the O’s chances of getting to the post-season just can’t wait another minute…
The only redeemable thing about this conversation, other than the fact that we’ve been having it for ten years straight, so I know my lines by heart, is that Leon brought snacks. He swiped a bowl of chips off the table, so we munch on that as he laments, “They gotta put money into pitching, Ev. That’s where they go wrong every year. All this talent in the field, but none of it on the Goddamn mound.”
I nod in agreement, because that’s my role in this conversation,while I scan the crowd for another familiar face. I come up empty. It occurs to me that I really should spend time forging personal relationships, if for no other reason than the fact that if there was one other friendly face in this crowd, I could extricate myself from this conversation, before he starts nominating the O’s former skipper for sainthood.
I see my out when Simon walks in. He must see the desperation on my face. This guy really is a genius, apparently.
“Ev! Elaine’s been waiting for you to get here. Oh, hey Leon. You don’t mind if I steal the bride’s brother for a minute, do you?”
“Can’t leave my sister waiting. I’ll catch you later, Leon.”
Elaine breaks into a smile when she sees me, and I wrap her in a hug. It’s been, what? Six weeks or so since I saw her last. That’s hardly a long time when you consider that we usually only see each other twice a year. Still, it’s accurate to say that we’ve gotten a lot closer these past few months.
“It’s good to see you, E. You look gorgeous. And it goes without saying that I’m thrilled for you both.”
“Thanks, Ev. And you’re too kind. I’m pretty sure the bags under my eyes have bags, but… anyway. I’m so glad you’re here! The guys are out on the deck, if you want to join your fellow groomsmen.”
Ah, yes. The other groomsmen. I know they’re all Simon’s friends, and that they’ve known each other for years. They went to college together, from what I hear. And they’re good guys, or so I’m told.
Ok, this is going to make me sound like a total asshole, and perhaps rightly so. But here’s the truth: friendship is largely a foreign concept for me. I’m not a social outcast or anything. But social situations in my world always have one endgame: networking. Getting ahead is what it’s all about and socializing makes that happen. I can count on one hand the number of guys I consistently talk to on a regular basis outside of work. And that interaction is only because we’re all in direct competition with each other, so we need to keep tabs on one another. Sure, on the outside, it appears as though we’re good friends. We’ve been in each other’s weddings, and we play racquetball together once a week. We golf. We belong to the same clubs. But do we actually confide in each other? Not hardly. Do we trust each other? Hell no.
So, this whole ‘hanging-out-with-the-guys’ thing? Not my usual territory.
But bullshitting my way through life is my specialty, so here I go. I nod to Elaine, silently taking her directive, and I notice Simon tighten his embrace. Well, I guess he’s staying put.
I stride toward the deck, open the sliding glass doors, and am pleasantly surprised to find I’m not freezing my ass off out here. There are still remnants of slushy snow on the grass, and the sky is overcast, but Elaine has heaters set up out here, so it’s nice and toasty. Leave it to my sister to think of every detail.
“Everett!” My name is called like a battle cry, courtesy of the blonde, stocky guy. He’s married to one of Simon’s sisters, and I met them both when I was here for E’s birthday.
“Jesus, Dunc, you’re screaming right in my eardrum!” The tattooed guy winces and covers his ear.
“Sorry to assault your delicate ears, Nick, but Ev’s here.” Dunc shrugs, as though my arrival is the catalyst for a no-holds-barred situation.
Nick rolls his eyes at Dunc’s absurdity, and I get the distinct feeling that this is a natural routine for these two. He stands and offers his hand. “Hey, Ev, nice to meet you. I’m Nick. And you’ve clearly met Duncan.”
The bearded guy, the third in their trio, stands as well. “And I’m Gavin. Have a seat. What can I get you? We’re pretty well stocked out here, as far as beer goes.” He gestures to a cooler in the corner that is brimming with bottles. “And Dunc nabbed a deli tray and a few bags of chips, so we’re in decent shape. We ran out of mustard in an alarmingly short time span, though, so you might want to grab a sandwich while you can.”
“Thanks for the heads up.” I take stock of the cooler and notice that Elaine included my favorite beer. She’s the best, my sister. I grab a Chimay Gold and take the seat that’s been offered to me. It affords me a perfect view into the kitchen, and my parents are nowhere in sight, so I’ll save those hellos for later, which is no hardship.
“So, we were just discussing the bachelor party,” Dunc informs me, as he sets about piling deli meat onto a roll.
They all look at me expectantly, and for a split second, I’m not sure what to say. Sure, I’ve hosted bachelor parties before, but those have been lavish (and somewhat lascivious) guys’ weekends in Miami or Atlantic City. Hell, for Barrett’s, we flew to Monaco.
I’m not quite sure Monaco is in the budget. But I’m completely sure my sister would murder me if I hired a bunch of women to do lap dances. And honestly, Simon would probably blush like a teenager and bow out.
So, I opt for noncommittal. Always a good bet at the start of negotiations. “Sounds like fun. What do you guys typically do around here?”
“So, for mine, we were still in college,” Dunc volunteers. “And Simon was only 19, so we drank like fools at our place and ate pizza.”
That seems uncharacteristically tame, given the few stories I’ve heard about this crew.
“But no bachelor party is complete without strippers…” Nic says.
“So, Nic and I surprised Dunc with a striptease,” Gavin finishes. “We were gonna jump out of one of those cakes, but those things are expensive as hell, and we weren’t making much bank back then. So, we improvised and jumped out of a tower of empty pizza boxes.”
“The sentiment was lovely, but the execution was s
hit, if I’m being honest,” Dunc says. “So, we definitely don’t want a repeat of that.”
“Fuck you very much,” Nick says indignantly, stealing the rest of Dunc’s sandwich right off his plate and taking a huge bite. “Gav and I are flawless specimens of manhood. I rocked that G-string, and when Gav ripped his tank top off, I think we all got a little lightheaded.”
“For fucking sure. You’re beasts, the both of you. I’d never say otherwise. But the whole thing kind of lost its appeal when you slipped, knocked down all the boxes, and cut your head on the corner of the coffee table. You needed ten stitches!”
“Pepperoni and industrial grade parquet are a dangerous combination.” Nick nods solemnly and takes a pull of his beer before continuing, “It wasn’t the first or last time I went to the emergency room drunk and bare-assed, but it was memorable all the same.”
“Ten stitches?” I question.
“Yeah, that coffee table was a mistake from day one. It was this glass and brass monstrosity. I think it belonged to Simon’s aunt,” Gavin says.
“Yea. That thing was as lethal as it was ugly. And it’s true what they say. Head wounds bleed like a bitch,” Nick explains.
“Dude, you’re telling me. I had to scrub that floor forever,” Dunc grumbles.
“Oh, quit your bitchin.” Gavin rolls his eyes. “I’m the one who had to clean mouse shit for weeks and then trap those little fuckers humanely, because you guys couldn’t stand to hurt them.”
“Wait a minute. Mice? Jesus,” I interject.
“So, you know how I said they were empty pizza boxes? They were, mostly. They just weren’t clean. That never occurred to us. And we stockpiled those motherfuckers for three solid weeks. So, yeah… our apartment became a bit of a mouse paradise there for a while.”
“That’s it. I’m calling it. None of you are allowed anywhere near the planning of this shindig.”
“Okay, to be fair, that was almost six years ago. I think we’ve all learned a few things since then,” Nick protests.
“Have we, though?” This question comes from Gavin. “Pretty sure I got a call last week about you stripping down naked—”
“Dude, that doesn’t even count. Why was it even a big deal? I was in the nurses’ lounge, not where they do actual medical shit.”
I finish fixing my plate and settle back in my chair. Dunc passes me a cold beer, and I nod my thanks. “No question. You guys need to leave all the planning to me.”
“Fair enough,” Gav concedes.
“But will you take suggestions?” Dunc asks.
They toss around ideas, and I’m vaguely aware of the words bowling, weekend at the cabin, and poker, but most of my attention is focused on the scene in front of me through the glass and in my sister’s kitchen. For a moment, I swear, the whole world stops. It’s her. It’s got to be her.
It can’t be, and yet... I’d know those legs anywhere. And that ass. Goddamn, but I’ve had dreams about it. And sure, she said she was local, but what are the odds? Yes, we’re in a tiny tourist town on the Eastern Shore, but still. There’s no way Grace is actually here at my sister’s engagement party. Is she?
Before I can get a closer look, she’s gone. There’s no sign of her, and I’ve got a clear view of the kitchen. I shake my head as if that will help me clear it.
“You okay, man?” Gavin asks.
“Yea, yea. I’m good.” I assure him.
“Eat up.” He nods toward my plate. “That’s an order from the groom himself. Simon said he wants no leftovers in the house. He said that if we don’t eat it here, we’re taking it with us. Poor Lainie just can’t have it in the house. I guess she’s getting worse.”
What the actual fuck? I swear to Christ if Simon has my sister on a diet, I’ll fucking kill him. But that doesn’t make sense. That’s my mom’s style, not my future brother-in-law’s.
“Shit. You’re right on the money, Gav. I just got a text from Molly. You guys sit tight and act like everything’s cool. I’m gonna go check on things. Molly said Lainie fainted.”
What the hell is happening right now?
Nick cuffs my shoulder. “You coming, man? She’s your sister. And no offense, but I’d bet your mother has the bedside manner of Nurse Ratched. Looks like you’re up.”
I follow him into the house and up the stairs to Simon and Elaine’s room, where I hear concerned voices. I’m not going to lie, I’m freaking the hell out right now. If the wedding is causing her this much stress, they need to elope. And I’m more than happy to tell them so.
Nick knocks twice, announces us, and we head inside. A shirtless Simon is on the bed, and he’s got Elaine in his arms. If possible, she looks more tired than she did an hour ago. And she’s crying.
That’s it. I’m done.
I stride toward them, my voice cold, and my words clear. “Someone needs to tell me what the hell is going on in here, why my sister looks like a stiff wind could blow her over, and why the fuck she’s crying.”
“I’ll be happy to fill you in, if you can dial the jackass down to five.” A bodiless voice calls from the ensuite bathroom. The tap water is running, but I know that voice. I’ve heard it in my head every day since December 22nd.
In all her pin-up glory, Grace saunters over to the bed, drapes a cool cloth on the back of my sister’s neck and hands Simon a dry towel and a glass of water. Her black pencil skirt pulls tight across her hips and her dark red blouse hints at cleavage I know firsthand to be spectacular.
Annoyance is clear in the set of her shoulders as she deigns to look up at me. I’ve got a solid three inches on her, despite those sexy-as-fuck heels.
I recognized her voice, but she didn’t recognize mine, that much is obvious from the open-mouthed gape pointed in my direction.
I can almost see the wheels spinning in her head. She’s smart, my Grace. I know that much from our brief night together. And based on the words stuck in her mouth, all fighting to come out as her brain puzzles this together, I can tell she hates to be caught off guard.
“Marc?” That one word is quiet, low, and filled with confusion and disbelief.
“Everett Marc Madigan.” I clarify and nod. “Lovely to see you again, Grace.”
“Molly Grace Randall…” Her tone is still soft, not that it would matter. My sister and her fiancé are carrying on a full conversation mere feet away from us, totally unaware of our awkward reunion. Nick’s oblivious, too, just scrolling on his phone.
Jesus. Grace is Molly? My Grace is actually my sister’s best friend? The woman I’ve been hearing about at every opportunity? The one I’ve been told I just have to meet? Little does Elaine know that Molly and I have definitely met and are intimately acquainted. Hell.
I’m not sure how long we stare at each other, both of us attempting to make sense of this new reality.
I, for one, am jarred from my own thoughts when I hear my sister sob, “I can’t believe I threw up on you.”
All the credit in the world goes to Simon, who laughs it off as he rubs her back. “It’s fine, really. See? I’m all cleaned up. Besides, it’s kind of my fault you can’t stop puking anyway, so…”
“Ha. Not entirely. It takes two, as you well know.”
“Accurate, but I still feel awful that you have to go through this. And don’t worry about me, okay, Lainie. I’m just getting my practice in. When this little peanut makes his or her appearance, I’m sure to get puked on again.”
“Wait. What?” I don’t realize I said that aloud until all eyes turn toward me.
“Surprise, Ev. You’re going to be an uncle!” My sister smiles weakly.
“Holy shit, kid. You okay?”
“Well, kind of. This morning sickness is kicking my ass. It lasts all day, and I can’t keep much down. I’m sorry for not telling you earlier. We’re not quite at the end of the first trimester yet, so we were planning to wait until we know we’re in the clear…”
“Yea, of course. And look, I know nothing about babies or pregnancy
, but I vaguely remember one of my buddies saying that morning sickness is actually a good thing?”
“Yea, that’s what our doctor said, too.”
Simon looks less than convinced. “But this is a little extreme. You good for a minute, Lainie? I’m going to call Dr. Sutherland.”
Elaine nods, and Simon kisses her forehead then ducks into the spare room.
“C’mon, Nick,” Grace, er, Molly commands. “We’ve got to clear this place out and make sure everyone gets their favors and their food to go.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he answers and follows her out. Not for the first time, I get the distinct impression that men happily comply with Molly Grace Randall’s will.
I certainly did.
What are the freaking odds? I ask myself this pointless question as Nick and I head down to deal with the guests.
We clue in Sandy and Bets, who start packing up the food, and then we make the rounds, thanking everyone for coming and reminding them to take their favor and some food before they go.
We get a few raised eyebrows at this quick turn of events, but, if I’m honest, Nick and I are charming enough that few people question us. And for those who do, Nick’s got answers.
“What the hell, Nicky? Where’s my nephew? I come all this way, with a Walmart gift card in hand, no less! And Simon can’t even come down to say goodbye? What’s he doing upstairs anyway?”
“Ted, let’s be real here. You live two towns over. As for what’s holding Simon up? Well, look...I wasn’t gonna share this with everybody, but, uh...did you see Simon sprint up the stairs like his ass was on fire?”
I panic momentarily. If Nick reveals Elaine’s pregnancy this early, she’ll lose her mind. It’s way too soon to be telling people. Plus, she probably wants to do one of those cute reveals.
Ted shakes his head. “No, I was in the kitchen getting more of that taco dip Sandy makes. But I heard there was a big commotion.”
“And for good reason. Simon, poor guy, threw up all over himself. God, it was awful.” Nick shudders convincingly, and Ted backs up three solid feet, not wanting to be anywhere near the infection.
