What Happens at a Wedding: A Short Story Anthology

by Lucy Gage

  “She’s not coming?”

  “She can’t make it. She said she’s sorry.”

  “But…” He swallows and blinks. “She promised.”

  “I know, but sometimes we can’t keep our promises. Things come up. You know, like labor and delivery. New life being brought into the world. Stuff like that.”

  “I can’t…I…need this.” Beckett retrieves his phone from the floor, scrolls over the screen and then brings it to his ear, audibly inhaling and exhaling. After a few moments, he shoves it back it into his pocket. “Shit. You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. My life is ruined.”

  Well, that’s quite a reaction to a fake date. “I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

  “Oh, you have no idea. None, at all. No one does.”

  “Right. So, yeah.” I curl my lips into my mouth and strum my fingers on the countertop. “Again, sorry,” I say, hoping he gets the hint that this is a done deal and he might as well be on his way.

  Beckett runs a hand through his hair, gripping at the scalp, stuffs his hands in his pockets, stares out the window, and then at his feet. Suddenly, he raises his head, boring those deep blue orbs into my brown ones. A sly and charming quirk, like one of those ridiculously cute lop-sided smiles girls go nuts over, grows on his face. “You don’t happen to have any plans tonight, do you?”

  Oh. My. Word. He is not…

  I cross my arms and ask, “Why do you want to know?”

  “Well, if you don’t, I was wondering if you might want to join me…as my date.”

  He did it. He asked me out. Sort of…I think.

  “Is this a real date or a fake one?” I raise my brows.

  “Does it matter?”

  “I think it does. And just to let you know, Katie filled me in on your little arrangement. So, no need to fancy-foot your words with me.”

  “Fair enough.” He takes a step forward. And another. One more until we are about two feet distance apart. “So, back to my original question. Do you have any plans for the evening?”

  “I might.”

  “Based on your appearance, they don’t seem too extravagant.”

  “My attire is perfect for an evening of the couch, movies, and popcorn.”

  “And is this a solo endeavor or are you expecting company?”

  “I have guests,” I protest.

  “And who might those be?”

  “I’m sure either Jack Daniels or Sam Adams will be keeping me cozy as the night lingers on.”

  “I’m familiar with them. We are close as well. However, they don’t compare to a fun evening at an Ames family wedding.”

  My arms drop. “No. A wedding?”

  “Yeah. My oldest sister is getting married. The ceremony starts in…” He checks his watch. “It starts in about forty-five minutes. So what do you say?”

  “Uhhhh.”

  “You can bring your friends Jack and Sam if you like. There’s room for all of you. I don’t mind.”

  My lids flutter like they are trying to contemplate and comprehend his words. Did I hear him correctly? “I’m sorry, did you just ask me to join you as your date for a wedding with your family?”

  “I did.” His face doesn’t show a trace of sarcasm. “I’m going to be straight with you. It’s kind of complicated, but I told my folks I was bringing my girlfriend with me, and I really don’t want to disappoint them. You know how parents are.”

  “Hold up.” I raise my hand to emphasize the need to halt this conversation and get a handle on what’s really going on. “You’re here to pick up Katie, who is supposed to be your date as part of some deal between you two, but since she’s not here…”

  “Would you like to be my date?”

  “I’m the runner-up—by default—because I answered the door?”

  “In a nutshell, yes.” He sighs.

  “So you now want me to be your fake date?” I shake my head. “I feel like I’m on some kind of surreal reality TV show.”

  “Welcome to my world.”

  “We barely know each other. There’s no way we could pull this off,” I protest. “And seriously, why do you need a fake girlfriend in the first place?”

  “What’s there to know? You’re Emma Kenner, music major, senior, and Katie’s roommate. I’m Beckett Ames. Cocky, good-looking, and everyone loves me. I think that covers the basics. As for my need for a fake girlfriend, let’s just say the parents aren’t too keen on my flirtatious ways and think I’m unable to have a meaningful relationship with a girl.”

  “You’re in college. They can’t expect you to settle down.”

  “They don’t. I just need to prove to them that I’m not a fuck-them-and-leave-them kind of guy.”

  I laugh and try so hard not to roll my eyes, but they have a mind of their own. “But isn’t that what you are?”

  “You see? I have a reputation!”

  “Obviously, and for a good reason. There’s plenty of evidence.”

  “You’re likely right, but my parents don’t need to think that their only son is a debaucherous douchebag. I care about them enough that I want them to sleep soundly at night. They shouldn’t have to worry about me.” He bends at the waist and looks deeply into my eyes. Softening his voice, he continues, “Think of coming with me tonight like an act of charity on your part. You will get you angel points into heaven. Chicks love good karma, right?”

  I shouldn’t give his proposal a second thought, but his offer is enticing. Deep within me, I feel an urge to join him. It might have something to do with the fact that I’ve always found him attractive and honestly still remember our kissing moment from three years ago, but it could simply be the fact that this was the first male interest I’ve had in the last three months. Like some act of fate had me answering the door, rescuing me from my self-induced solitude to make the dean’s list. I have been studying really hard as of late.

  I take in the scenery of the living room, the sad display of loneliness filled with movies and drinking for a party of one. Seriously? This is what I had in mind for a good time tonight? Besides, this kind of opportunity is what soap operas are made of, not real life. This would be a great tale to tell the grandchildren when I’m old and grey or at minimum something to joke about when I’m out with my friends and have had too much to drink.

  “If it’s any consolation,” Beckett adds, “I bought Katie a really nice present as a thank you for her time that would now be yours, you know, as my girlfriend and all that.”

  I gnaw on my lower lip, look at the television, coffee table, and then at Beckett once again.

  “You won’t try any of that debauchery on me, right?” I ask.

  “You’ll come? Oh my god, I would be in your debt forever.”

  “Yeah, I will, but I assume you’ll need me to change? Unless it’s a pajama-themed wedding.”

  “Thank you so much.” Relief washes over him like there was a huge weight I somehow lifted. “You have no idea what a bind this gets me out of.”

  “Don’t mention it. Fancy or semi-fancy attire?”

  “I owe you. And semi-fancy is fine. It’s perfect. Perfection.”

  “You got it. Give me a few minutes to change.” I turn on my heel and head down the hallway toward my room.

  I should have been impressed by Beckett’s car—a vintage 1953 Porsche 356 that was in pristine condition—and I was at first, but as we pull into the church parking lot filled to the max with equally impressive vehicles, my mind blanks.

  My mouth falls agape.

  “It’s going to be fine.” Beckett turns off the ignition. “I promise. Don’t be nervous.”

  Like words of encouragement could help. What in the hell have I gotten myself into?

  I am about to take part in a very personal and possibly evasive family gathering where I will be playing the girlfriend of someone I barely know. It’s a recipe for disaster. Nerves are the least of my worries. I am being set up to fail by pure circumst
ances. There is no way I won’t say the wrong thing at some point. This entire scheme is a lie.

  “This isn’t going to work,” I mumble.

  “Yes, it will. Emma…” He places his hand over mine, and my heart has no idea if it should speed up or slow down. I think it’s having a shit fit. “Listen, everything is going to be fine. My parents are easy to please. Trust me when I say that they will be happy to meet you. My whole family will be.”

  “What if I don’t meet their expectations?” It’s a valid fear. This isn’t really my gig. I’m the gal that likes to hang out in corners, the watcher at a party. I don’t know why I thought I could act as anything, especially Beckett’s oh-so-in-love-with-him girlfriend.

  “Trust me, and I don’t mean this as an insult, the fact that you are here as my quote-unquote girlfriend is beyond their expectations already. They aren’t going to judge you. They’re going to be thrilled you’re here.”

  “I still don’t understand why this is so important. You’re only twenty-two and still in college, it’s not like they expect you to settle down and get married, right?”

  “Actually, I’m twenty-three. And, no, it’s nothing like that.” He removes his hand from mine and places it back on the steering wheel. “You know my reputation. Let’s just say they have concerns, and you coming here with me will help to eliminate them. Like we already discussed.”

  On the drive to the wedding ceremony, Beckett had gone over with me our “dating” status, how long we had been together, what he wanted to do with the rest of his life, his favorite sports to play, color, interests, and other hobbies. He also told me a little bit about his family, his siblings and their significant others, especially his sister Laura, the bride, and Blaine, the groom. When I asked him why he needed a girlfriend in the first place, he casually stated that his reputation as a partier and his lack of dating life had his parents concerned. It seemed like such a silly reason because he wasn’t that bad in comparison to some of the other guys on campus, but I figured his parents must really be giving him a hard time about if he’d gone through the trouble of getting a fake girlfriend just to put their minds at ease.

  “You look nice by the way,” he says to me out of the blue. “Really pretty.”

  “Keep that up. It’s very convincing. You have the boyfriend character down.”

  “I wasn’t acting. You do look…” He eyes me up and down and then that charming lopsided grin grows wider. “Mouthwatering.”

  I guffaw. “Girls go wild over compliments used to describe a good hunk of steak. You know that, right?”

  “No, I don’t.” He expressively licks his lips. “Well, then, you also look very tender and juicy. So much that I want to gnaw on you all night long.”

  “Calm down hungry man. You went straight from PG to porn.”

  “I have a way with words.” He shrugs. “I probably should have minored in linguistics.”

  “It’s never too late to follow your dreams.”

  “Now that is optimism.”

  I smile, shake my head, and then return my focus back to the gigantic cathedral where guests are still filing in. Nervously, I pull my long shawl tighter around my shoulders and fidget with the fringe lining the edges.

  “Any last words of advice?” I ask in a whisper.

  “Just be yourself.”

  “Do you even know who that is? I’m pretty sure the last time we even spoke to each other was freshman year, and there wasn’t even a lot of talking going on then.”

  Beckett tightens his mouth and then says, “Trust me, I remember. That was some seven minutes. Why do you think I asked you to join me tonight?”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “I’ve changed since then, for your information. Don’t expect a repeat of the downstairs fondling for that precious banana of yours.”

  “I wasn’t expecting anything like that, but a guy can be hopeful.”

  “It would take a miracle. You’re taking quite a gamble with me coming here, you know? This isn’t going to be easy to pull off.”

  “It’s better than the alternative.” He laughs. “I’m willing to risk it. Just an FYI, my mother might try to smother you with hugs. I apologize for her affection in advance. I’ll try to hold her off until after the ceremony. No promises she won’t squeal the moment she sees you.”

  “I can handle hugs.”

  He grabs my hand and squeezes it once. “Thank you again for doing this. I know it’s not the night you had planned, but it really means a lot to me.”

  “You’re welcome. I hope you know I’m only doing this because you promised me a killer gift.” I wink and then quickly exit the vehicle.

  Beckett gets out of the car joins and joins me.

  “You know,” he says, taking my hand in his, “gifts only come to good little boys and girls. Are you a good girl or a bad girl, Emma?”

  Feeling cheeky, I reply, “I’ve been told I’m a very good girl, but I can be bad in all the right ways if the mood strikes me.”

  “And what pray tell would get you in that kind of mood?” He begins to lead me up the stone steps toward the grand wooden entrance.

  “Are you flirting with me, Beckett?”

  “Just playing the part, Emma.”

  Beckett isn’t exaggerating when he says there might be a bit of smothering and frequent hugs. There are many tight squeezes, long holds, and compliments galore from his mother the moment we are introduced. Even though it is her daughter’s “big day,” she seems to have more interest in the fact that I am on Beckett’s arm. A modest grin and a handshake from his father and a quick greeting from his other family members, including his two other sisters with their respective husbands, comes between moments of embracing from his mother. It’s like I am the answer to some prayer that his mother has been reciting nightly. Even with the warning, her immediate affection is overwhelming.

  In a short period of time, I am peppered with questions about Beckett and I. First is the inquiry of how we met, to which I reply with the rehearsed half-truth about living in the same dorm freshman year, remaining friends, and recently evolving into more over the past months when he saw me playing at an open-mic night. I embellish a little by adding that he was won over by my sultry voice and I’ve had him in my siren clutches ever since. There were sporadic questions about where I’m from, my family, and my interests that carry us into the reception hall and our assigned table with his family.

  Beckett plays his part well, finishing a few of my sentences here and there like we’re an actual couple who have intimate knowledge of one another. I wonder how he’s able to achieve such a feat so easily, but it seems to be a part of his charisma and charm. He’s a natural—strategically placing an arm around my shoulder, holding my hand at opportune moments for all to see, and even sneaking a kiss on the cheek, which took me by utter surprise. I blush in shock, but the pleasant smile I catch from his mother out of the corner of my eye tells me that everything s going well.

  I have to admit, it’s easy playing the part of his girlfriend. Like I have been somehow turned into Cinderella for one night, enchanted and the bell of the ball. All eyes are on us, and it’s difficult to stomach at first, but I soon find myself reveling in the magic he and I are weaving.

  As the bride and groom enter the room as a newly married couple, all attention is finally on someone other than myself and the so-called relationship with Beckett. I’m thankful for the moment of reprieve and find myself breathing in utter relief.

  “You’re doing great,” Beckett whispers in my ear.

  I giggle at the feel of his breath brushing against my skin, and his sister smiles happily at my reaction.

  “They do seem to be buying it,” I reply in a low voice. “I still can’t believe we are doing this.”

  “Try not to think about it too much. Just be natural.”

  We turn our attention to the emcee as they announce that the newly joined couple will have their first dance. As the music begins
to play and they sway beautifully over the wooden floor, I lean into Beckett’s warmth. There’s something about the atmosphere and the melody that draws me into this position. He tightens a palm over my bare shoulder, and I gnaw gingerly at my lower lip, slipping closer and closer, molding into his form. As the music comes to a close and the couple finishes their first dance, the emcee welcomes the rest of the guests to join them on the floor.

  “That’s our cue,” Beckett says to me, loud enough for everyone at the table to hear, but in an undeniably intimate way. He rises from the seat, offers his hand to me, and we take to the floor with many others.

  Easily, so so easily, he slips his palm to my waist and holds me close. I rest a hand on his shoulder, and the grip of my other hand settles gently into his. We sway to the rhythm of the romantic melody, and my mind begins to drift back to the first time I ever saw Beckett. I remember thinking he was so cute, but then again, every girl did. His handsomeness is undeniable. He wasn’t at all like the man who’s holding my hand now. He was somewhat tentative about interacting with others. Many of us thought he was a loner. A hot loner, but a loner nonetheless. I recall speaking to him few times in class when he was staring at me like a deer in headlights, making me feel like a total moron for being nice. He wasn’t the outgoing, boisterous party guy that he’s known to be today. As a matter of fact, it wasn’t until our moment together in the closet at Anthony’s party that I think he ever said anything to me.

  Jason snuck liquor into the dorms. How he managed, I’ll never know, but I’m not complaining. Besides, mid-terms are done, and this feels like a celebratory moment.

  “Okay, boys,” Chelsea says, rising in the middle of our dorm room. “I think we should play a game.”

  My roommate, Chelsea, has had a total crush on Jason since day one, and I have a feeling she’s hoping a little liquid courage will help to bring them together. Jason’s roommate, Beckett, on the other hand, is super cute, but really doesn’t seem interested in the human species. We have Advanced Literature together, and I’ve yet to hear him mumble more than three words to anyone in an hour. While I will admit that I’ve had a silent crush on him since the moment I first saw him, I don’t think it’s reciprocated. I’ve gone out of my way to say hi to him, be his partner for small classroom projects when it seemed like no one else would, and give him my notes when he has been absent from class, which has been a noticeable amount of time. He’s given me no indication that he even knows my name.