by L. P. Dover
Time ticks away and the longer she stays pestering me, the longer I don’t get to finish my work before it’s time to leave for the bachelorette party. Walking over to my bed, I pick up the green tutu. “That’s not going to happen, Mom. It’s too late to get him here.”
She snorts. “Please. I can make anything happen.”
“Not this,” I say, wishing she’d leave. “If you don’t mind, I should probably start getting ready.”
Narrowing her gaze, she turns and starts for the door. “Fine. I’ll let you get ready.” She stops at the door and then smiles at me over her shoulder. “But if your boyfriend doesn’t show up the morning of the wedding, I’m getting someone for you. End of story.”
And with those last words, she hurries out the door and slams it shut before I have time to argue. Groaning, I collapse onto the bed, wishing like hell I never came to town. I couldn’t do that though. I love Hallie and I want to see her walk down the aisle. Unfortunately, this whole ordeal has turned into my own personal nightmare.
“You just have to get through the wedding,” I whisper to myself. I can only imagine what kind of pompous ass my mother’s going to find to be my date.
My phone rings and I smile when I see Hallie’s name pop up. “Hey girl,” I answer.
She giggles and I can already tell she’s had a little bit to drink. “Well, hello, my favorite cousin. You ready to have some fun?”
I look over at my bridesmaids’ outfit. “Oh yeah. So ready.” She’s most likely too drunk to even notice my sarcasm.
“That’s the spirit,” she laughs, proving my last statement. “We’re on our way to pick you up in the limo. Be there in ten.”
“Hey,” I say quickly. “Question for you.”
“Yeah, what’s up?”
I get up and walk over to the window. There are so many people walking the streets, wearing their St. Patrick’s Day get up. “At your reception, do you have assigned seating at the tables? Like will I be with the bridal party?”
“Good question,” she replies, slurring her words. “Hannah and my mom did all of that. Let me ask her.” Hannah is my other cousin, and her older sister by seventeen months. She graduated high school a year ahead of us. Our mothers loved girl names that started with H so they made sure to give us all H names. I listened to her ask Hannah about the seating chart and I cringed when I heard Hannah speak.
“It’s assigned,” Hannah calls out to me. “The bridal party is not sitting together. We couldn’t get it to work out that way.”
Which means there’s no telling where I’m going to be. Table thirteen, here I come. I’d rather be there than sitting with a blind date. Unfortunately, my mom’s not going to back down.
“Did you hear that?” Hallie asks. “The bridal party isn’t sitting together.” There are several snickers in the background and I’m hoping like hell they’re joking with me.
I sigh. “Yeah, I got it. No worries.” I’m just going to be miserable the entire time if it’s actually true. Looking over at my laptop, an idea comes to mind. I’ll sneak it into the reception and disappear to a corner so I can work. Problem solved. I won’t have to worry about any of it.
“All right, girlie. We’re almost there.”
Shit, I’m not dressed. “See ya in a minute.” Quickly, I hang up the phone and get dressed in my tutu and tights. The word bridesmaid sparkles in the mirror when I take one last look at myself. I put on my green beads and run a hand through my hair. “Here we go.” Grabbing the glitter green purse, I stick my license and money inside of it before heading downstairs to the lobby.
The limo pulls up and as soon as I walk out the doors, Hallie stumbles out and waves at me, dressed in her green tutu and white T-shirt that has Bride printed across the front in gold glitter. Hannah appears behind her and shakes her head. “Sorry, cuz. She’s a little wasted.”
All the girls inside the limo hoot and holler. They’re all Hallie’s friends and I don’t know them, but they sound like they’re a little tipsy too.
Hallie holds up a small plastic cup with green Jell-O in it. “You can’t enter until you down the Jell-O shot. It’s the rules.”
I glance over at Hannah and she shrugs. “What the bride says, we do. Guzzle down, girlfriend so we can go.”
Inside, I groan, but I toss back the shot with a smile on my face. Hallie squeals when I finish and jumps up and down before squeezing me so tight, I can barely breathe. “We’re going to have so much fun, Hope. You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.”
Hearing her say that makes me really smile. “Come on, you drunkard. Let’s get this party started.” It’s hard, but I have to put my thoughts of work aside for a couple of hours. It’s not every day your favorite cousin gets married. I get in the limo and more Jell-O shots are passed my way. It’s definitely going to be a crazy night.
Two
Kellan
When you grow up in an Irish family, every holiday is important. Except, Saint Patrick’s Day is the ultimate holiday. The be all that ends all other events. Countless days of cooking, drinking, eating and more drinking. It might as well be Christmas on steroids with the way my family goes all out with the celebrations. Thing is, I don’t know any different, and when I invite people to hang out for St. Paddy’s day, they’re often shocked that day actually means week. This year though, things are a little different for me. Aside from my familial duties, my best friend Stewart is getting married to his long-time girlfriend, Hallie, this weekend and it’s my job to organize the bachelor party. What a better way to party, than New York City on the day of the green.
The guys all gather at my house, sitting in the living room and eating shepherd’s pie. Most of the guys are humming with each bite, which I get. My grandmother is the best cook this side of the Hudson. While they’re stuffing their faces, I’m opening box after box of the outfits I ordered. If we’re going to hit the parade, we’re going in true American Irish style, decked out to the nines in nothing but green. Green jackets, with green shamrock vests. Green and orange fake beards. Green, white, and orange felt hats. Shamrock colored and shaped sunglasses. And beads. While they may be popular in New Orleans, you can bet your ass we’ll do our part in making sure all the lovely lasses have a set of beads around their necks today.
“While you gorge yourself on my grandma’s shepherd’s pie,” I say to all the guys while they eat, “I want you to remember a few things. The first being, Stewart wanted a weeklong party and mistakenly agreed to get married the week of Saint Patrick’s Day. Second, in case you haven’t figured it out, I’m Irish. My name and ginger hair should’ve given me away. Third, I do apologize, but we’re heading out in style.”
I hand each guy their box and hear groans, grumbles and snickers. Some are happy, some are pissed, and me—well I’m damn excited. It’s like Halloween all over again, but this time I don’t mind dressing up.
The groom’s wedding party disperse into other rooms to get dressed while my mother and grandma fret over them. I love the excitement in the room, even though I know some of them must think I’m a complete dick for making them dress up.
One by one, they come out. Happy, utterly disgusting, and a few ready to party. My grandfather is there, filling pint glasses and hollering something in Gaelic, which I don’t understand, as he pours Guinness for each of them. The guys don’t understand either, but they all cheer, clank their glasses together and follow my grandpa as he dances around.
There’s a knock on the door, and I tell the crew it’s time to go. We head outside and into the limo I rented for us to get downtown. At the end of the night, once the bars have all shut down, whoever is left can get a lift back. Honestly, I expect half these guys to bail by dinner time, but whatever. Tomorrow is another day, another party.
In the limo, we pass around bottles of whiskey and we down shot after shot until we hit the roadblock of traffic. From here we have to walk until we reach the parade line. Not that we’ll actually see much because people start lining
up in the early hours of dawn. We pile out of the limo, one by one, each of us dressed like the most ridiculous Irishman we could be, only to be matched by others. Today, everyone in New York City are friends and they’re all Irish.
We meander through the crowd, stopping every so often to talk to someone we know, chat up a group of women, and to regroup. Stewart is staying close to me until we duck into a bar and order a round. Green beer for all. It’s nothing but shit beer with green food coloring added to it. I much prefer Irish beer which I will happily drink instead of that green trash. The first time I had it, I could barely swallow it. Took all I had not to spit it out all over the bar. It’s the color that gets me too. Beer shouldn’t be green. Unfortunately, with Stewart and the other guys around, I might not have a choice but to drink the green shit. I once tried the green ketchup which Heinz came out with and couldn’t bring myself to dip my fry into it. I tried. I remember sitting at the table when I was younger with my hand poised, ready to dip and every muscle in my body froze with fear. Of what? Who knows, but I couldn’t do it. When I was sixteen, my dad sat me down and gave me my first Guinness and told me if I can stomach this, I can stomach everything. He’s partially right. I’m still not a fan of green beer, but once I’ve had a pint and some shots, I can pretty much down anything.
We each drink a pint and head back outside. Among the sea of green, white, orange and some gold, we blend in. Today, would be the perfect day to commit a crime because we all look alike. My buddy Stewart, the groom to be, is sporting a long green beard with orange beads around his neck. He’s getting looks from women and like a man smitten, he’s ignoring them.
“Don’t worry,” I tell him. “They only like your beard.”
“Is that why you won’t shave yours?” he asks. I reach under my fake beard and brush my own. Up until last week, it was long and scraggly, something which irritated my mother. Along with the out of control beard and the industrial bar I drunkenly had jammed through my upper ear lobe after my last relationship ended, I’m a disappointment to her. She tells me I’m never going to find a good Irish woman to marry me and give me children. She’s probably right. Not that I’m looking. I’ve been down the path of falling in love with who my parents deemed the right Irish girl, only to be burned badly. Hence the steel bar and shaggy beard period of my life.
“Hey, I trimmed it up for your wedding.”
“Hallie threatened to do it for you if you didn’t,” Stewart points out.
That she did. When we were together last month for our tuxedo fitting, she pulled out a pair of scissors and told me she was going to cut off my manhood and pointed the shears at my face. I took her threat very seriously and went to the corner barber and had him give me a good trim. When I saw my mother the next day, she cried and told me I was sure to find a leannàn now. She just wants grandbabies and lots of them.
“I would’ve done it for your wedding, man,” I tell my best friend. I would’ve. No one wants the ugly guy in their photos.
We keep walking through the crowd, chatting Irish songs that most people don’t even know the words to or what the words mean. No one cares though, not today. I keep my eye on everyone, making sure to stay sober just in case. As much as I’d love to sit down in the bar, order some corn beef and cabbage and drink my worries away, today is for Stewart and I’m determined to be the best damn best man possible.
Stewart finds a spot for us to stand to watch the parade. Wasn’t part of my plan, but I get it. If we’re here, might as well watch. The community really goes all out between their costumes and music. I’m not sure how long we stand there for before I check my cell phone. I have a couple missed text messages from Hannah, Hallie’s sister. Hannah is the maid of honor and in charge of corralling her sister, who from what Hannah said, was very eager for her bachelorette party.
Hannah Walsh: where are you guys?
I rise onto my toes and look for the cross street. I’m a fairly tall guy, but with all the top hats, my view is blocked. I text back.
Me: 5th and 51st
Hannah Walsh: Head to St. Pat’s. We’ll meet you there.
Me: Stewart wants to watch the parade.
Hannah Walsh: Ugh, same with Hallie. No wonder they’re so compatible. Get him moving.
I pocket my phone and tell Stewart we should keep walking. It’s almost ten minutes before I have all the guys rounded up. Our large group isn’t ideal for the tightly compacted sidewalks, but we manage. As long as I don’t lose Stewart, I’ll be good.
Almost an hour passes before we reach the steps of the church. They’re pretty crowded but it’s easy to spot the bridal party. You know because the bride is the one wearing a giant green and gold tiara, a green sash that screams bride, all to complement her green tutu and shamrock tights.
The loud screech is what alerts Stewart to the fact his bride is a few feet away from him. She comes rushing toward him, a green ball of fury, and flings herself into his arms. “Stewie!”
The guys and I chuckle. I know he loves her, and she him, but seeing them together can be nauseating. They finish each other’s sentences, think it’s cute to wearing matching clothes, and share their food when we go out to eat. They’re the one couple I know who will make it to the end, come hell or high water.
“Thank God,” Hannah says when she comes over to me. She’s sober too and probably wishing she wasn’t. “She’s been Stu this, Stewie that, blah, blah, blah non-stop since we got into the limo. I gave her a bunch of shots, thinking she’d talk about something else, but nope, the booze only intensified her obsession.”
“It’s almost over,” I remind her.
“The weekend can’t come fast enough.” She groans and walks back to the other bridesmaids. I watch until my eyes land on the one person I never thought I’d see again. Hope Dunn, Hannah and Hallie’s cousin, who is a spitting image of Hallie, stands there, swaying back and forth to whatever song the current band marching down the street is playing. Freaking Hope Dunn, in the flesh, dressed like the cutest damn shamrock I have ever seen. While Stewart dated her cousin, I pined away for Hope in the shadows. She always seemed to be too good for me because she came from money and my family is working class. Hope had the best of everything handed to her on a silver platter. She wasn’t a snob though, just out of my league.
We’re adults now. Maybe things are different.
I approach her slowly and pull the fake beard down and give her my most dazzling smile. She smiles back and then she’s out of my sight. Another mob of party goer’s bump into me, causing me to stumble down a couple of steps, falling into another Leprechaun. “Sorry,” I mumble and hold my hands up.
When I look at Hope again, she’s engaged in a conversation with Hannah and no longer looking at me. Our moment, gone. Not that we had a true, defining moment, but my courage to approach her is. Standing here and looking at her is all I’ll ever do because she is out of my league. It doesn’t matter what I do, her family will never consider me to be on their level.
Oddly, I’m okay with it. I’ve always been the misfit in Stewart’s life. I love his family and they love me, but until I graduated college it was always clear that I was beneath them. Now, I’m an equal and would love for Hope to see me as one. The question is, what do I have to do to get her to notice me?
If there’s an answer out there, I’m determined to find it before this weekend is over because I’d give anything for a little bit of attention from her. Even if she were to just say hi.
Three
Hope
“Oh my God, Kellan totally checked you out.” Hannah squeezes my arm and giggles softly.
Nudging her with my elbow, I glance over my shoulder at Kellan and smile. He smiles in return and I quickly turn back to the parade. He’s changed a lot of since the last time I saw him; definitely more rugged and handsome, even if he is covered in head to toe St. Patrick’s Day get up. What’s crazy is that he truly is Irish. You can tell by the dark ginger hair and the accent. I used to love listening to h
im talk. When I moved to Arizona, I lost touch with him. Back then, he was dating a girl none of us really liked, but we put up with her anyway. From what I can tell, he’s not with her anymore.
I lean in closer to Hannah. “He’s not still dating that Bridget girl, is he?”
She scoffs. “Hell no. That ended a long time ago. He’s single right now.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Kellan laugh and carry on with the guys. Why do I even care if he’s single? Maybe it’s the Jell-O shots making me think of him in ways I shouldn’t. Shaking my head, I focus back on the parade. The last thing I need is to think of anything other than getting through the wedding and getting back home. Unfortunately, my body doesn’t seem to agree. Every few seconds, I catch myself looking over at Kellan. And thank God he doesn’t notice.
Hallie totally abandoned her bridesmaids to stand with Stewart. “I’m starting to think us bridesmaids are going to have to celebrate on our own,” I laugh, shaking my head at Hallie. Stewart has his arm around her shoulders and she looks so happy as she talks to the guys.
Hannah giggles. “Yeah, I’m starting to realize that now. No worries though. We’re getting ready to go to the pub and grab a bite to eat. My boyfriend’s meeting us there.”
“Why isn’t he here now?” I ask.
She nods over at Stewart. “Stu and Andy don’t exactly get along really well. You see, Andy’s a prosecutor whereas Stewart’s a defense attorney. Andy works for your father. That’s how I met him.”
“Wow,” I gasp, eyes wide with surprise. “I didn’t know that.”
I hate that I’ve been so out of the loop with my family. It makes me feel bad.
Hallie giggles. “It’s okay, cuz. I know you’ve been too busy in Arizona to pay attention to my life. Anyway, back to the guys, they’ve gone head to head a few times in court. Guess their disagreements carried over into their personal lives.”
