“It is customary for the best man to get onstage and roast the future bride and groom, and you would think that after twenty years of friendship, I would have some doozies. Tales of debauchery and venereal disease, or running from the Mexicali police.” I hang my head, shaking it. “Alas, this is not my wedding.” Everyone, including me, laughs. “My best friend has not made it easy on me with all his virtuous behavior,” I say with fake disgust, “so I’ll just have to talk about that, won’t I?” I look straight at my friend, right into his eyes. “You trust him the moment you meet him, and he never abuses that trust. He is one of the few people who earn it every day. He always looks for the best in people, always tries to help them even when they don’t want him to. He’s loyal, strong, kind, giving, and above all, loving.” I turn my gaze to Rebecca. “Now, I haven’t known Rebecca as long, but in the short time I’ve had the pleasure, I can say with utmost certainty everything I just said goes double for the bride-to-be. She’s a good woman. Better than most. You two are going to have a wonderful life together because you are both compassionate, loving people, and I thank you from the depths of my heart for letting me be a part of your family.” I raise my glass again. “To the happy couple.”
Rebecca, eyes brimming with tears, runs up on stage and embraces me as the audience applauds. I hug her back. “Thank you,” she whispers.
And damned if I didn’t mean every word.
***
I think it’s time to go home. I’ve lost track of how many glasses of champagne I’ve had, but I always know that I’ve had enough to drink when I start getting touchy feely with strangers. Most of my one night stands were a result of this trait. Since I’m in an unofficially monogamous relationship, the fact that I’m seriously considering kissing cheekbones, now known as Dr. Jonathan “Jem” Ambrose, the neurologist Rebecca wanted to set me up with, is very bad. I’m no cheat, even when my boyfriend is a total jackass. I need to get out of here before I do something I regret.
It’s rude, but I get up and slink away before he returns with my glass of water. Everything, the music, the lights, the air, has a soft edge to it. It’s difficult to walk, but I manage to make it to the dance floor where Justin and Rebecca slow dance like they’re at the prom, rocking side to side, completely enveloped in each other. A person could set off a bomb here and they wouldn’t notice.
I also tend to get emotional when I’m plastered. Watching them so in love, so together, just makes me want to puddle into tears, which I can feel coming. They’d do anything for each other, and my boyfriend doesn’t even want to be seen with me. We could be dancing right there with them, but I’m not even worth a phone call from him. Why is it that some people are so lucky and others have to fight and struggle for scraps? It’s so fucking unfair.
The song ends and all couples disengage. “Hey, guys, I’m gonna get out of here.”
“Okay,” Rebecca says, disappointed. “Guess I’ll see you tomorrow, huh?”
“Tomorrow?” I ask.
“The dress fittings!”
“With your Mom and Daisy. Right. I remember now. Noon?”
“Yeah. I’ll take us all out to lunch after.”
“Great.” I turn to Justin. “Have a safe flight. See you in a few days?”
He kisses my cheek. “Take care of my girls when I’m gone, okay?”
“I’ll guard them with my life. Night, guys.”
I walk away. Time to go back to my empty apartment and eat an entire carton of ice cream, and then…wait. Was that…
A very familiar looking man brushes past me as I leave the ballroom. He has the same dark brown hair, though in a different cut, build, age as…I turn back around to get a second look, but he’s faded into the crowd of tuxes. No, it couldn’t be him. He had glasses, a goatee, and graying temples. Besides that, how could he have gotten past the press and security? Or gotten in without an invitation? And there’s the fact this is about the seventh time I’ve “seen” him in the past few days. One guy I actually tackled. Overcompensating, obviously. No, that guy was too old. I definitely need to sober up and have a day away from all things Alkaline.
There are a few cabs waiting, and I all but fall into the closest one. As soon as the cabbie pulls away, the tears make their way to my eyes. No. No. Unacceptable, Joanna. We do not cry over a man ever again. We do not cry, period. That son of a bitch is in no way, shape, or form worth it. Not even one tear. After years of practice, I’m a master at pushing down my emotions. The tears retreat, but they’re calling in the cavalry. Anger. “I’ve changed my mind. Take me to 14635 Gaiman Street.”