Chapter 15 #2
“Carlos would be the only one not around, but every time he’d show up, we’d have to drop everything and go on a five-day bender with him and his flavor-of-the-month-missus,” Oliver nodded like Aberlour might have said, “Hallelujah!” He could see the joy on his face.
The dream he dared to dream. Too often perhaps, or too rarely that it was still exciting to dream about.
“And then there would be us.”
A period of silence, nothing but the purr of Aberlour’s old truck.
“When everyone would go home, there would be just us—and our kids—in a small house on the water, and we’d be—” he chuckled and shrugged, like he didn’t have the words.
“Darling and Dumber,” Aberlour finished for him.
“Darling and Dumber,” Oliver echoed, his voice thick with emotion.
“In the house at the end of the street,” Aberlour added, mostly to himself.
“What if it’s not on the end of a street?”
“Don’t care,” Aberlour said. “Home’s always gonna be the house at the end of the street. That’s what we’ll call it.”
Oliver chuckled, obviously amused by Aberlour’s weird logic, but didn’t disagree and simply tightened his hold.
They were both aware this was crazy talk. The kind of optimistic discussions weddings and births pulled out of even the most cynical of men. It only dawned on Aberlour many years later that their level of optimism had varied wildly when ifs were no longer enough to keep the dream afloat.
“You know what I love about weddings?” Carlos asked, while stuffing his face with BBQ pork. How he could eat like a savage yet not get a single drop of the sweet sauce on his white shirt was no small feat.
“The food?” Aberlour guessed, amused.
“The food,” Carlos agreed, smiling around the rib in his mouth. Aberlour chuckled but knocked his cold beer against Carlos’.
It was a lovely September day. The vineyard Marcus’ wife had picked for their wedding was beautifully decorated, and the late summer setting was perfect.
She’d gone slightly crazy on the flowers, but even Aberlour, who had the fashion sense of a drunken eel, could admit it made everything seem almost magical.
“You wrote a speech?” Ghost asked. His daughter was sitting in his lap, and he was bouncing her on his knees.
The child was adorable, with wild, curly light brown hair tamed by a blue ribbon, huge chocolate brown eyes, and a pale-yellow sundress that complimented her dark complexion perfectly.
She was barely seven and the apple of her father’s eye.
Her mother had stayed home, unable to take the time off work, but Ghost had relished the opportunity of stealing his daughter away for an entire weekend.
Spoiled rotten by everyone there, she was enchanting to be around.
“No,” Aberlour said, shaking his head. “Think Darling might have,” he added with a shrug.
He looked around for Oliver, finding him in the crowd like he’d known exactly where to look.
It was hard to miss him. He’d been kidnapped by Marcus’ grandmother, a short little lady with the temperament of a dragon.
She’d been cooing after Oliver all day, the four-foot nothing 80-year-old batting her grey eyelashes at Oliver like she’d seen Apollo.
“Darling’s not half bad at dancing,” Carlos remarked, having followed Aberlour’s line of sight.
“Never tell him that.”
“Promise,” Carlos agreed, before shoving more food into his mouth.
“Anyone seen JD?” Aberlour asked, his gaze scanning the crowd. Marcus was doing the rounds, thanking friends and family for coming. His wife, Sabine, a beautiful Peruvian goddess he absolutely did not deserve, hung on his arm, her white dress making her the picture-perfect bride.
“He disappeared with Caroline half an hour ago,” Carlos said, waggling his eyebrows in implication.
Aberlour snorted and rolled his eyes. Of course.
JD and Caroline were newly engaged, and it was like they’d rediscovered each other in the light of Marcus’ nuptials.
Ever since they’d arrived at the venue, JD had been insufferable.
Going on and on about the honey tone of her skin, the silkiness of her hair, the—well, on and on.
“You boys behaving?” Sabine asked in a singsong voice, sitting down in the chair that Oliver had vacated. She looked like a princess, her long hair swept up and elegantly confined in a flower brooch.
“We wouldn’t dare,” Abe answered easily. He liked Sabine. She smiled and laughed easily at their jokes and cursed like a sailor. She’d once dragged Marcus out of a bar, drunk as a skunk, pulling him by his ear like a toddler. Aberlour had pissed himself laughing.
“Good,” she nodded satisfied. “My Aunt Petunia’s been eyeing you for the past hour, waiting for an official invitation before she makes her move.
I hope you brought your dancing shoes, Abe,” she warned, teasingly.
She nodded towards her Aunt Petunia. A skinny lady with too much blush sitting at the other end of the room wearing a pretty purple dress.
Aberlour just knew she’d smell of lilac.
“I’ll introduce her to Oliver,” he said with a shrug. “He’ll charm the dentures right out of her mouth.”
Sabine snorted and grabbed Aberlour’s beer. Although it was undignified for a bride to drink beer straight from the bottle, she didn’t care, tipping it back and finishing it in one long pull before slamming it down on the table.
Aberlour loved Sabine.
“Care to go for a twirl?” she asked, holding out a perfectly manicured hand.
Did Aberlour want to dance? No.
Was it acceptable to refuse the bride on her wedding day? Hell no.
With a smile and a nod, he took hold of Sabine’s hand carefully and pulled her to her feet.
He led the way to the dance floor where she’d danced with Marcus and her father earlier.
There weren’t many people on it now, as most were eating or drinking.
The dance floor would get crowded later, but for now, it was just the two of them, another couple—older and far better dancers—and Oliver and Marcus’ grandma.
“You any good at this?” she asked Aberlour, placing her hand on his shoulder. Aberlour snorted and carefully put a hand at her waist.
“No,” he replied honestly.
“Good,” she answered with a gentle smile.
Without another word they were off, dancing a basic pattern of one, two, three. No one stared in admiration, and they clearly weren’t impressive in the slightest, but it was fun. Easy, good, family fun.
“Thank you,” Sabine said with heartfelt gratitude, as he guided her across the dance floor.
“Hmm?” he asked because he didn’t have a clue what she might be talking about.
“For bringing him home,” she said, her large brown eyes focused on his. “I know it’s a team effort—but I also know you call most of the shots, so thank you for bringing him home to me time and again.”
Aberlour missed a step, and she caught him before they could take a spill. He paused for a moment to process her raw, genuine emotion and gave a single nod of understanding.
Nothing else was said. They shuffled around as best they could, and Aberlour wanted to bottle the moment for safekeeping. Warm, easy, the sun and the breeze, the laughter, and the bubbling feeling of just enough alcohol. Sabine smiling up at him. Everyone was safe and sound and together.
When the song came to an end, there was a gentle tap on his shoulder, and Aberlour knew who it was from the radiance of the bride’s smile.
“She’s all yours,” Aberlour told Marcus as he stepped away from his wife. Marcus thanked him and took hold of his wife with much more assurance than Abe had.
He watched them from the edge of the room, leaning on the balcony of the vineyard outdoor space. They were beautiful.
“She’s far too good for him,” Oliver said, his voice bubbly and light like champagne.
“He knows,” Aberlour replied, shooting his best friend a cheeky smile.
Oliver’s face was flushed, having danced more than most anyone else. He’d loosened his tie, and the two last buttons of his shirt were popped open.
“Where’s your dance partner?” Aberlour asked, pretending to look around.
“Back with her husband,” Oliver said as though he was sad.
“Don’t worry, Darling, we’ll find you someone else to dance with,” Abe said with mock sincerity, deliberately avoiding looking at Oliver as he spoke, or he’d burst out laughing.
“Promises, promises!”
They snuck out a few moments later. They didn’t dare hold hands, but they walked side-by-side, their elbows brushing, heading towards the bathroom.
Although they weren’t dancing, their footwork was impressive as they navigated the small individual bathroom and their layers of clothing.
They could still hear the music, and their rapid breaths kept time with the fast waltz as they pressed against the walls and panted skin to skin.
Outside, a woman called for a toast, but her voice was muffled and Aberlour couldn’t hear much over Oliver’s moans anyway.
They barely made it back in time for Oli to give his own toast to the bride and groom.
Stepping up to the mic, looking slightly disheveled and his tie undone, Oli was smiling, his eyes sparkling with amusement.
He really hadn’t had time to fix himself up after his hookup, and he was pretty sure it showed.
“Is that a hickey?” Carlos asked. He’d stopped eating long enough to listen to the various toasts, and was staring at Oliver with his head cocked, eyes wide with amusement.
“The slag bastard,” JD said. He’d made it back from his own hookup, and his fiancé was sitting in his lap, looking gorgeous in her lavender gown.
“Who gave it to him?” Ghost asked, always the practical one.
“I saw a few of the bridesmaids chasing after him,” Caroline said conspiratorially.
“Bet you that’s why his tie’s undone,” Carlos commented.
“Maybe he can find you a friend, Abe,” JD said, giving his bicep a gentle tap.
Aberlour rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair.
“I can get laid all on my own. Thanks, anyway.”