Chapter 16 In Search of a Good Timea Minister #3
But then he drops his hands, and it’s as though whatever sensory deprivation they provided disappears with a harsh snap of the fingers.
It’s loud and hot, and suddenly, I’m back in a packed Lincoln Log apartment overflowing with people.
I follow Ethan’s gaze past my shoulder and spot Petey waving him over.
Ethan hesitates but hops off the counter. “Sorry. Best man duty calls.”
The bubble bursts in more ways than one. He was my best man once, and the morning of my wedding he sent, Margot’s not up for it. Sorry, Chuck. And then I didn’t hear from him for a year.
I shift to the side and watch him walk away. Despite the unpleasant metallic taste swirling in my throat, I can still appreciate an impressive walk when I see one.
Petey whispers something to Ethan and then, after a quick stress test, climbs on top of a chair and lets out one of those two-finger dog whistles, silencing the party.
“For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Pete and the gorgeous woman in the crochet top is the love of my life, Laurel Beekman. And tomorrow, Lo and I are getting married thanks to our new buddy Ted, who happens to be ordained with the Official Church of Love.”
The room whoops and cheers at the everyday heroism of the damp man who unites us all. My heart clunks.
“Love finds a way,” Petey tells the crowd.
Ted waves sheepishly, murmuring, “Best forty dollars I ever spent.”
“Earlier today, our officiant had a medical emergency. He’s totally fine now—resting up at a hotel—but only because we were incredibly fortunate to have my oldest friend, E, there to carry the guy on his back for half a mile .” Petey claps Ethan on the shoulder while everyone applauds.
I’ve been with Ethan all night, and he’s never mentioned carrying Jonah to safety. He probably thought nothing of it. That alone melts my insides like an expertly toasted marshmallow.
“Because when it all hits the fan,” Petey continues, “there’s no one I’d rather have on my team. So let’s raise a glass to my best man, Ethan, astonishingly bad flip cup player and the first person I’m calling if I ever get trench foot. Cheers to you, man.”
A chorus of laughs and cheers trickles through the room, but it goes quiet again as Ethan takes his turn at the creaky wooden dining chair.
“I’ll keep it brief out of respect for the fact that we’re strangers to pretty much everyone here.
Bet you didn’t realize you were going to a bachelor party tonight, and now maybe a rehearsal dinner?
” He looks over to Petey, then back to the group.
“But I’ve spent the last few years on the road making a lot of meaningful short-term connections with people.
I’ve gotten very good at keeping things light and detached, because it’s…
easy, I guess. And losing the people who matter is hard. ”
Ethan’s eyes flash to mine so quickly I almost miss it. We’re all hanging on his every word, but I let myself imagine this speech belongs to me. Each word nestles its way softly between my ribs.
“All we have is connection, right? All we are is how well we’re loved by the people we care about and how well we love them back.
Nothing else can be more important than that.
And Petey’s always understood that. He’s taught me that nothing should matter more than that one person who makes you feel bigger than you are.
Who makes every tent, every tiny mattress, every roadside service station, feel like home.
The one who changes you and makes you dream about things that used to scare you. ”
Ethan’s voice crackles with emotion. Just when I’m sure he’s about to say more, he clears his throat and peels his eyes away from the crowd, looking only at Petey.
“And that’s what all of us strangers have in common today,” he continues, voice light again.
“We’re in the presence of this all-encompassing, all-consuming, stupid love that’s made fools out of Petey and Laurel for far too long and they’re finally ready to do something about it. ”
Petey laughs, wiping up the happy tear that falls down Laurel’s cheek.
“Many of us won’t see each other again, but we’re all part of this tonight.
We’re all a piece of this connection that’s so much bigger than us.
We’re in a memory right now. At this moment.
” His gaze drifts around the room before finally settling on me, and this time, he doesn’t look away.
“So let’s make it count. For them and ourselves.
Cheers to the happy couple and all of the former strangers they decided to share their memories with. ”
The room erupts in cheers. Petey doesn’t wait for Ethan to jump down, instead picking him up by the waist and carrying his friend around in a rough, rhapsodic hug.
The room overflows with happiness. It makes me wonder whether Ethan’s onto something.
Maybe Petey and Laurel are part of something bigger than us all.
Maybe their relationship is more real than anything I ever had with Rich, and that’s why I’ll never understand it. Maybe.
Maybe.
A friend of Laurel’s would allow her this romantic blunder. They’d toast to her with all of these strangers. They’d wish her well and hope that the foreboding feeling gnawing at their stomach would eventually fade away.
But I’m not her friend. I’m her sister.
Ethan gets swallowed up again—the most interesting man in the room made brand-new by that speech. I stand frozen against the kitchen counter like a bystander, waiting for Laurel to appear in my eye line.
I cross to her, walking upstream in a crowd that’s starting to spill out the door and into the glow of the lowering sun.
“We have to talk,” I demand. “Now.”
“We’re all streaking,” she responds without acknowledging my plea.
“Huh?” I must not have heard that right. “It’s only eight. The sun’s still out.”
She breathes out a world-weary sigh. “It’s the summer, Charley. We can’t live and die by the sun.”
“I think we literally can. You can’t run around naked in the woods. You’re an educator .”
“I’m a bride , and I haven’t even used that card yet. You used it all the time. You made me get, like, three vaccines. I got a Tdap for you.” She pokes my biceps.
“That was for you. Rich’s sister is anti-vax, and I didn’t want you to get diphtheria from the flower girl because Kathleen listened to two-thirds of a podcast on mercury.”
“We’re in the middle of nowhere. What the hell else are we going to do besides get naked?”
About thirty other more appropriate activities come to mind in the form of a bulleted mental list.
Maybe my mistake was thinking there would ever be a right time to tell Laurel this whole thing—her engagement, her elopement, her insistence on running naked through the forest—is rushed at best and a colossal mistake at worst. “Don’t you think we should slow down and—”
“Charley.” She folds her arms across her chest. “This is my bachelorette party, and it’s my turn to bride card. I’m bride card–ing.”
I stare at her for a beat, then two, but the look in my sister’s eyes is one I know well. No matter how I add it up, the answer will be the same: I’m taking my clothes off in the woods for the second time today. At this point, it’s an inevitability.
“When I’m charged for indecent exposure, I’m sure the judge will be persuaded by the bride card defense,” I whisper-yell through my teeth. “My underwear stays on.” We shimmy past a man in a neon vest and nothing else to step onto the back deck.
She loops her arm in mine. “Have I told you lately that I love you?” She bats her eyelashes at me.
I face the sky, basking in every ray of harsh daylight that’s still very much spilling through the summer foliage, and estimate how many friend requests I’ll receive tomorrow from strangers who know the exact placement of my areolas. My money’s on seven.
“I might hate you,” I grumble.
“You love me,” she chirps back.
Loving people might as well be an incurable disease.