17. Reid
Reid
“Why are you so…chipper?” I ask as we drive to wedding number three out of four. Though it kind of only feels like wedding two. Wedding one, Justin’s wedding, wasn’t part of our deal. Only AJ, Nick, and Drew are part of the deal, which makes this feel like wedding two…but I digress.
“I am excited about this wedding,” Quinn says, and I can’t help but notice her wrestling with her dress. It’s a deep burnt orange, flowy and floor length and the bodice looks almost like a bra. A bra that her B cups don’t seem to want to stay inside of, hence the wrestling.
“Is there a wedding that doesn’t excite you?
” I mumble as I drive at a snail’s pace through the woods.
This wedding in the Catskill Mountains, which doesn’t surprise me.
This is Nick and Ophelia’s wedding, after all.
What does surprise me is that they failed to mention needing four-wheel drive to get to said wedding.
My Mercedes isn’t made for this, and my mood is dropping with every inch of altitude we gain.
“No,” she smiles. “But this one I have secretly been looking forward to the most,” she says, still fussing with that damned dress. “It’s boho,”
“It’s in BFE, is what it is,” I say.
“You don’t like the mountains?” she asks.
“I don’t like off-roading in my car,”
“You’re always so grumpy,” she says.
“And you’re always so–can you knock it off?” I snap.
“Knock what off?” she asks, clearly oblivious to what her boob jostling is doing to me. It’s kind of hard to focus on not hitting a pothole with the potential of ripping out my power steering when Quinn’s breasts have the potential to rip through her dress.
“Fussing with the dress,” I tell her. “Why did you wear it if your tits won’t stay put?” I ask.
But Quinn just smiles. “Because they look good in it,” she says, and I make no response.
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but they’re not very big.
” Still no response. “No one likes small boobs,” she goes on.
“They need all the help they can get. And this dress,” she tugs on it again. “Does a good job of that.”
“Not if they don’t stay put,” I say, and Quinn just shakes her head. She’s still smiling. Still excited about the wedding. And still trying to get her dress under control.
After another grueling thirty minutes that should have been ten, we finally make it to the wedding spot, which is nothing more than a clearing in the trees near a stream.
While there is a large, cabin-esque event hall, Nick and Ophelia chose a wooden area no less than a ten-minute walk from there.
It’s damp, dirty and going to fuck up my three-hundred-dollar shoes.
“Take them off,” Quinn says as we get out of the car.
“I’m good, but thank you for caring about fine Italian leather,” I tell her, checking my phone before shoving it in my pocket. Then I smack a mosquito that landed on my neck, no doubt leaving a bloody squash on my skin.
I am not a camping man.
There is a reason I live in the city.
“That wasn’t a suggestion,” she says as she slips out of her sandals. “Didn’t you read the invite?”
“That’s what I have you for,” I joke, but she’s not smiling. Not until she says the words she knows are going to make my skin crawl.
“There is a strict no-shoes policy,” she reminds me.
Fuck. That’s right. I do vaguely remember her saying that. I just didn’t think that we would be barefoot in the woods.
But I do it anyway. For Nick, who, despite his absurd wedding regulations, is still one of my best friends. And also to prove to Quinn that I’m not easily shaken. Even when I step it something squishy that seeps between my toes the moment my shoe-less foot hits the ground for the first time.
“This is so beautiful,” Quinn says as she tugs me down the path towards where we will be sitting.
“Which part? The mosquitos intent on eating us alive or the thorns we keep stepping on?”
“Oh, hush,” she says, and I flinch as I trip over a tree root. “This is beautiful because it’s simple. There’s no glamour. There’s no flash. There’s no vaulted ceilings or marble floors,”
“I thought you liked vaulted ceilings and marble floors,” I say, referring back to AJ’s wedding just two weeks ago.
“For that bride and groom, yes. Because it was what they wanted. Because it symbolized them. But this, this is Nick and Ophelia. The trees. The flowers. The stream.”
“The bugs,” I say, and she swats at me. And there is something about the way she does it that tempts my lips to smile. But I am not an easily tempted man.
“This is wild, isn’t it?” Drew asks, coming out of the literal, natural woodwork with Cassidy on his arm and falling into step with us.
“Not the first that came to my mind, but sure,” I say.
“I think it’s fun,” Cassidy says with a smile, and I turn to Quinn, realizing they haven’t been introduced. But before I can say anything, Quinn does it herself.
“I’m Quinn,” she says, holding her free hand out to Cass.
“Drew told me all about you! I’m so happy Reid has finally found someone good for him,” she smiles back, and as much as I hate to admit it, she is a good match for Drew. She’s sweet, and if anyone deserves sweet, it’s Drew.
“I don’t know about good for him,” Quinn says, flashing me a look that is both sweet and salty.
“Okay. A woman who can handle him then,” Cass says, and both Drew and Quinn laugh. Even I crack a smile.
As we walk and talk and joke and banter, Quinn’s hand clasps mine even more tightly. And I almost forget that I am barefoot.
The ceremony is small for a man who knows hundreds of people.
Less than fifty people stand in a circle around the couple as they say their vows.
Ophelia’s dress is an off-white lace, off the shoulders, muddied around her bare feet.
No veil. No makeup. Just a simple dress, her brown wavy hair, a bouquet I am convinced she picked from the mountain itself, and a smile on her face as she gazes up at Nick with tears in her eyes.
Quinn sniffs but makes no attempt to dry her cheeks, which are rivers of tears as she watches my friend and his now-wife say their vows. And I find it almost interesting how she can have so much emotion for the happiness of people she doesn’t even know.
After the vows and the paper signing, we all take seats at a long table brought in for every person to sit at.
The seats, mind you, are log stumps. The table is lit with tea-light candles, floating in bowls of flowers and leaves.
The food is charcuterie-style, with platters holding the entrees from the invite as well as dozens of other dishes.
I don’t know what a single dish is aside from fruits and vegetables.
But I will admit one thing…it all looks damn good.
“What is that?” I ask Quinn as she drags a crostini through a white paste and pops it into her mouth.
“Cheese spread,” she says.
“Why the emphasis on cheese?” I ask.
“Because cheese isn’t vegan,” she answers as her eyes graze the food in front of us.
“Then what is it?” I ask again.
“Probably cashew,” she says, and I narrow my eyes down at what literally looks like creamy goat cheese.
“Cashew?” I repeat.
“Yep. Try it,” she says. And while I am not convinced (I don’t see the point in eating something that mimics cheese instead of just eating cheese), I am also not a picky person. And I’m never easily intimidated.
So I take a crostino, dip it into the cheese, even top it with a marinated yellow pepper, and pop it into my mouth.
“Hmm,” I murmur as I chew.
“Hmm good? Or hmm, bad?” she asks.
I continue to chew but nod in approval. Because, believe it or not, it’s delicious. Creamy, nutty, rich.
“What did I tell you?” she asks with a contented smile. Then, as she takes a sip of her white wine, she crinkles her perfect nose at me, a gesture that is undeniably both flirty and cute.
After dinner and a cake that apparently was made without eggs, dairy or even refined sugar and yet is also, miraculously, delicious as well, we head back to the ceremony circle for dancing.
As Nick said, he, Ophelia, and their band are on the small makeshift stage, surrounded by fairy lights.
It’s a simple setup. Just him with an acoustic guitar, her with a miracle of sorts, a banjo.
It’s so simple that if it weren’t for the vows I just witnessed, I wouldn’t believe it was even a wedding.
“I want to dance,” Quinn says suddenly. But she doesn’t wait for me.
She just takes off, twirling into the group of people all swaying and spinning to the music, barefoot in the mud.
For a moment, all I can do is watch her.
The hem of her dress is drenched in mud, just like the bride’s.
Just like everyone else. And none of them care.
None of them care about the bugs or the fact that the air is wet and their clothes are dirty.
Or that everything smells like citronella because it wards off bugs without the harsh chemicals of aerosol bug sprays.
And I’m not surprised that was forbidden too.
As Quinn dances, she doesn’t care about anything.
Including the fact that her dress doesn’t know how to keep her breasts at bay.
And I’m not the only one who seems to notice.
Every man who isn’t wrapped around a hippy dress wearing girl on the dance floor, is staring at those breasts and her dress’s inability to retain them.
One even has the balls to say something about it.
“She has an ass that won’t quit, but that rack is going to shut this party down, whoever she is,” the stranger says.
And with that, I close the space between her and me, trudging across the wet soil but ignoring the way it feels between my toes, until I am standing in front of her like a brick wall.
“Have you come to dance with me, Lawyer Reid?” she asks, still swaying.
“I came to take you away,” I tell her. “Whisk you off into the night,”
“How romantic,” she says, and her words smell like wine.
“Something like that,” I tell her, taking her hand and pulling her off into the trees.