41. Will
WILL
Andy tossed the tabloid onto the hard leather sofa. His face was so pale that his freckles looked like a child’s splatter painting. He usually ignored the trash written about him, but today he was especially sensitive.
“What if it’s right?” he said. “What if the real reason I’m marrying Nandi is because she’s the only woman in the world hotter than Mom?”
“This article is bullshit.” Enrique shoved me aside and fussed with his bowtie in the mirror.
His tux was mint green, making him look like a shamrock shake with muscles.
“Your mom’s still pretty hot, and she’s old.
It’s like comparing apples and old apples.
We’re going to have to level the playing field somehow. ”
He stepped away from the mirror, then turned to Andy.
“Maybe we can compare magazine covers from when they were the same age. We can spread them out and ask a random sample of a hundred men and lesbians to rate them. Or better yet, ask your dad where we can find that tribe where only the kids talk.”
I reminded myself that Enrique was a great guy. He gave half his money to charity, stuck up for Andy when his ex cheated on him with her backup dancer, and treated me like a real person.
But I didn’t have time for this nonsense. I had bigger things on my mind, like James lying to me for no good reason. Did he really think I’d care? The movie was based on his dead brother’s memoir; of course he’d want to be there. Fuck, had I known, I would’ve snuck him onto the set myself.
Ryan, who was probably going to give Theo a heart attack in his rose-colored tux, joined the fray. “Yeah, but what about generational bias? I mean, did they even have Photoshop back then?”
“Jesus Christ, who gives a shit who’s hotter?” I handed Andy his untouched glass of champagne. “You’re not marrying her because she’s hot. You’re marrying her because you’re in love and want to make a life together.”
Great, now I was second-guessing my wedding toast, which was on the topic of positive intent, an idea I’d stolen from a teaching workshop I attended in April. But Andy didn’t need tips on how to make his relationship last, especially from me. He needed validation.
There was a knock at the door, followed by Mom’s voice. “Are you decent?”
“Yeah, Mom. The circle jerk isn’t till later,” Andy said.
The door opened, and Mom swept into the room with the photographer. “We’re just going to snap a few candids before the ceremony. Pay no attention to us.”
Well, so much for giving Andy a pep talk. Though maybe smiling for the camera was just the distraction he needed.
The wedding planner and her team entered next, fanning out around us like a wake of vultures. “It’s go time, boys. Andy, you go with Teresa into the church. Groomsmen”—she pointed a long, bony finger at us—“follow me.”
Enrique clapped Andy on the back. “You got this, man. Just try not to get hard when you see Nandi.”
Panic flashed across Andy’s eyes, and he looked down at his crotch.
“If you do,” Ryan said, “I recommend covering it with a three-ring binder. Works every time.” He turned to one of the assistants, who was holding—wait for it—a three-ring binder. “Can we borrow that?”
Andy looked at me, as if to ask, “Should I take it, just in case?”
“Jesus Christ, you’re not going to get a boner in church.” I locked eyes with him and took several deep breaths until he did the same. “This is the coolest thing you’ve ever done, and that’s saying something. Remember that time you jacked off while skydiving? Just enjoy it, okay?”
Andy’s throat worked overtime, as if he were trying to swallow a brick. “Okay.”
We parted ways, and Andy looked far more likely to puke than pop wood. I had my own problems to deal with, though, like walking through a crowd of people who despised me.
“Holy shit.” Enrique’s tongue lolled out of his mouth as we met up with the bridal party in their corresponding teal, mint, and rose gowns.
A throat cleared, and we all turned to behold Nandi in her wedding dress.
Normally, I didn’t care for wedding dresses.
They all looked the same to me: beaded, lacy, and irresponsibly expensive.
But this one wasn’t bad. It was simple, modest even.
Knowing Nandi, it was probably made from something absurd, like the bleached bones of ivory poachers.
Still, she looked stunning in it, her glossy ebony hair cascading over her shoulders in thick waves.
Enrique dramatically covered his crotch. “Holy fucking shit. Ryan, binder, stat.”
“We go in two minutes,” the planner said, arranging us.
Of course, the moment we were lined up, the ring bearer had to pee.
And when he left, the flower girl burst into tears.
The planner told her to stop crying, or else she’d ruin her makeup.
But this only made her cry harder, so I led us all in a rousing rendition of “Down by the Bay” until the ring bearer returned.
Despite being a devout atheist, I felt humbled by the majesty of the cathedral’s sanctuary.
The red-carpeted aisle cut through rows of hard wooden pews, and thick columns of white marble propped up a domed ceiling painted with gold filigree.
Sharp beams of summer light fell through the long windows, lighting up motes of dust that would’ve made Roger, our cinematographer, come in his pants.
Heads turned as we entered, the guests cooing over the flower girl, who’d rebounded spectacularly from her tears and was now tossing petals like beads in a Mardi Gras parade, and snickering at the ring bearer, who’d forgotten to zip up his fly.
A few people whispered, “Is that William?” but that seemed to be the worst of it—at least for now.
I spotted James in the second row, and though I was still hurt and confused by his deception, I was touched, too.
Earlier, in the limo, he said he was scared, and I hadn’t thought to ask, “Of what?” Looking at his pleading gaze now, though, I knew the answer.
He was scared of losing me, which was new.
Other than Miles, Tiffany, Andy, and my students, everyone just seemed to want me to go away.
I tried to reassure him with a this-could-be-us-one-day smile, but his expression remained somber, like he was at a funeral, not a wedding. That was okay, though. As soon as we found a closet, I’d put things right.