Just One of the Guys(107)
THE CHURCH HALL IS DECORATED with pink streamers and pink flowers. Pink balloons are tied in bundles to the concrete posts, and the DJ is setting up in the corner. It looks more like a seven-year-old girl’s birthday party than the wedding of two senior citizens. The Starahs cleverly hired a couple of high school girls to keep an eye on their broods, and the kids are running around, stuffing deviled eggs in their mouths and getting sugared up on Shirley Temples and root beer.
My plan is to have a large glass of wine as promptly as possible, but Mom forcibly introduces me to each and every one of Harry’s relatives and friends. By the time I sit down, my cheeks ache from fake smiling and my feet are killing me, encased in tombs of size-eleven kitten heels invented by a man whose mother must have beaten him daily to inspire such misogyny.
“How are you doing?” Angela asks, sliding next to me.
“Not that great,” I admit. “How about you?”
“Matt’s telling your father he’s leaving the fire department,” she murmurs, toying with a napkin.
“Kicking him when he’s down?” I suggest, looking over to where Matt and Dad sit, head to head, faces serious.
“Well, to be honest, Chastity,” Angela says gently, “your father doesn’t seem that unhappy.”
She’s right. That’s probably the most depressing thing of all. That, or Trevor’s face. He’s sitting in the corner table with Jack and Lucky and their many children, staring at the saltshaker, clearly lost in thought. Unhappy thought. At least he had the grace not to bring Perfect bleeping Hayden.
“Your brother wants to be a teacher,” Dad announces, thumping into the chair next to me. Matt sits down more gracefully next to Angela.
“And how do you feel about that, Dad?” I ask.
He eyes Matt. “I’m surprised, that’s all, son,” he says. “I thought you loved the fire department.”
“I do, Dad. But I want to try this, too.”
“Fine, fine,” he mutters. “If I’ve learned anything, it’s that you can’t keep a man away from the work he loves. Right, Chas?”
I roll my eyes and chug a little wine.
“Well, Matthew, you’ll be a great teacher. And a husband one day soon, if I’m not mistaken,” Dad announces heartily. I sputter some wine—so graceful, really; I should’ve been a princess.
“Excuse me?” I ask.
Angela’s face is bright red. Matt grins. “Well, we’re planning to get married. Nothing official yet, since I don’t have a ring and all that, but, well, I’m giving notice, Chas. Angie and I are moving in together.”
“Great!” I bark. “That’s just great. That’s just bleeping wonderful. So happy and all that crap.”
Angela’s face falls, and I’m immediately repentant. “Shit. Sorry, Ange. I am happy and all…” To my horror, I start to cry. “It’s just that…I’ll miss you, Mattie. So will Buttercup.”
“We’ll be two blocks away, Chas,” Matt says, putting his arm around Angela. “And I couldn’t do better than this girl, could I? Just think. Another sister-in-law.”
All four of my brothers, married. Everyone except me. Boohoohoo. I get up, hug them both, mess up Matt’s hair and give him a smack, then go to the bathroom to cry a little. There’s no respite, though, because my father bangs on the door. “Chastity! Your mother’s going to dance with my replacement,” he calls. “She wants you there.”
“Great,” I mutter at my reflection. Reaching into the bodice of my dress, I yank up my strapless bra and stomp out of the bathroom.
All the guests are gathered round the little dance-floor area. “Ladies and gentlemen,” the DJ says, and I resist the strong urge to stick a finger in my mouth and make a gacking sound. “Appearing for the first time as man and wife, Mr. and Mrs. Harry Thomaston!”
Everyone claps—even sulky little old me—as they take to the floor. The song is Norah Jones’s cover of the beautiful Hoagy Carmichael song, “The Nearness of You.”
Harry is smiling besottedly at my mother, and she grins back, and suddenly, her happiness breaks through my thorny, sulking heart. She deserves this. She really does, and my eyes fill with tears—again—at the sight of her face.
“And now the bride and groom would like to invite the members of their families to join in,” the DJ oozes smarmily.
Of course, I don’t have a mate, I think as JacknSarah, LuckynTara, MarknElaina and MattnAngela drift out onto the floor. Jack leans down and kisses Sarah’s tummy, Lucky is making Tara laugh. Elaina and Mark are doing that hot staring thing they do with each other, looking like they’re about to burst into a pasa doblé or something. Matt has his cheek against Angela’s blond hair. What a gorgeous family, I admit. Harry’s two daughters are there somewhere, too, but I have to say our genetics are quite superior. What a great job Mom and Dad did!
“Come on, Porkchop,” Dad says, and leads me out to join them.
The familiar smell of my dad envelops me, Johnson’s baby shampoo and Old Spice, and I lean my cheek on his shoulder. “Are you okay, baby?” Dad asks. “Your mother told me about Ryan.”
“So much for her vow of silence,” I mutter.
“Are you?”