Nick
“Yeah, let’s all cheer on Nick,” Chris continued, “Who’s only here because the titty bar down the street doesn’t open until nine.”
Chris kept talking after that, but I tuned him out. Suddenly, the fake lacy pattern on my paper placemat seemed a lot more interesting that what was going on around me. I knew people were staring at me, staring at the stupid idiot that was taking the beloved daughter away from the Hills of Hick Hell, silently blaming me with their eyes for not being Brian, lord of the rednecks.
"Dude, snap out of it."
J was pressing hard on my foot, so hard in fact that my eyes were watering without me realizing it. I blinked rapidly.
"You gonna let him get away with that?" he asked increduously.
I glanced up. Chris' wife, the maid of honor who had just given the lovely speech about Heather's dream of moving to Long John Silvers (or something - I hadn't been paying attention), was clinging to Chris' elbow, whispering furiously at him. Marietta had downed her glass of wine, starting in on Mr. J's glass. Mr. J. looked like he kinda wanted to be back at the hospital...or at least anywhere but there.
And Heather--
Where was Heather?
"Where'd she go?" I asked.
"See?" Chris barked. "He doesn't even realize his fiance ran off upset because he's a maggot scrotum."
I had been called a lot of things in life, but never a maggot scrotum. My chair crashed to the floor as I stood up.
"Take it back," I hissed.
"Or what? You wouldn't hurt yourself over my sister. She's not worth that much to you, is she?"
"Christopher, please, this is our family," Marietta said in a loud whisper. Chris lifted Sandra's glass and downed it.
"You're right, ma. This is our family. And where's Nick's? Oh, that's right. No one in his family can stand him. They don't care that you're ruining our family now because you've already fucked yours up. Is that right?"
I had never understood the phrase 'seeing red' until that second. Suddenly, Chris was bathed in this fiery glow. It was like a target. I scrambled over the table, ignoring the old lady shriek of Heather's grandma. My hands clutched Chris' jacket lapels and we went toppling to the floor.
"Get him Nick!" AJ shouted.
"I'm gonna keel you, J! Grab him!" D shouted.
"I hope Heather wised up and ran off," Chris said, dodging my swing. He grabbed my wrist and twisted. My knee connected with his hip and we rolled around on the ground, our clothes picking up discarded pieces of chicken skin like giant lint rollers.
"If I marry her only to piss you off, I'll be a happy man," I said, just loud enough for him to hear.
"Why you--"
J and D must have finally quit their bickering because they were the ones to scoop us off the ground. AJ did a pretty crummy job of holding me back, doing it more for show than for good cause. Howie went to work smacking the food crumblies off Chris' jacket. I pointed at him, feeling the blood still boiling under the surface.
"You are the brother-in-law from hell," I announced.
"I'm not your brother-in-law yet. And it will be a cold day in hell before I ever claim you."
We both spat at the same time. The globs landed on the ground. Marietta buried her face in her hands.
"Spitting! In a chateau!" she wailed.
I was about ready to tackle Chris again after the spit ritual, but I really did like Marietta too much to do it. Instead, I plucked a green bean off my shoulder and shook J's hand completely off.
"I need to find Heather," I said.
"She probably ran to the bathroom," D offered. "I'll help you look."
"I'll stay here and play damage control," J offered. I saw him give a longing glance at the chicken he had left on his plate. D grabbed the cuff of my jacket.
"Just walk outside before this family kills you," he said, his lips barely moving. I was about to turn around to see exactly how many people were glaring at me, but D moved me forward.
"This is going to be a lovely story to tell your children," he said. Our dress shoes made a loud racket on the hard wooden floors as we headed off towards what would be the real reception hall.
"We're not having children," I said. "Heather's gonna get fixed."
D stopped. "Fixed? Did you just say fixed?"
I didn't want to repeat it. Her lack of emotion when she told me still made me feel all guilty. She had actually told me she didn't want to take care of two children - meaning a baby...and me. Ouch.
"Yeah, that's what I said."
"Nick, she's not a dog."
I ran my hand through my hair. At this point, there wasn't enough wine in the world to motivate me to get into any more arguments.
"You're right," I said.
"I'm right?" D asked. I couldn't remember the last time I had actually told him he was right about something. I held up a hand as I looked behind a heavy dark red curtain. No Heather.
"Yeah, you heard me. You're right. And Heather's lost. So help me find her... So I can keep being wrong."
Heather
I sat down on a crate labeled Merlot and hugged my knees to my chest, burying my face into the folds of my dress. I didn’t care if the mascara destroyed the fabric. I didn’t care about much at that moment. When the hell had everything fallen apart? Like six months ago, in February, I’d been blissfully happy. I’d been waiting for Nick to propose, waiting for this night. I’d dreamed of it every day, and the dreams hadn’t included Brian.
“Kiddo?” I heard the foot fall on the steps and suddenly Brian was there. He pulled the door at the foot of the stairs closed behind him as he crossed the room and knelt down in front of me. His hands landed on my waist and I lowered my knees to stare into his eyes. Brian stared up at me. “Are you okay, sweetie?”
Tears like Niagra Falls started falling down my face. “No,” I whispered.
Brian got up and sat next to me and I leaned back into him and he held me close to him, his chin resting on my head. He hummed quietly, a song that at first I didn’t recognize. It had been so long since I’d heard it…
It was an old country song, older than either one of us, a song that my father had on vinyl, and then a cassette tape when we were little. It had always seemed like a silly song, until now. I closed my eyes as Brian slowly, quietly began singing it under his breath.
“You give your hand to me and you say hello, and I can hardly speak.. my heart is beating so… and anyone could tell. You think you know me well.. but you don’t know me…” He rocked me gently. “No you don’t know the one, who dreams of you at night, who longs to kiss your lips and longs to hold you tight… to you I’m just a friend, that’s all I’ve ever been… but you don’t know me.”
“Brian,” I whispered.
He has eyes closed.
“Afraid and shy, I let my chance go by… the chance you might have loved me too…”
“Brian…”
“You give your hand to me, and then you say goodbye, and I watch you walk away, beside the lucky guy… to never, ever know… the one who loves you so… no you, don’t know me.”
When he’d finished, he stayed silent, still holding me close to his chest, still with his eyes closed and those tiny tears sneaking out of the corners of his eyes. He’d held me like this once before, sung that song once before. The day our old dog had died and I’d fallen apart. He’d held me on the porch swing at his mom’s and rocked us gently and made me feel so much better. The song hadn’t meant anything to me then, but now, looking back, I wondered.
“Brian,” I whispered.
His eyes creaked open.
“Do I know you?”
“No. You don’t.”
Brian
“No. You don’t.”
Heather was shaking in my arms. “I don’t?”
“You don’t.”
She stood up. “Why now? Why not before? Why not when Chris told you?” she asked, her eyes filling with tears. “Why did you wait until now, the night before the wedding, to tell me this stuff?” she shook her head, “Brian, you waited too long, you’re too late now.” She went to the door, her face crumpled and grabbed the handle.
She shook the handle.
She kicked the door.
Heather turned to me, her face pale. “Brian,” she hissed, “The door’s locked.”
“What?”
“We’re locked in.” She grabbed the handle again and yanked. “Oh my God. We’re locked in a cellar.”
I stood up and went up behind her, grabbed the handle myself and pulled. She was right. It really was locked. “Crap,” I muttered.
“Oh my God, we’re locked in.” She turned, pressed her back against the door of the cellar and slid to the floor, her dress pouffing out around her.
I jiggled the lock.
Heather covered her face.
I kept fiddling with the lock.
“Why didn’t you tell me before?” Heather gasped suddenly, looking up at me.
I sat down next to her. “I did,” I said, “I sent you that letter.”
“The letter that said you loved me like a sister, yeah,” Heather said, rolling her eyes.
I stared at her, “What?”
“The letter, that day on Nick’s bus, when I was in the bathroom?” she said.
“Yeah,” I said, nodding, “I didn’t say anything about sisters in that letter,” I stammered, “I said I’ve loved you since we were little… that I… I wanted you to pick me.”
Heather’s eyes were so full of tears, they looked glassy. She took in a deep breath.
“You didn’t get that letter.”
Heather shook her head. “Brian… if I’d gotten that letter…” she swallowed, “I would’ve picked you.”
I stared at her. “You… you would’ve?”
“Brian, I’ve always loved you.”
“But you’re marrying Nick. You fell asleep…”
“What?”
“When I told you I loved you,” I said, “The night we almost had sex.”
“I was drunk, Brian.”
My throat felt heavy. I stared up at the ceiling. “Heather,” I whispered.
“What?”
“The night of the Whack-a-Mole.”
“Yeah?”
“If Nick hadn’t interrupted us… Were you going to kiss me?”
She stared at me.
A long, agonizing moment passed between us.
And suddenly Heather leaned forward, and our mouths locked. Her tongue slid between my lips and she was leaning into me. I leaned backwards into a case of Chardonnay and Heather was on top of me, her hands in my hair, mine on her back, and our mouths locked.
