Since they were busy hating things, and the couple on my other side had their hands full itemizing all the waystheirdaughter’s wedding was better, I occupied myself with people-watching. It wasn’t my intent to immediately catch sight of the best man as he stood at the head of a long table near the dance floor, one knee dropped onto a seat and his huge hands flying as he told a story.
He was expressive in a way that engulfed his whole body. Energy and emotion rolled off him in waves, and even from here I could tell he had the entire table hanging on his every word. I was half convinced I could walk right up to him and wring enough of that charisma out of his bow tie to fill a champagne flute. It was just that thick.
“Have you heard about the dead bodies in the lake?”
I whirled around to blink at the man beside Meri. “I’m sorry.Whatare we talking about now?”
Meri waved me off, saying, “No. Tell me everything.”
His brown eyes twinkled behind wire-rimmed glasses. “The water is very cold and very deep, and anyone who goes missing out there—for whatever reason—is often extremely well-preserved,” he said, and I had some big questions about the enthusiasm in his tone. “But the crazy part is that these bodiesdon’t usually sink to the bottom like you’d expect. Atmospheric pressure competes with the pressure of the water’s depth to keep these bodies suspended in a band around three to four hundred feet below the surface. They call it the Tahoe Dance Floor.”
As I said, “Oh my god,” Meri said, “That’s the most bizarrely morbid story I’ve ever heard at a wedding.”
The guy gave a goofy little wiggle of his shoulders like he was tickled by this fact. That was when I realized he was not Meri’s usual type. Though he was dressed in a dark suit that was mostly well-tailored, he had an academic scruffiness to him that brought to mind tweed blazers and khaki pants forever dotted with ink stains. His hair was floppy-curly and his short beard would’ve appreciated a more aggressive approach to its maintenance. He was the kind of guy who, at first glance, seemed a good ten or fifteen years older than us, but upon closer inspection probably landed closer to forty. He seemed kind, if not a bit odd, and the gaze he leveled at Meri was much too fond for anything he’d get in return.
If she’d noticed this, she didn’t care because she shifted closer to him, asking, “So, are we talking accidents or is there an organized crime element here?”
He leaned in, his elbow sliding against her forearm and his eyes bright. I could almost hear his heart rate kick up at her interest. “There are stories about both that will blow your mind.”
I tried to give her the kind of look that would askwhat the hell are you doing to this sweet, nerdy, inevitably clingy guy?but she was already too entranced to notice.
She was determined to break the curse of that dress.
Right after the second course dishes were cleared, the best man stepped onto the dance floor, microphone in hand. I leaned back in my chair, crossed my legs. I knew this was going to amuse the hell out of me.
“Hello, everyone,” he started, that sunshine-in-the-morning smile beaming across the tent. “I’m Henry. I’m the best man though I’ll argue that title should go to Mason because he’s the best of all of us. I’m just lucky he lets me tag along.”
“It’s not that easy to get rid of you,” Mason shouted, giving rise to a chorus of chuckles from the crowd.
“Is that why you’re always leaving me on the side of the road all these years?” Henry ran a hand through his dark hair as he blew out a breath. “I thought you were teaching me some kind of advanced survival skills. Hide-and-seek on steroids. Wow. I’m reevaluating everything now.”
“You’re supposed to be the smart one,” Mason teased. “I assumed you knew.”
Henry scratched the back of his neck. “Right, and I’m supposed to say nice things about you now. Awesome. Thanks for the heads up, man.”
My cheek twitched and I was stunned to realize I was smiling.
“Personal revelations about my alleged best friend aside, we are here tonight at this”—he gestured to the flowers hanging from the tent and the velvet-swaddled band—“cosplay carnival of conspicuous consumption to celebrate Florrie and Mason.”
A few of the bridesmaids glanced to each other, their brows furrowed and their faces pulled into taut smiles as if they couldn’t decide whether to laugh. I wasn’t one hundred percent certain, but it seemed like the father of the bride was cracking his knuckles.
“And what a beautiful day to celebrate these crazy kids,” Henry went on as he strolled across the dance floor. “It doesn’t get much better than this. I mean, look at all of this. This is…it’s really something.”
He waved a hand at the seven-tier cake and the accompanying groom’s cake in the shape of some kind of dog. Iloved cake and I especially loved the whimsy of groom’s cakes, but I always had mixed feelings about eating a slice of the family pet. It didn’t land quite right for me. Even worse when it was red velvet.
“It’s important to remember the good times,” Henry continued, his knuckles scraping over his closely trimmed beard. “Nights like this, they’re special.”
“Please tell me you don’t intend to wing this entire speech,” I whispered.
That was exactly what he did. He meandered through an assortment of his favorite memories with Mason, all of which started with “Remember the time we almost got arrested?” or “How about that time we got drunk and lost in the woods?” before hitting a punch line or landing on a sentimental note.
But as someone who’d heard a whole bunch of best man speeches in the past few weeks plus the past ten years, it was clear he hadn’t thought out this toast or had any particular throughline in mind. He rambled, dropping platitudes and saying nothing, but he was so damn magnetic while doing it that no one seemed to mind. And he couldn’t seem to keep his hands out of that thick, wavy hair.
Until he said, “And you know, nothing lasts forever so you really need to squeeze all the juice out of this while you can. Who knows? The next go-round probably won’t have all these bells and whistles.”
Six hundred people fell silent at once and that sound sliced like a long, brutal paper cut. Florrie’s father shot to his feet while Mason sighed up at the flower chandeliers. One of the grandmothers asked, “What did he say? What’s happening? A merry-go-round? Here, at the wedding?” Florrie laughed, loud and fake, while squeezing her husband’s hand. A beat passed before the maid of honor shuffled across the dance floor, her shoes long discarded and an arm cradling her pregnant belly.
“Someone get her a chair,” I said under my breath.
