It was obvious I’d have to wait for that minute. She was busy flitting around the deck, never far from Grace or another one of her friends. The smile plastered on her face was entirely fake, and the way she threw herself into one conversation after another with various members of the bride or groom’s extended family reminded me of the way she listened intently when her students told her extremely random, disjointed stories. She never stopped messing with the flower centerpieces on eachtable or straightening the place settings or tapping a finger in the air to count chairs, of all things.
As if I didn’t know it already, she was avoiding the fuck out of me.
“We should start a group chat,” Ben said. He’d positioned himself beside me at some point and only stopped with the rambling comments long enough to inhale another mountain of shrimp cocktail. “The three of us. Since our wives are all best friends.”
I dragged my gaze away from Emme—an older woman had her cornered near the bar while my wife nodded along—to eye Ben and the burly guy on his left. Didn’t know when he’d joined us. The jam farmer, then.
The burly guy came through with the save, asking, “Are there things we need to discuss?”
“We could help each other out,” Ben replied.
The other man speared Ben with a glance as he leaned over to me, his hand out. “I’m Shay’s husband. Noah Barden.”
“Ryan Ralston,” I said, shaking his hand. “Emme’s”—I swallowed hard as the wordhusbandstuck in my throat—“mine.”
“Congratulations on that,” Noah said. “Not a bad year for you, huh?”
I blinked at him as I slipped my hands into my pockets. Nothing existed outside my catastrophic fuck-ups. Then, in a distant corner of my mind, I remembered I’d won another Super Bowl and, as of yesterday morning, I was the co-owner of eight undeveloped pro soccer teams. “Yeah. Thanks,” I managed. “I’ve heard a lot about you. The jam farmer.”
“Emme would say that. That girl’s a hoot.” He gave a rough, rumbling laugh as he shook his head. “You’ve got your hands full there. I hope you know what you’re doing.”
I felt my face warm into something like a smile for the first time in days. It was like trying to speak a foreign language I barely knew. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”
“And that’s why we should start a group chat,” Ben said.
“I see where you’re going with this,” Noah said to him, “but I don’t spend much time on my phone.”
“That’s all right. Ralston and I can hold it down.” Ben clapped me on the shoulder and held his plate out to me. “Try the oysters. They’ll change your life.”
“I’m not touching anything here,” I said, nudging the plate away. “Emme’s severely allergic to shellfish.”
I sensed both men staring at me. I didn’t care. I was too busy trying to find my wife in the crowd. After a minute, I caught sight of her glossy hair as she squatted down to talk to a little girl.
“This is the last place she should be,” Noah said.
“Trust me,” I said with a brittle laugh, “I know.”
“Why?” he asked, motioning to a table covered with raw seafood. “Just…why?”
“Because she’s the best friend anyone could ever ask for,” I said. “Loyal beyond logic.”
“My aunt Linda is an impulse shopper,” Ben said. “She booked this place and plunked down a nonrefundable deposit and then surprised us with it a few months ago.” He rolled his neck from side to side, loud cracks punctuating each movement. “We tried to say no, but when we found out how much she’d already paid, there was nothing we could do except move the party up here and make sure they’d have something the Emster could eat.” He shot us a pair of pointed glances. “Getting married is supposed to be the happiest day of your life, but we sure as shit put a lot of time—and fuckin’ money—into keeping everyone else happy.”
“That’s why some of us elope,” Noah said, tapping his beer bottle to mine.
I nodded. “It has its merits.”
“This is the kind of advice that belongs in a group chat,” Ben said.
“You’re fucking relentless, man.” I rattled off my number. “Don’t make me regret this.”
Ben swung his expectant gaze at Noah. With an enormous eye roll, Noah followed suit. A second later, my phone buzzed with a new message.
“That’s from me,” Ben said, grinning. “You should see what I named our group.”
“Let’s save that surprise for later,” Noah said.
I nodded in agreement and went back to watching Emme. A woman around my mom’s age held Emme’s fingers, turning her hand this way and that to study her rings. I watched a soft, real smile spread across her face as she spoke and I felt a bit of the tightness in my shoulders flag.
