She’s lying, but she isn’t my concern. “All right.” I take a step in the direction of my car but think twice. Looking back at her, I do the polite thing and offer her a ride.
“No, thanks. I ordered an Uber.”
I make the move to go again. “You sure?”
She nods once. “Absolutely positive.”
I don’t know why her tone bothers me, but it does. It’s like she doesn’t want to spend a minute more in my presence. And since I’m a stubborn asshole, I’ve got to find out why that is. Instead of heading to my car, I take the three or four steps back in her direction. “You sure?”
She rolls her eyes, and it makes me laugh. That’s the second or third time today she’s had me laughing. Not an easy feat, let me tell you.
“I’m sure.” She uses her hand and makes that shooing motion. “Go.”
“No.” I cross my arms. “I’ll wait with you.”
“I don’t need you to wait.” She glances at her phone. “It says right here that Stanley will be here in seven minutes.”
“Stanley?”
“Yep. Stanley in his two-thousand-eighteen Honda Civic. Blue. License plate…” She spells out. “A-S-S-M-A-N.”
“No way.” I chuckle and attempt to look over her shoulder to view her phone screen. “That’s not his plate.”
She snorts. Since I’ve heard her make that sound a number of times today, I know it’s her version of a laugh. “Of course not.” She giggles rather than snorts. I’ve got to say, it’s kind of cute. And contagious. I laugh again, and it feels good. I’m starting to think I’ve been missing something. And it’s because of this girl. This woman, Matilda.
When the blue Honda pulls up, she reaches for the door. I beat her to it. “See you tomorrow?” We’ve got to spend Sunday rehearsing that stupid dance again.
“Yep.” She slips into the car and reaches for the door handle to pull it closed, adding, “By the way.” She pauses. “You’d better be prepared. I overheard Vicky on the phone with Anthony. They’re planning something new.” And then the door shuts.
“What?” The question falls on deaf ears, because she’s gone. As the Uber pulls away from the curb, my sort-of smile washes away, replaced by my signature frown. “That fucker.” Not Matilda. My goddamn brother.
* * *
“You havegotto be shitting me.”
Except this time, when I say it, there’s nobody next to me—well, my brother Adrian, but what I meant to say is Matilda isn’t next to me. As a matter of fact, she’s nowhere to be found.
That’s when that woman, Madame something or other, claps. A chill runs down my spine at the sound because it means we’re starting. Not with the waltz. Nope. We’re going to work on that after we learn the fucking choreographed dance that we’ll do as we walk down the fucking aisle.
Yeah. That’s what I said.
A. Fucking. Choreographed. Dance.
I’m going to kill my brother.
That dance woman claps again. “Let’s begin. My assistant vill show vous zee steps.”
A young woman wearing a pink leotard and dance shoes steps into the middle of our circle. Next to her is a guy in black pants and a purple, satiny shirt that’s open to his navel, a laSaturday Night Fever.
“Okay, everyone.” Pink Leotard’s got a huge smile on her face. “Listen up.” She claps, and I’m wondering if that’s something all dance people do. “Groom’s side on the left, bride’s on the right.”
Like cattle, we all move to the side of the room she designates. Next, we’re asked to get into the order we’ll be going down the aisle, which means I end up between Angelo and Anthony. Anthony won’t make eye contact with me. I suppose he’s avoiding the inevitable. Might as well put him out of his misery. “I’m going to fucking kill you when this is over.”
“I’ll be in Hawaii.”
“Been there. I’ll find you.”
“Fuck.” Anthony’s face is bright red. “I told her not to do this, but she wants it.” His eyes finally meet mine. “Someday, you’re gonna meet someone who turns you inside out, and you’ll end up doing shit you never thought you’d do.”
