“I’m pretty sure there’ll be a different kind of blowing in a couple of hours, and Shane will learn a whole new set of feelings.”
Shocked laughter spread throughout as our friend group hooted and others tried to decide if laughter was appropriate.
Mike went on, “Now, Shane asked me to keep this clean, which is challenging because most of my stories about him involve power tools, questionable safety practices, and at least one incident with a circular saw that we’ve all agreed never to mention in polite company.”
Shane was already turning red.
“But what I can tell you is this: I’ve known Shane as long as Mateo. We met him on the same day, at the same craft fair, with the same hopeless dream of getting Mateo’s television off the floor for all time. Yeah, there’s a story for ya.”
The crowd chuckled politely, though I wondered how many actually knew the tale of how the pair met.
“In all that time, I’ve never seen Shane smile the way he does when Mateo walks into a room. It’s like watching a piece of furniture finally find its perfect spot in the house. And trust me, as someone who’s helped one member or another of our little family move approximately seventeen times, I know the importance of things fitting exactly where they belong.”
Mike raised his glass with a grin.
“To Shane and Mateo—may your love be as enduring as Shane’s collection of wood glue, and may your fights be as brief as Mateo’s attention span during horror movies. Cheers!”
After the applause died down, Matty bounced up to the microphone, his platinum curls catching the fairy lights as he beamed at the wedding party.
“Oh my God, hi everyone! Isn’t this just the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen? I literally cried seven times today, and we haven’t even gotten to the good part yet!” He dabbed at his eyes dramatically. “So, I’ve known Mateo since we were both terrible at dating and even worse at adulting, and let me tell you, watching him fall for Shane was like watching a Disney movie come to life. Except with more anxiety and significantly better abs.”
Matty reached down and pretended to pull Shane’s tux shirt up so everyone could see the aforementioned abs.
A chorus of “take it off” had to be waved down.
“Matthew,” Mike warned from his seat, but he was smiling.
“What? I’m being supportive! Anyway, the first time Mateo described Shane to me, he spent forty-five minutes talking about his hands. Just his hands! I was like, ‘Honey, either you’re developing a very specific fetish or you’re falling in love with a carpenter.’ Turns out it was both!” The crowd erupted in laughter while Shane covered his face. “But seriously, you two are proof that opposites attract, that love conquers all, and that somewhere in the universe, there’s a perfect person for everyone—even if that person happens to be a strong, silent type who communicates primarily through furniture construction and animalistic grunts.”
As Matty finished his toast, the crowd applauded and began turning back toward their respective table guests.
But that was when Mrs. H stole the show.
She rose from her seat with the bearing of someone about to address Parliament, tapping her fork against her wine glass with enough force to crack the crystal.
“If I may have your attention, you beautiful disasters,” she announced, her voice carrying easily across the reception area. “I have something to say about love and marriage and the general foolishness of the human heart.”
Shane and Mateo exchanged a glance that suggested they were already regretting whatever was about to happen.
“Marriage,” Mrs. H continued, “is like attempting to assemble IKEA furniture while blindfolded and slightly drunk. You think you know what you’re doing, you’re pretty sure you have all the pieces, and inevitably someone ends up crying in the corner wondering why the hell they thought this was a good idea.”
The crowd was already chuckling, but she was just getting started.
“But every once in a while—veryrarely—you end up with something that doesn’t fall apart the first time you sit on it. Something sturdy and functional and occasionally even beautiful. And these two idiots”—she gestured toward the happy couple with her wine glass—“have managed to build themselves something that will probably last longer than most people’s wet dreams.”
Mateo fell forward, his head landing on his arms now folded on the table. Shane simply covered his face with paws larger than Smokey the Bear’s mitts.
Mrs. H paused to take a sip from her glass—though I was beginning to suspect that what she’d been calling “tea” all evening contained significantly more alcohol than actual tea leaves.
“Now, I know what you’re all thinking. ‘Mrs. H, what do you know about marriage? You’re a crazy old Scottish woman whothreatens people with kitchen knives and makeshaggisthat could be classified as biological warfare.’”
“We weren’t thinking that,” Mateo called out, earning laughter from the crowd. “But you’re not wrong.”
“Of course you were, you lying bastard . . . but let me tell you something about love, since I’ve been married more times than there are men at this gathering.”
That wasn’t true. She’d only been married once. But she wasn’t Scottish either, so there was that.
She turned to face Shane and Mateo directly.
