WHEN LAST WE LEFT OUR HEROES…
For the record, whenever someone more than a decade your junior calls for shots, it’s probably in your best interest to say no.Sometimes it’s in your best interests to say, “Hell no.”But it is never,ever, in your best interests, especially if you need to be vertical in less than twelve hours, to say “Hell yeah!”and spend the next two hours slamming tequila with bikers and Bigfoot in a doublewide titty bar while your best friend and your priest forcibly abduct more than half a dozen men and turn them over to a shadowy religious strike team.
But my best interests are sometimes boring, and tequila never is.Which is why I found myself staring up at a pink-haired masochist way too early in the morning with a colossal hangover, what felt an awful lot like a new tattoo on my right butt cheek, and an incredible need to pee, puke, or poop.Not necessarily in that order.Or in any order whatsoever.
“Bubba, I am not holding your hair back while you vomit, so you’d better get yourself under control and into a shower pronto, or I will not be responsible for whatever Amy tells me to do to you.But you arenotgoing to be late for this wedding, no matter how hung over you are,” Geri said, glaring down at me.
That put everything into perspective for me.It was my wedding day.The single most important day of my life, when I was about to make a final, formal commitment to the woman I loved.In front of my friends, my family, and a bunch of other people Amy decided we should give a shit about.Or at least a bunch of people Amy decided we should feed for free.I rolled over, expecting to throw my feet out of the bed and kinda roll to my feet, only my feet didn’t drop like they were supposed to.Instead, my feet thumped into wooden planks, and I realized I was outside.On my deck.Flaton my deck, where I’d apparently spent the night.Or the morning.Again.
“What time is it?”I croaked.Something in the back of my mind made me think two o’clock was important.
“It’s almost eleven,” Geri said.
“Does that mean I have to get up now?”I asked.“I’m pretty sure I didn’t get to bed until…not long ago.”
“I’m pretty sure you didn’t, too,” Geri agreed.“But now you have a hair over three hours to scrub the stench and body glitter off, sober up enough to say ‘I do’ at the appropriate time, and haul ass to the church.Or your fiancée, who I love dearly, will probably shoot us both.And I’ve seen her shoot.She can dot the eye on a quarter from fifty yards with a pistol.”
She wasn’t wrong.I groaned again and rolled over, then used both hands to push myself up to my hands and knees.Fighting back another wave of nausea, I reached out for the porch railing and hauled myself to my feet.“Oof,” I said.“I think that last round of shots was a mistake.”
“I think the first round was probably a mistake, too,” came Skeeter’s voice from the top of my picnic table.He was laid out flat on his back, eyes squeezed tightly shut and both hands pressed to his temples.
“If the first round wasn’t, the second definitely was.”Father Matthew opened the sliding glass door and stepped out, looking rough but holding two steaming mugs.He handed one to me.“Coffee.”
“God bless you, Padre,” I groaned as I slurped the lava-hot black liquid.
“Pretty sure that comes with the collar,” Father Matt said with a half-smile.“I’ve already had my shower, so the bathroom is free.”
At the word “bathroom,” both my stomach and my bladder reminded me of their existence, so I staggered into the house, then down the hall to relieve myself.I hung a towel over the mirror so I didn’t have to see the evidence of my bad decisions, then carried my coffee back out to the den, where Geri and Matthew stood watching as Skeeter rattled around pots and pans in my cabinets.
“Bubba, where the hell is that big cast iron skillet your mama used to use?”he asked, his head half-buried in the warming drawer under the oven.
“I don’t have any idea,” I replied.“You know I don’t even heat up Pop-Tarts.Did you look in the dishwasher?”The looks I got from the three of them would make you think I told them to shoot the Pope right in front of the Vatican.
“You’re joking, right?”Father Matt asked.
“He’s not that funny,” Geri said, opening another cabinet and pulling out the frying pan.Skeeter pulled a dozen eggs out of the fridge and started cracking them into a big mixing bowl.
“Where’s Jarvis?”I asked, looking around.The door to the guest bedroom had been standing open, so he wasn’t in there.Nobody was on the couch, and I hoped to everything holy he hadn’t decided to crash in my bed.Of course, I couldn’t really remember anything after the fifth round of shots and the impromptu wrestling match between me and three of the bikers.To be specific, I didn’t remember anything after the three of them body slammed me through a table.
“He slept in the truck,” Skeeter said.
“In the truck?”I asked.I didn’t have any real objection to somebody sleeping in my truck, but we’d had a lot to drink, and I had some serious objections to anybody puking in my truck.
“In the bed,” Geri said.“He’s alive.I checked his pulse as I walked past.”
“Okay, good.Then I’m gonna go take a shower,” I said, heading back toward the bathroom.
“Good call,” Geri said.“You all smell like cheap booze and cheaper strippers.And Bubba?”
“Yeah?”
“Clean underwear.With no holes.This is your wedding.”
I turned around and grinned at her.“If there ain’t no holes in my underwear, how am I supposed to put ‘em on?”
* * *
Twenty minutes later, I smelled better, which was something of a double-edged sword.On the one hand, I didn’t smell like dollar store cigarettes and bad decisions.But on the other hand, I could smell the rest of my bachelor party, and they wereripe.Barry walked in as the platter of bacon hit the table, looking fresh as a daisy and smelling like pine trees.
