“He did. And yet I have no tacos.” He shot three more photos of Scott, who was looking dangerously into the lens of the camera. What a goofball. “Smile, Scott. I can’t sell these photos on OnlyFans if you’re not smiling.”
“Oh,please. Fans appreciate variety.” He posed again. “Oh my god, Jay. Stop.” It became increasingly obvious to anyone who was watching the two that Scott actually did not want Jay to stop and was posing quite handsomely with every snap. “Also, good to know your being kuripot hasn’t changed.”
“Makwentamight be the better word.” Mon’s little dimples popped up in his amusement. “Someone who keeps score. Jay’s not a penny pincher.”
“Gago.” Jay chuckled, lowering his camera and shaking his head. Reviewing the images made him laugh, because it was Scott, and it was impossible to take a bad photo of him, especially when he was in a barong that fit him perfectly, in a venue that screamed “casual fancy” behind him. He was shooting in black and white today, playing with lighting, capturing casual and ceremonial moments without taking away from the formalities of the wedding. It had taken him forever to settle on which camera to shoot with, but this was a good choice.
Scott held out his hands in a “gimme” gesture, and Jay handed him the camera to review the photos.
“Ooh. I do look good. If you’re putting that up, I want a cut. Ten percent.”
“You’re lowballing yourself. Forty.” Sure, most of his photos of this joyous occasion were now of Scott fooling around with the decor and foliage, but it still suited. The beauty of bringing around a camera just for fun was that you could take stupid pictures of groomsmen while waiting for the taco stand at the pre-reception merienda to open up.
You can also hide from certain people. Jay looked around the ballroom quickly, scanning the room for a flash of burnt orange fabric, waiting for a chill to run down his spine at the sight of a certain seething someone. Nothing? Nothing? Excellent.
See, he was not, as David said, a “scaredy-cat.” Because scaredy-cats would have said no to being a secondary sponsor of the wedding in fear of the maid of honor.(Jay had done an excellent job looping a cord around David’s neck at the church, which he thought was appropriate for the life his friend was choosing.) Scaredy-cats would have booked it back to Manila the second the wedding was over, duty fulfilled. But Jay was not a scaredy-cat.He was a mature thirty-five-year-old adult, taking stupid photos of his hot friends.
“Or better yet,” Jay began, but he and Scott were clearly of the same singular brain cell and the both of them said, “Sixty-nine,” at the same time.
“Four. That’s how old the two of you are.” Mon chuckled.
“Three, that’s the number of hours we’re still stuck here.” Scott groaned, drooping backward into his chair and pretending to melt into it. “Five. The number of hours I slept last night.”
“That’s not too bad…?” Mon pointed out.
“I need seven hours of beauty sleep, Moning. You know this.”
“Bored, that’s what we are,” Jay said, holding up a little V with his thumb and index finger in a pogi pose as Scott took his photo. “But still looking good.”
“I’ve been smiling and taking pictures for the wedding photographers for several hours. My face is glued like this permanently now, and I can’t sue for emotional damage because I agreed to be David’s groomsman,” Scott complained. “This is what happens when I’m hired for my face card.”
“It’s a good face.” Jay shrugged, taking his camera back to take more photos. On a scale of one to ten, how bored were they? “So if you’re the visuals of the wedding party, what does that make Mon?”
“Power forward,” Mon said, now cradling a beer in one hand and looking at his phone.
“Is that soccer or basketball?” Jay asked, frowning. “I don’t do sports.”
“The photographers asked more than once if Scott was the groom,” Mon added, and Scott groaned. Mon was always the picture of calm and stability, and his current pose showed it off. Jay took a couple of photos. “David thought it was hilarious.”
“Marina and her sisters, not so much.” Scott winced, and Jay failed to fight the slightly terrified laugh that burst from out of his throat.He fumbled with his camera to pretend the sound he made was because of a camera thing. But Scott and Mon had known him since high school. It wasn’t easy to hide anything from them, which he added to the list of things that sucked about being at this wedding in particular. “Huh. Moning, you were right.”
“I told you.” The tone of Mon’s voice had not changed at all, barely looking up from his phone. “Jay’s terrified of one of Marina’s sisters. But I don’t know which.”
“I’m not—”
“Is that why you aren’t a groomsman?” Scott asked, and his ears practically perked up at the possibility of chismis. “Hala, hala. Demoted to cord sponsor despite being the one closest to David.”
“Did you guys notice the flower arrangements have a little sprig of purple?” he asked suddenly, pretending to be very distracted by the abundance in flowers in the reception. Sometimes changing the topic worked wonders on his friends. “It wasn’t in the invitation, and it’s not in the theme color. I wonder why.”
“Maybe you should ask Marina.” Oooh, Scott waspushinghis buttons. Jamming his finger into them repeatedly like a naughty child who was told not to. Jay narrowed his eyes at his friend, but Scott was too busy pressing imaginary buttons to pay him any attention. “Or wait, isn’t her Ate a florist? Is that why she looked familiar?”
“I was thinking she looked familiar, too,” Mon agreed. “Jay? Thoughts?”
“I have no thoughts. David didn’t say why I wasn’t a groomsman?” Jay wondered out loud, deflecting, because he absolutely knewwhyMara Barretto’s face was familiar, but he was never, ever going to tell his friends. Guilt was a meal that kept you full, like when you force fed yourself amaplaya because it was literally the only thing on the table. Blergh. “He’s usually chismoso about these things.”
“He said it would make sure you were free to take your photographs,” Mon said, because Mon was also secretly a chismoso about these things. “And while I think you’re an amazing photographer—”
“I’m not a photographer.” Jay made a noise that was half laughter, half scoff, waving his friend away. He wasn’t delusional enough to think that he was better than the people literally paid to photograph David and Marina’s wedding. He held up his little digicam. This particular Fujifilm was not the top of the line, but it was reliable, and on sale when he bought it. “It’s a point and shoot. All you have to do is point, and shoot. Not exactly a skill issue.”
