Slowly, a projector screen descended from the ceiling. When it stopped, an image appeared in surprisingly high resolution. It was a photo of Grant and Brynn, arms wrapped around one another and smiling broadly at the camera. Another photo flashed by, of Grant and Brynn aboard a sailboat, Grant at the helm with Brynn helping Stan to raise the sail.
This was a nightmare. Brynn was going to make a fool of herself, waxing poetic about love and honor and supporting one another, all while Reese knew her brother’s true colors. Her only consolation was that there were few people in the room privy to the information that she knew, and she hoped it stayed that way for Brynn’s sake.
Could Reese die, though, of secondhand embarrassment?Her skin was hot and itchy, and she wondered briefly if she was having some kind of allergic reaction. She looked down, expecting to see her skin mottled with hives, but she was presented with nothing more than a faint redness that looked far better than it felt.
The photos continued to play on a slow carousel when Brynn finally spoke. “Some of you may not know this, but earlier this year, I graduated with my PhD in modern analytic philosophy.”
Stan was already out of his chair, clapping wildly. “Yeah, you did,” he yelled toward her. “We’re so proud of you, honey!”
That earned another laugh from the crowd, which Stan tried to calm by shushing them as he returned to his seat.
“Thanks, Dad.” Brynn smiled broadly before continuing. “So what most people may not know about my area of study is that it’s deeply focused on logic, which I can honestly say went completely out the window when Grant swept me off my feet.”
Brynn flashed another affable smile, which earned her a few coos from the crowd.
Oh no. Was Reese going to vomit? She felt the bile rising in her throat, wondering if she should stand up and object to the wedding.
“You don’t put an objection out during the rehearsal dinner,” Sydney said in a low, fast rush of words that made Reese realize that she’d said, “I object,” out loud, under her breath.
“I’d say there’s never a good time to cause a scene, but better now than at the wedding itself,” Reese responded through gritted teeth.
Reese moved to stand up, but Sydney held tight to her thigh. “Whatever happens, this is Brynn’s life to live.”
Still agitated but no longer struggling against Sydney’s undeniably strong hand—she was really putting all those years of tennis to good use in this moment—Reese remained seated. Begrudgingly.
“But this summer,” Brynn continued, “as my wedding loomed on the horizon and I planned for the happiest day of mylife, I realized that I missed studying. Missed the research that goes into understanding something.”
She took a step forward, closer to Grant, who was still about ten feet away. “So I decided to understand my future husband so that we could both have the best life possible.”
Reese looked over at Sydney, who had a bit of a deer-in-the-headlights look in her eyes, and she wondered if Sydney was starting to come around to her way of thinking.
Painful didn’t even begin to describe the feeling Reese experienced as Brynn looked at Grant with a moony gaze, and Grant gave her a tight-lipped smile in return, clearly not a part of the planning of his fiancée’s speech.
“The basics.” Brynn clicked something invisible to the guests, and a new photo slotted onto the screen. It was a photo of Grant on the golf course, hand covering his eyes post-swing as he watched his ball. “Are pretty simple. Grant. Age twenty-nine. Hobbies include golfing, sailing, and watching his beloved Red Sox.”
That earned a loud cheer, as if that was a surprising revelation in the Boston area.
“But I wanted to know more.”
Another picture flashed across the screen, this time a text message thread. “The great thing about Grant is that he’s always predictable, especially in using the same password for everything, including his Tinder profile.”
A deafening silence fell over the crowd before nervous murmurs broke out at various tables.
And Reese. Was. Riveted.
Sydney’s hand was gripping into her thigh like it was a claw, but Reese couldn’t feel the pain over the exhilaration of whatever was coming next.
“Grant would tell you—at least he tells the women he chats with and meets up with for casual sex—that he’s a good guy.” Brynn rolled her eyes exaggeratedly then, like a little kid doing a bit for attention.
Well, she had everyone’s attention now.
Reese hadn’t breathed in about the last minute, and when air rushed into her lungs unexpectedly, her eyes started to water. Sydney looked at her with concern, but Reese waved her away. The only way she was leaving right now was in a body bag.
“According to his profile, which mentions all the things I’ve already shared, he also goes on to say in his messages that he works a demanding job at the family company, which his father is running into the ground through a variety of poor decisions. And that if he were in charge, which he will be one day, they’d be the industry leader.”
Reese looked over at her father, who’d gone from a deep red to a dangerous shade of fuschia that made Reese wonder if medical intervention was required.
“This approach appeals to women differently, but it includes a 40-percent success rate at earning him sympathy, as they think he’s trying to help his family legacy endure.”
