Shanna’s eyes are wide. Meredith frowns. “You didn’t leave a dildo, did you?” she asks.
“No,” I snap. Then I do a quick mental inventory. I don’t think we were missing one . . . .
“Here,” the waiter says, returning with something in his hand. He places two gold wedding bands into my palm.
“My fake wedding rings,” I say, trying not to roll my eyes. I give him a smile. “Thanks. Thought I lost them.”
“Those are fake?” he asks, whistling. “If you don’t mind me saying, those are way nice to just get for a gag. Engraved and everything.” He turns and walks away, and my blood chills.
“Engraved?” I look inside the bands, and bam.
Sure enough, engraved right on the inside: To Stacy, my love forevermore. And in the other: Mike, my heart is always yours.
Oh, fuck me with a hamster wheel and don’t even ask how that’s physically possible.
“These are Mike and Stacy’s,” I say, running through the timeline in my head. Yep. Last night bachelor party, today hangover brunch, early afternoon getting ready, and the wedding . . . is happening soon. Right now. Oh shit.
“How the hell did this happen?” Shanna gasps, taking the rings and staring at them like they’re about to explode in her hands.
“Nate’s the best man. He must’ve had them on him, or we went back to the room, or . . . something!”
“What the hell were you guys doing with them?” Shanna asks.
22
Nate
Yesterday, 4:17 am
“Watch how fast I can make it spin,” Julia says, her glee written all over her face. Or maybe that’s just ’cause her lipstick’s all smeared.
Heh. Smeared.
Drunk you, I’m not fucked. See? I can drink my coffee. All the coffee. I drink some and it spills down my face. The sight of it makes Julia laugh really hard. The gold ring spins on the table, and it’s pretty fast, but fuck it. I’m gonna spin it faster.
Vegas, baby!
“Think we could use these to bet at a blackjack table?” I ask her, her pretty pink face turning all blurry and fuzzy.
Heh. Fuzz.
“We should definitely try,” she whispers.
The waiter comes over to us. Man, what’s he got to look weird about?
“I love you. Have my babies!” Julia howls, falling at his feet and lying on the floor. She gurgles.
“Here’s your bill,” he says, handing it over with a nervous look on his face.
Heh, this asshole thinks I’m going to give him my card. I shove the rings in the bill thing and hand it back.
“Solid gold,” I say, and go in for a high five.
23
Julia
“Nate is a bad best man,” I say, sitting there in rigid horror.
“Opportunity knocks. And when it doesn’t knock, it kicks down the fucking door and robs you at gunpoint,” Meredith says, gripping my hand. “This is your chance, kid. Go find that loser, give him the rings back, save the damn wedding, and then get him to eat your ass out in celebration.”
The family of four just abruptly gets up and leaves. The mother shoots us a dirty look. I wince in apology.
“I’m with Meredith, though perhaps in the spirit rather than the detail,” Shanna says, nodding. “Go. Save the day. And tell him how you feel. You never know.”
I get up and race out of the restaurant, the rings in my purse, my heart in my throat.
It’s true that you never know. It’s not knowing that’s the hardest part of all.
24
Nate
I am fucked.
These are words I normally never say, never think. Even in the most painful, intense divorce litigation, I never flinch. I home in on the problem, disappear down a tunnel of alpha lawyer fucking awesome, because I am going to win this motherfucker. That is how I am. That is what I do.
And now, two goddamn wedding rings have thrown me so hard off my game I might as well pack the whole show up and head back to Chicago. I stand in the middle of the living room, the area around me looking like it’s been struck by a very angry whirlwind.
I’ve been a terrible goddamn best man. I abandon my friend at his own damn bachelor party to get laid. Admittedly, I’m not too sorry about that part, but it’s still a shitty thing to do. Then I spend most of the next day, the wedding day, running around the Strip looking for my almost wedding venue when I should’ve been sticking by Mike, helping him avoid Tyler’s ridiculous pep talks. And now, when I’ve just managed to struggle into my best man suit, barely ready for the ceremony in time, with my tie undone and my hair looking like something nested in it, I can’t find the specially engraved rings.
This is why I shouldn’t have sex. I should just develop a polyp of myself, cut it off my body, and then grow it so it can go off and help other people get divorced. I’ll loan it my best suit, hair gel, everything. The point is, no more sex. Ever.