“It is a big deal, Mike. I know how much those rings cost you. I’ll pay you back for it,” I mutter. It’ll suck to hell and back, but I’ll do it.
“Look, is this the most thrilling thing to hear on my wedding day? No,” Mike admits. “But you know what’s pretty damn thrilling? I’m getting married to the woman I love more than anything else in this world.” He says it slowly, like I’m an alien who’s only recently started learning English and he’s trying to instruct me. “I’ve got my best friends beside me. Even Tyler, overgrown toddler though he is, is important to me. This is what matters, man. Not the rings, or the venue, or the glow-in-the dark dildos from the girls’ bachelorette party.” He lifts his eyebrows. “Though I think Stacy snuck a couple into her luggage for the honeymoon.”
“I liked it better when you were mad at me,” I say, throwing up a little in my own mouth.
“I was never mad at you, Nate. I love you, asshole.” He slaps my shoulder. “Stacy will probably flip out a little more about this than me, but I know she’ll be okay. Because us being together is what we’ve both been waiting for and building up to.”
“How do you do it?” I ask him. I can’t stop myself; I have to know. “How do you know that this is the right thing? Besides the fact that you guys’ve been shacking up for the better part of a decade. And Stacy’s Alabama family wanted to take a shotgun to you five years back.”
“You forget the part where Uncle Aaron is actually packing heat at the ceremony.” Mike shrugs. “I don’t go in for a lot of flowery language, you know me. But how do you know you found the one?” He counts on his fingers. “You have more fun with her than you do on your own. Everything’s an adventure. You’re compatible in the ways that matter. The sex is hot. And you trust that she’ll be next to you, no matter what happens.” He shrugs. “That’s the reason to get married, man. That’s the only reason. I mean, now that we don’t have to marry for property or shit.”
“Stacy would probably be happy to bring a couple of goats into the household,” I say. “You know, for tradition’s sake.”
“I was thinking more a milk cow, but yeah. Same principle,” Mike replies.
I laugh a little, because who doesn’t love a good livestock joke? But I’m also thinking now. Because what Mike says about adventures, having fun, trust . . . . Every word he says projects Julia’s face even more into my mind.
During all my years with Phoebe, we made logical sense. We enjoyed the same movies, had the same job, liked the same things in bed. But there was always something missing, and when I look back now, I understand why she left. She wasn’t complete. Whole. She was content, maybe, but happy? Probably not.
For the first time, I realize it wasn’t about me not measuring up. It was about us being the wrong fit.
As much as she can infuriate me sometimes, I know that no one has been able to make me smile or laugh like Julia. Even if we hadn’t spent the day dealing with Elvis clones or fighting off pseudo Soviet kidnappers, it would’ve been fun.
I get a flash of a memory, the two of us in a café, probably way early this morning. We were laughing, and I remember the feeling I had in my gut. It was almost giddiness, a kind of relief. With Julia, there’s nothing to worry about. Even when we want to kill each other, it’s easy.
And I closed the door on our potential relationship. I shut down when we found out the certificates were false. I shut her out as fast as I could. There were excuses, in my own head, for why I was doing it. It didn’t seem like the right thing at the right time. After all, we live in different cities, different states. Who wants that kind of a negotiation headache after one night in Vegas? Absolutely no one.
Most of all, there was the fear of seeing the same disappointment in her eyes that I saw in Phoebe’s when it was over. I don’t want that pain ever again.
But what if it’s right? Isn’t it worth every pain if it’s right?
Shit. I sent her back to the hotel on her own.
But she didn’t seem all that interested in being married to me either. She could’ve said something, done something.
Maybe that was her grand romantic moment of waiting. Maybe she wanted me to sweep her off her feet, like the characters in her novels. And I didn’t measure up. Again. I had the chance, and I fucking fumbled the ball.
“You okay, dude? You’re looking a little glassy-eyed all of a sudden,” Mike says, sounding kind of worried.
I sigh, straighten my tie, and button my jacket. It’s show time. “We should probably be heading down. They don’t like for people to be late to the grand patio. At least, by they, I mean Stacy’s parents. They’re the ones who booked the venue.”
“Yeah, but my parents paid for the decorations and the lights. Pretty sure they rent everything by the hour, so we’d better move our asses,” Mike says.