“Hey, Carter, can I pop you a question?”
It's the fourth time Drew has made a reference to asking a question, and I’ve had enough. The groomsmen are standing in a straight line at the side of the altar while the priest speaks quietly to Liz and Jim in the center of the aisle.
“Will you shut the fuck up already? Claire’s going to get suspicious you dick-fuck!” I whisper angrily at him.
“Whoa, dude, slow your roll. You just said f-u-c-k in front of the Virgin Mary. Show some respect,” Drew scolds.
“What’s a virgin?” Gavin asks from his position standing next to me as he swings the ring bearer pillow around his head like a lasso.
“Uh, it’s a kind of chicken,” I stammer. “Very rare. No one talks about it.”
It's impossible not to be nervous as I take Claire’s hand and help her out of the car. My palms are sweating, and I hope she doesn’t notice as I stand there for a minute staring at her while she helps Gavin out of his car seat.
She’s so fucking beautiful I want to cry like a baby.
She closes Gavin’s car door and catches me staring at her.
“Are you okay? You seem a little out of it,” she says as she looked me over.
Shit, is my forehead sweating? Is she looking at me right now wondering why I look like a chubby man with a heart condition who just ate his weight in chicken wings and Jell-O salad at a buffet? That’s not a good look to have when you want the woman you love to look into your eyes and pledge her undying love by saying ‘yes’ to marrying you.
“Mom, my stinky wiener ticks,” Gavin states, interrupting the sweat fest and giving me time to wipe my forehead.
“Um, what does that mean?” Claire asks him.
“It means GET A MOVE ON! I wanna eat some beef turkey!”
The three of us turn and make our way up the sidewalk to the set of stairs that will lead us to the rock face where the restaurant sits.
Once inside the doors, the ma?tre d' escorts us across the room to a long table set up in front of panoramic windows that overlook the lake. We are the last to arrive, as per the plan devised by Drew and Jim. The last three empty seats are strategically placed at the end of the table, the perfect spot for everyone to see what is going to happen.
Our friends are all in the midst of quiet conversations amongst themselves when we walk up but stop long enough to greet us and for Jim to make sure we know not to order any drinks since they are getting champagne. The mention of champagne is over exaggerated with a wink when Claire turns to help Gavin into his seat.
As the conversation moves to talk of the wedding the following day, I try to listen while going over my lines in my head. It doesn’t seem appropriate to use the same speech I had prepared for the Indian’s game proposal since there were words like “grand slam” and “switch hitter”.
Hey, I never had said it was the best speech.
Since that plan had tanked, I needed to start from scratch. On our lunch hours at work every night this week, Drew and Jim helped me write the perfect words to say to Claire. Okay, Jim helped me write the perfect words. Drew wanted me to just throw a ping pong ball at her face, reminiscent of her bartending days at Fosters' Bar and Grill where she made up the game P.O.R.N. According to him, I should whip it at her chin and say, “That won’t be the only ball bouncing off your chin if you say yes!”
After three rough drafts of the proposal and several uses of thesaurus.com, Jim and I had written the most perfect proposal ever. This night needs to be flawless. Claire will spend countless hours retelling the story of how I proposed to everyone she knows, and even a few strangers, for the rest of her life. She deserves the most romantic story to tell.
The waitress comes around a few minutes later to take everyone’s order.
“So, little man, what can I get you?” she asks as she bends down to Gavin’s level.
“I want a virgin,” he states.
Claire starts choking on her water and Liz reaches over to pat her on the back.
“I’m sorry, what do want to order?” the waitress asks him in confusion.
“A virgin. I want to order a virgin,” he repeats, looking at her like she was a moron.
“Don’t we all, son. Don’t we all,” Jim’s father mumbles from a few spots down, receiving a smack on the arm from his wife.
“I think he means chicken,” I clarify sheepishly.
“Yes, because that makes perfect sense,” Claire says under her breath as she picks up her water glass and attempts to take another sip.
With our orders taken, the waitress disappears and conversation resumes.
“Jim, I’ve been meaning to ask if you were able to finish hot gluing those crystals to all the ribbons for the church programs,” Mrs. Gates asks. “And also, don’t forget to put Preparation H under your eyes tomorrow morning.”
Drew starts laughing and Jenny kicks him under the table.