Page 48 of Best Woman
“You will always be the Phantom to my Christine,” Aiden says at the end of his vows.
“Why doyouget to be Christine,” Rachel whines, but she’s smiling so wide I’m worried she’ll crack a tooth.
“Because you’re the one who likes to stand behind a mirror and watch me sleep, baby.”
“You’ve got me there,” Rachel concedes.
“You may kiss the bride,” Rabbi Hoffman says, and Aiden does.
After a briefnosh on wine and rugelach, everyone departs to Rachel’s parents’ country club for the reception. I mill around during the cocktail hour, saying hello to relatives I haven’t seen in years, accepting the congratulations and cheek pinches and the odd awkward moment with a third cousin or family friend who doesn’t know if it’s still appropriate to offer a handshake, which I always respond to with a quick kiss on the cheek before moving on quickly to the next relation.
An hour and a half later I’m sitting at the nuclear family table, once again flanked by Brody and Brian. They’ve both got video game consoles in hand and are playing something where they murder people—a bit on the nose if you ask me. Aiden and Rachel are directly across from me doing disgustingly sappy shit, like feeding each other bites of endive salad and accepting envelopes likely stuffed with checks from their guests.
should we get married? seems lucrativeI text Kyle, attaching a photo of the envelope pile.
fine but daytona is officiating and I want cheating written into the pre-nuphe fires back.
Speaking of speeches, it’s almost time for them to begin. I open the note in my phone to run through my bullet list of embarrassing childhood stories, remembering Aiden’s note to keep it PG-13, and start frantically googlinghow many times are you allowed to say fuck in pg-13 moviesas well assynonyms for love.
Grandpa says the hamotzi and the kiddush in flawless Hebrew, but can’t give up the spotlight without a joke in English. “I hope you’ll be very happy, my darling,” he tells Aiden. “And if you aren’t, I know a good lawyer.”
The meal is welcome after all the champagne I’ve had, as well as a chance to slip my shoes off under the table, something I’llnevertell Daytona. As we eat, Brody, Brian, and I chat about things we could do in New York. Across the table, Rachel’s brother and his wife try to get their son to eat, with dismal results. Derek ends up with ketchup on his shirt, and I pass him the Tide pen from my bag. Brian scoffs and rolls his eyes.
“You’re soMom.”
Brody shoots him a look and Brian turns sheepish.
“No, you’re right. Just be glad I haven’t asked one of you to run out and get me a Diet Coke from McDonald’s.”
“I think that’s where Dad is right now,” Brian says, looking over at the space beside Mom at the next table. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen Randy in a while.
Kim is two tables away with the rest of the bridesmaids. We make burning eye contact as she licks a spoon. I want to die but in a sexy way. Then the wedding planner approaches our table with a microphone in hand and I want to die in a veryunsexyway. Aiden takes it and he and Rachel stand to addresseveryone with some rehearsed banter I’m sure has been sitting in a shared Google doc since the week they got engaged. Rachel makes several jokes about tying Aiden down, which gives me another unfortunate insight into their sex life.
“We’re so lucky to be surrounded by so many people we love on the most important day of our lives,” Aiden says.
“Not counting the last time the Yankees won the World Series!” my dad heckles. Aiden laughs, but I can see the frustration on Rachel’s face at the deviation. She nudges Aiden to continue.
“Some of those people have graciously decided they’d like to share a few words with everyone, and I’m sure there will be absolutelyzeroembarrassing stories,” Aiden says with an exaggerated warning look tossed my way.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I say, loud enough to be heard over the crowd’s polite laughter.
“My big sister, Julia, everyone,” says Aiden, and everyone applauds as I reach across the table to take the microphone.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.
“Um,” I say. “Hi.”
The only sound in the room is a burst of static and the scraping of silverware against china.
“Despite his warning, I know how this goes. I’ve seen basically every romantic comedy set at a wedding ever made. I know I’m supposed to stand here and bring up a bunch of embarrassing shit my brother would kill me over revealing, like the way I used to make him pretend to be the Flounder to my Ariel when we were kids and he gotwaytoo into it, or that time he killed my turtle by feeding it paint. But I’m not going to do that. Oh whoops, guess I just did.” Pause for polite laughter.
“Only, Aiden has never really needed my help when it comes to embarrassing himself. I mean”—I turn to face the room—“who here who knows my brother,reallyknows him, hasn’t seen what a doofus he is?”
“Hugedoofus,” Ben calls out dutifully from Kim’s table.
“Exactly,” I say. “I mean, Aiden spent our entire childhood doing stupid shit like sticking a pencil in his leg so he wouldn’t have to go to the dentist, or collecting a bunch of tadpoles from the canal behind our house only to put them in the fridge and freeze them to death. It was traumatizing!” Some more laughter.
Oh no, I can feel my cynicism eroding, the magic of the wedding and true love or whatever the fuck washing it away until all that’s left is honest affection. My brother might be ridiculous and nerdy, have horrible taste in music, and care more about his beauty regime than I care about mine, but I love him. I’ve loved him our whole lives, and I’m happy that he’s happy. Like my dad is for me. And sitting beside Rachel, their hands linked together, he’ssofuckinghappy.
