Page 21 of Cookout Carnage
“Happy.”
“That’s it. A couple of tears and an overwhelming feeling, and you’re ready?”
She turns to me. “Aren’t you?”
“Well, I am, but I’m not the one crying in the middle of Maple Street.” She laughs, and we start to walk in the crowd again. We’re all hoping to get a spot near the gazebo. It’s the best place to watch the fireworks. We have about an hour or so. The fireflies are just beginning their dance.
There’s a crowd up ahead and what looks like our mounted police force. Which is basically three guys and an extra horse. People are bitching and being diverted around the corner to the abandoned field—the shittiest place to watch the fireworks. My dad is talking to the County Sheriff.
“Kenny! What the hell you doing here, you ole bastard?” My father calls to him.
The man breaks the parade barriers repositioned to block off the center square. “God dammit. Skye Tucker. How are you, my old friend?” He slaps my dad on the back, and we stand there dumbfounded, waiting for an explanation as to what the hell is going on.
“We’re good. Living the easy life looking for shells rather than shelling peas.” His standard Florida joke.
“Good. That’s great. Now grab that boy of yours and get your asses in here. You’re late.” What the fuck is he talking about? He nods to my mother. “Pamela, it’s lovely as always to see you.” He guides her to the other side and gestures to me. I pull Jules with me.
“Nah, sorry, Jonathan. I have instructions. Just the Tuckers.”
“She’s with me.” My father pulls Juliet from me and answers Kenny.
He pushes his hat back a bit and settles his hands on his hips. “Friend of the groom or bride?”
My father answers, “Friend of mine.”
“Whose wedding?”
Jules shrugs, then whispers to me, “I’ll be here.” Then we both look around. “Shit. I think this… it’s your wedding.”
We’re both standing, jaws agape, after we pass under a giant red, white, and blue balloon arch to the gazebo area of the town square. My hand slips from Juliet’s, and she fades behind me to join my parents. I know they have my back, but they’re leaving me alone to face my mess.
Tanya comes running in a flurry of lime-green sequins. “There you are, Jonny!” Jonny? No one has ever called me that before. What the fuck is happening?
The normal red, white, and blue bunting has been replaced by yards and yards of purple, gold, and plum fabric. In addition, there’s a banner that says, “J & T 4 EVA,” like it’s a middle school dance.
I catch her as she throws herself at me and hold her at arm’s length. “Don’t call me Jonny.” She giggles acreepy doll that’s come to life to murder a familykind of giggle.
“Oh, Jonny.” She playfully slaps my chest. I look behind me, and my parent’s eyes are bugging out of their head. But they’ve got nothing on Juliet, who seems to have gone nuclear. Her face is red, and her mouth is still wide open.
I look directly at Tanya. “What is this?”
“It’s our rehearsal dinner, silly.” She grins, but it’s not one I’ve seen before. It’s a plastered-on plastic smile of pure evil.
I step back, and she steps towards me. There’s a circle of people congratulating us. I lean in so she can hear me. “Did you fall on your head? Possibly have a stroke or some other bout of memory loss? We don’t need a rehearsal dinner if we’re not getting married.”
She lets loose with that possessed-doll laugh again, then yanks me towards the crowd of people she picked as our wedding party. I let her pick them. I let all of this happen. Jesus. Scooter puts his hand out, and I shake it. This is an out-of-body experience. This is not normal. It’s aTwilight Zoneepisode.
“This isn’t right. Lying to all of these people. You’re not right in the head,” I say to Tanya as she twirls in front of me.
“Thank you, Jonnawanna. I designed it myself.” What the fuck is happening?
I check my pulse quick to make sure I’m actually alive and experiencing this. I spin around, surveying the crowd. Everyone is toasting and feting me. I’m the only one who thinks anything is wrong. I have no clue where my parents or Jules disappeared.
I grab my phone.
JONATHAN: Jules! Are you really here? Is this a hallucination? This can’t be happening. This is majorly fucked up. Let’s leave.
HER: You have to stop this. Like make a toast and tell people. Stop her, or I’m pretty sure I’m going to be texting you on your honeymoon.
