Page 73 of Man Cuffed
“To love, honor, and cherish. As long as we both shall live,” Rosie says in a pure, sweet voice. And I hastily wipe my eyes.
“Everything okay over there?” Meg whispers.
“Yep. Hay fever season or something.” I sniff.
“You are so fucking cute,” she whispers back to me. “Don’t ever change.”
As if I could.
And that’s the special magic of weddings, right? Change. All that serious language about two souls joining into one. Irrevocably, forever and ever. There’s no room in the wedding ceremony for uncertainty. That’s why I’m never getting married. I’m not wired for that kind of optimism.
Not anymore, anyway.
I just watched my baby sister make the biggest decision of her life, and she did it with a big smile on her face. Some people make their own optimism, the way plants make sunshine into food.
Up in front, Rosie is still smiling. This marriage feels right to her, and who am I to argue? Man, my little sister is truly grown up now. I think I feel some more hay fever coming on. Or is someone in this church cutting an onion?
“Kwan, you may kiss the bride.”
“She’s so beautiful,” my mother sobs from down the pew. “My baby!”
After a big smooch that I can’t really watch (a big brother just can’t) the newly married Rosie prances back up the aisle, hand in hand with the world’s luckiest man. He doesn’t deserve her, but only because nobody could.
“That was beautiful,” Meg says with a sigh. Since she’s on the end of the pew, she stands up first. “Weddings always make me feel so dreamy.”
“That’s how I feel about whiskey,” I mutter, following her.
“I know, big guy.” Meg pokes me in the side. “I’ve got you covered.”
“Because it’s time for the drinking?”
“No. Because it’s time for the photography.”
“So? A few photos won’t kill me, right?”
She glances at me, her beautiful face knowing. “Oh, honey. Not if I have anything to say about it. But the photos are always a trial.”
“Why?”
“You’ll see. But here’s something pleasant for you to think about while you’re taking them.” She leans close and whispers in my ear. “I’m not wearing any panties under this dress.”
“Wait, really?” My eyes skim down her curves, clad in captivating silk, in a soft orange color. And, dammit, I can’t tell if she’s teasing.
Meg shrugs, smiling. “Let’s go. Time for those photos.”
* * *
Meg knowsthings that I don’t. Like how TV shows are filmed. How to survive on takeout food and mixed drinks. And, apparently, how weddings work.
Nothing in my life up to this point has prepared me for the hell that awaits me outside the church.
My mother had mentioned “a few photos” after the wedding. That’s like calling an Iron Man race “a little stroll.” First the photographer insists on a dozen shots of my sister with Kwan. And then with her bridesmaids. And his groomsmen. And then the whole lot of them.
And then there’s the photographer, who seems to shout every word she says. The woman is like a walking megaphone. “BIG SMILES! GROOM, TILT YOUR CHIN TO THE LEFT!”
It hurts the ears.
The only saving grace is that my brother is nowhere in evidence. I’m no good at small talk with anyone, let alone the brother who betrayed me and the woman who was my fiancée before she became his wife.
