Page 79 of Man Cuffed
“That one hits a little too close to home tonight,” Mac mutters under his breath.
Now everyone who has ever been to a wedding knows you’re not supposed to drink the champagne until after the toast. So we all set our glasses down on the table and wait.
Except for Julie. She tips hers into her mouth and glugs back the whole glass in a big fat hurry. Then she plunks the empty glass onto the table and belches. “Megggggh,” she slurs. “I know this is awkward,” she says, enunciating every word. “But I just want you to know that I’m so happy you’re here. For Mac. He looks good with you. And I look good with Morris. And since they’re identical, does that mean we look good together? By the transitive property. Isn’t that weird?”
There’s a silence at our table that practically throbs.
“It is weird,” I agree, because fucking hell. It is.
“Have another drink,” Morris says. He sounds tired. Maybe because he is. He stops a passing waiter and commandeers a fresh glass for his wife.
Julie immediately raises her glass. “Here’s to a night off from the baby and nursing and all those late night Netflix binges. And here’s to family harm.” She giggles. “I mean, family harmony.”
There’s a pause when I don’t know what his family is going to do. But then everyone picks up their glasses and clinks them together. Because, hey, what else do you do with your dysfunctional family but go along with the flow?
* * *
The dinner isyour typical wedding affair. Lots of toasts and speeches. Courses of food, and it’s actually pretty tasty for 1) being served on a boat and 2) this being a wedding. There’s Michigan whitefish that’s been dredged in flour and then pan seared in locally churned butter. A summer medley of vegetables. And the biscuits! I don’t understand how they did it, but they’re so fluffy that it’s clear someone’s got some weird voodoo magic going on. I think I actually moan when I take a bite.
And then there’s crème brûlée and tiramisu and chocolate cake, all served on individual spoons so you get just a bite. I could handle about a hundred bites, though.
“Do you think I can slip one of these into my purse?” I whisper to Mac.
“That would be stealing,” he says without thinking.
“Then I guess you’d have to arrest me. Did you bring your cuffs?”
That brings a smile to his lips. He surprises me when he says, “I might have. Hold that thought.”
“Oh, I’ll be holding it.”
Mac is bearing up pretty well, given the pressure. It helps that there’s a lot of great food, and speeches, and eventually music.
What there isn’t a lot of is conversation.
Mac’s mom and dad look blissfully unaware of the tension. Or maybe they’re just in denial. Julie is swaying to the instrumental jazz that’s playing. Or maybe she’s just swaying. Morris glances at his phone from time to time, but it’s obvious that he can’t figure out where to rest his gaze.
And Mac? He’s just staring straight ahead, tense like a cable that’s pulled taut, and about to snap.
“Sooooooo….” I say loudly to the table. Then I realize I’ve got nothing. No material. You’d think my training in improv would help with this sort of silence, but not so much. Everyone turns to look at me, and I have to admit, I panic a little. I say the first thing that pops into my head. “It’s time for that dance you promised me.”
There is a beat of silence. Then Mac says, “Right! Let’s do it.”
I almost fall out of my chair, I’m so surprised. But I scramble to my feet, not wanting to waste the moment. Catching Mac’s hand, I pull him onto the dance floor, taking care to put some space between us and the Table of Doom.
“So this is what it takes to get you to dance?” I ask Mac as we come together, cheek to cheek. The band is playing “As Time Goes By.”
“Apparently,” he says, that gruff voice setting off fireworks all over my body. Maybe this is a fake date, but we’re dancing for real. And the weight of his hand at my waist is divine. The sun is beginning to tint the sky pink.
“This is so nice,” I hear myself say. “And look at Rosie. She looks so happy!”
Mac shifts to glance at his sister. “She does,” he admits. “I guess a few hours of discomfort are worth it for Rosie.”
“You’re not uncomfortable right now,” I say, pressing my luck. “You’ve been fed and you’re dancing with me. So your life is basically perfect.”
He chuckles, and the vibration does buzzy things to my belly. “You’re a hell of a date, Meg.”
“Well, you make it easy.”
