Okay
Okay, it was like this. Week from hell. Work was busy and demanding, and I delegated to Bree because she was my fucking assistant. Well - I don't mean that how it sounds.
Only it turned out I wasn't one of Bree's most favorite people because she thought she'd done evolution a favor hooking me up with Verucca, only to find that I'd turned Verucca down in favor of making my way through a sloshing river of alcohol in a valiant attempt to dry-dock the bottom of a glass. Several glasses, in fact. A disgruntled Verucca had then dominoed into a disgruntled Bree. Or was that snowballed? Whatever - there seemed to be some annoyed girls around.
On a professional level, Bree had a fucking nerve to act as though she didn't have to do what I told her to do because she was pissed at me. She was naive, too. Keep your social life and your work life separate, little Soft Cheese, or you may find you come to grief. Like, you get taken off doing the interesting stuff because you're unco-operative, and you get asked to sort out the stationary locker and see if we need to order more staples and whiteboard markers while someone else gets to the actual architecture. It wasn't my call, it was the office manager's, but Bree was acting like a snotty bitch to everyone.
Add to that me having a colossal fight with Seth over tablecloths. Such an even-tempered guy, he didn't lose his cool for a second, but I reckon his blood pressure was going up as we argued over white versus green, cloth versus paper, and we got more and more intense, neither of us willing to back down. I won, but there was nearly blood drawn.
I'd applied for Thursday and Friday as vacation days because Seth and I had decided we'd get everything together Thursday, get the hall sorted, and we'd have a whole day up our sleeves if we discovered we'd overlooked anything, or if something went wrong. By the time Thursday rolled around I'd hardly eaten, hardly slept.
Having to ignore the fatigue, I went and collected Seth, and drove out to the woods.
And incredibly, we set the hall up with the help of the crew, and it seemed that things were all in order. Under control. The linked seats that we'd borrowed for the service were placed in rows facing the stage, the separate chairs along with tables were in the storage room ready to be pulled out for the reception, the tableware was neatly stacked on shelves, the stage was set up for the band. Too easy.
Even so, I was having palpitations. The hall looked good - I knew it did. But would Charlie and Sue think so? Billy? Prince Jacob? What about the whole fucking community? I felt like a stupid white cityboy upstart, turning up going Oh I want to use a shade called Seamistcloudskywank that will be just perfect. And to contrast I suggest Velvetemeraldforestwank. And I will further honor and acknowledge your ancestral home by using accents in a color known as Pullmydickancienttreetrunkwa nk.
"Does it look okay?" I asked Seth, trying to downplay my level of anxiety.
"Jesus, Edward, it looks fucking awesome," he replied, gazing around approvingly.
"Seriously?"
Seth looked me straight in the eye. "Seriously, big guy. You've done really well. Everyone's going to love it. Congratulations. Our work here is finished, and we can relax now."
"It wasn't all me - Jesus. You did half, and the guys did the other three-quarters."
"What can I say - apart from you suck at math? Luckily I can cover for you there."
Okay. Take off your self-absorbed goggles, Edward, and put on the objective, clear-eyed ones.
The hall looked fucking great.
"Guess we make a good team," I admitted.
"Guess we do. You want to go fishing?"
Fishing?
"Well, I've never done it before, but sure, yeah, okay."
An hour or two later, I worked out that "fishing" was a euphemism for gathering up a whole bunch of meaningless gear, driving to some desolate spot and then doing nothing. With beer. Just what I needed. Fucking cool.
So Seth and I "relaxed" for Thursday afternoon and most of Friday. With beer. We sat at some spot he swore there'd be salmon, cast our lines in, and sat back with contented sighs, ready to spend hours in idleness.
"Do you have a girlfriend?" I asked him, to pass the time.
"Nah. Do you?"
"Would I be hanging here with you, failing to catch any fish if I could be getting laid instead?"
He frowned. "Dude, that is all wrong on so many levels. For one thing - we've become friends, haven't we? Hanging out failing to catch fish is something friends do. For another thing - we're talking about girlfriends, aren't we? That's not just about getting laid, it's about being with a girl you actually want to be with even when you're not getting laid."
"Well, fuck, I know that. I was being flippant, and a dick. It's called sarcasm, Seth. Don't go all hissy on me. Yeah, you and I are friends. Despite the lack of fish. And no, I don't have a girlfriend, and I'm not getting laid either. Happy?"
"Thrilled."
Seth didn't look remotely thrilled, though. He just looked remote. I wondered whether to wander into uncharted territory and question him or to just let it go. But fuck - he was the one claiming we were friends. Maybe he needed someone to talk to.
"Uh - so, well - are you happy?"
Seth appeared to weigh it up. "Mostly."
"Uh. What does that mean?"
"It means mostly."
"What does mostly mean?"
"It means my life is pretty good as far as work goes, and having friends goes, and having interests and being on really good terms with my family. I don't have a lover, though. So I'm mostly happy, but I still feel that there's something missing."
The conversation had taken a serious turn. "So you want a girlfriend?" I asked.
"Edward," he said. "Edward."
"Yeah?"
"No, I don't want a girlfriend. I want a boyfriend."
Whoa. "You're gay?"
"Last time I checked, yeah."
I stared at him in surprise. It just wasn't something that had ever crossed my mind.
"But - " I began.
"That's a little reductive of you, but yes, that's my orientation," he answered.
"You said you like dark-haired girls!"
"I do. Aesthetically. Not to sleep with."
"Oh. Right."
Seth sighed, reeling his line back in to see his bait had disappeared but the hook yielded nothing.
"Are you okay with this?" he asked in an even voice.
Of course I was. Of fucking course. Any fears I'd had about him and Bella dissolved, and I found myself genuinely glad she was so close to and so trusting of, and so well-regarded by such a strong and caring guy who was never going to try and get in her pants. Not to mention being glad that the second-handsomest man I'd ever seen wasn't a rival for the girl I liked. And fuck, Seth - I've known you for a few weeks now and you're cool and funny and interesting, and I just fucking like you - what's not to be okay with about your sexuality?
"Yeah, completely. It's just, I was going to offer to introduce you to some girls I know who work in the arts field, so you might have something in common. I'm going to have to rethink that. I'd love to matchmake for you, but where the fuck are we going to find any gay men who are into interior design?"
Seth laughed. I laughed. Fuck - my first gay friend. We ought to celebrate.
"Got any more beer?" I asked, and was handed another can.
"What about you?" Seth asked. "Are you looking for love?"
I shrugged. "I might be, but it's proving a little elusive."
"Thinking of anyone in particular?"
"Maybe."
Seth snorted. "Someone who might have big brown eyes and a very untidy apartment..."
Well, he certainly had me all figured out. I didn't think I'd been that obvious.
"I'm sure I don't know who or what you're talking about," I drawled.
"Oh, I'm sure you do. My sister. Jesus, you knocked me to the floor Edward, when you didn't know who I was and you thought I might've hurt her. Because of that, I like you. Then, fuck, from hanging around with you and working with you, I like you more. I'll be your wingman, okay? But only if you're serious. Not if you just want to fool around with her. You'll be the one knocked to the floor if my little sis gets hurt."
"Wingman? Well, thanks, but isn't there a great big impediment to my having anything to do with Bella? Like, an impediment called Jake?"
Seth rubbed his chin and gazed out over the horizon. "Hmm, the Jake situation," he said. "She's pretty embroiled there, certainly, and he makes quite a lot of demands on her time. But it's not going to last forever, and it shouldn't get in the way of you asking her out, if you want to."
What? What? I didn't for the life of me understand what he was getting at, unless it was to say that they celebrated free love around here, and Bella could date two guys at the same time without Seth blinking an eye. Okay, very libertarian. Very. Not my thing at all. I mean, if I wasn't seeing someone, I could see anyone - and let's face it, I did. But if was seeing someone, that would be it for me.
"Well, I don't know, Seth..." I said dubiously.
"What don't you know? You like her or you don't," he replied.
There's nothing like an afternoon of fishing to make you question your life principles. Maybe I was conservative. Maybe I was controlling. Maybe I was a chest-beating, knuckle-scraping ape, expecting to possess Bella and rule her and deny her freedom of association. Maybe Jake was a better prospect for her.
Maybe soul-searching after thirty-seven beers is the way to enlightenment, and maybe it isn't. These were thoughts I needed to be stone-cold sober for, which designated them thoughts for another day. The next day was Saturday. Oh, fuck, the wedding. The whole reason for my presence.
"Jesus, Seth," I said. "When's the wedding starting? Shouldn't we be getting ready or something?"
"Chill, Edward. It's tomorrow - we've got hours to go. Let's head back to my place and see who's around. But I don't want to go back empty-handed. We need fish. I'm breaking out the never-fail bait."
"Oh, now you decide to get serious."
Seth baited both our hooks with something foul and smelly he got out of a ziplock bag tucked down in the recesses of his kit somewhere, and in no time he'd hooked a monster of the deep that was about three feet long. Obviously the death throes of his victim alerted any others in the vicinity to steer clear of the smelly stuff, and my hook came back up empty.
"Better luck next time," he shrugged, hitting the fish on the head, then cutting its gills while I watched, fascinated. In the back of his truck he had a trough of ice that he lowered the fish into once it had stopped bleeding, and he scooped ice over it.
Later, the fish was filleted and cooked amidst general bonhomie in Seth's backyard, which appeared to serve as an informal community centre. I'm sure everyone there had a great time. Jake didn't show, Bella was conspicuous by her absence, and I ghosted around the periphery avoiding being drawn into conversation and even avoiding eye contact until I succumbed to resignation and went to bed. An afternoon's drinking followed by disappointment will do that to you. Take my word for it.
And in the morning, the wedding day dawned with a brightness that shouldn't be allowed. I thought this was supposed to be the gloom capital of America. Sunlight had no fucking right to be streaming across my pillow in jolly little beams that mocked self-pity. No right at all.
Seth was nowhere to be seen but he'd left a note inviting me to help myself to breakfast, so I had three cups of coffee.
Jitters notwithstanding, I was ready for the day. Or I soon would be. My suit was hanging in the closet. My shaving gear was lined up tidily on the bathroom vanity, along with my toothbrush. I'd brought enough hair gel to wrangle my unruly hair into submission, and a comb and dryer to assist with the wrangling.
By the time the afternoon rolled around I'd eaten eggs and toast, showered, shaved and dressed, and was feeling more or less presentable. Nervous and excited too, to be completely honest.
So here we go, ladies and gentlemen. Best foot forward.
.
.
.
Indeed.