Page 12 of Scoring Chance

My mind is spinning with this proposal. That’s what this is. I’m being freaking proposed to. By my best friend. I told myself I would never get married again after losing my wife. Does this count?

Des gulps his beer and heaves out a sigh. “Tanner, I guess…will you marry me?” He caps it with a belch, not a ring.

Still, I say yes.

5

DES

For the record, I never want to get married, but if I had to, I'm glad I'm marrying my best friend for insurance fraud. Legal, insurance fraud.

"Wow, I can't believe my friends are getting married," Hank says, a wobble emanating from his throat.

"Are you okay, buddy?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." He sniffles as he paces behind me. "It's just weddings. They bring it out of me. Don’t let my hyper-masculine demeanor confuse you: I'm an emotional guy with a lot of feelings."

Hank’s very pale, and that means the slightest bit of emotion can color his face like a tomato. I was never one to cry at weddings, and I’m certainly not going to cry at my own fake one.

"It's not a wedding, Hank," I tell him, straightening my tie in the mirror. "We’re simply having a legal ceremony performed so that Tanner and his kids don't wind up like Fantine from Les Misérables."

"Oh God, that musical was so sad. Now I'm gonna get more tears all over again," Hank says.

I dip my head to my fingers, pinch the bridge of my nose.

I love my friends, but also, they can be a little strange, especially Hank. One time junior year, he sat upside down at lunch for a week to test the fact that humans can still swallow in that position. Maybe he got one too many pucks to the head as goalie.

He proudly marches to the beat of his own drum, and you can't hate a guy like that.

"This isn't romantic, Hank," I tell him. "We're in a men's room in a county courthouse."

In fact, right behind us, two guys are using the urinals, and there's a guy in the toilet stall who seems to be having some issues pushing one out.

"Yes, I know, I know," Hank says. "But still…you're getting married. We never thought you would get married. This is an exciting day."

"It really isn't."

Hank brushes aside my objections. “My friend’s getting married today,” he tells one of the urinal users, a young lawyer in a suit who comes to wash his hands. “Oh, and you should use more soap.”

The lawyer gives him an odd look that must be commonplace for Hank at this point before leaving.

I grab my friend’s shoulders. "This is not a real marriage. I am helping a friend out. Remember the time when your car broke down and I let you borrow my backup Lexus? This is just like that. My company's insurance plan is a backup Lexus for Tanner."

"You're right.” He brushes aside whatever emotion he's daring to feel. He looks at me in the mirror and fixes my tie. I smack his hand away.

"Hank, I can always find another witness."

"This may be a fake wedding, but I want you to look nice," he says. This coming from a man who tucks in his shirt 10 percent of the time and doesn’t own a pair of non-sneakers. Although to be fair, today Hank tried dressing up. His dress shirt is ironed, and his shaggy, dirty-blond hair is combed into submission.

"Now, I brought some things. Don't get upset." He holds up his hands, steeling himself for my reaction. But with Hank, it's always something, so I just roll with it.

"What is it?"

He claps his hands together, does this little jig with his feet. He grabs an old Jansport backpack from the floor. I shudder to think that’s the same one from high school. He reaches inside, and I hold my breath. With Hank, he could literally pull out anything.

"Even though it’s a fake wedding, nothing says that we can't have some real traditions."

He hands me his old high school student ID. The South Rock letters are mostly worn off. I can make out an S and an R. Hank is twenty-five years older than this picture, but he still has the same goofy smile, same shaggy hair, same ruddy complexion.