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My fingers itch to reach for my phone again, but I refrain, conscious of my mother’s gaze. In her navy satin and sequined cocktail gown Emily Moore looks less like a mother of the groom and more like a prom date.
‘Hey, speaking of bridesmaids.’ In my peripheral, Chase squares up to our mother, frowning. ‘Did you know Liz was coming?’
I should pay attention. I should help my brother investigate why Mother left us out of the loop about Liz’s whereabouts these past few months. Demand answers that somehow both she and our sister have managed to avoid this whole trip.
But I can’t stop looking at Alice, whose dress may be the same cerulean blue as Liz and Leslie’s but not the same cut. Leslie’s halter straps are thick and secured by a pearl clasp at the nape of her neck while Liz’s dress may be strapless, but the sweetheart neckline is high cut and demur. My wife is the only one missing half of her bodice – the dress’s straps are no more useful than strips of blue angel hair pasta, and the deep V neckline stops an inch below her breasts.
Also ignoring Chase’s comment, Mother leans closer to me, inspecting my face. ‘How’s your eye, dear?’
Chase snorts, dropping the interrogation before it begins. ‘The wedding pictures are going to be epic.’
The same waiter from before hovers around Alice. I catch his eyes dropping to her chest.
My jaw clenches, causing my eye’s pulse to double-time. ‘It’s fine.’
‘Are you sure you don’t need another painkiller, Thomas?’
Thankfully, the waiter moves on and I’m able to force my eyes from Alice and take in my mother, who’s effectively given her youngest son the cold shoulder.
She glances toward the other side of the room and back.
‘You look as if someone just kicked your puppy.’
Somehow, I know she’s frowning, even if her forehead doesn’t crease.
‘No, thank you.’ My tone causes Mother’s eyes to widen. ‘Being under the influence of your opioids once was enough.’
My own Vegas sundae: whiskey, a possible concussion and the pills as the cherry on top. It’s the only plausible reason for how out of character I acted last night. For the reason I woke up with a wife. A wife whose dress should illicit an indecent exposure charge.
I should not have left the bridesmaid details to Susan. Needing to look anywhere other than at Alice, I glare at my blue suede shoes – a groomsmen gift from my brother and a reminder of another mistake I failed to see coming.
I should’ve double-checked the tuxes before having them and the dresses shipped out ahead of time.
‘Opioids?’ Mother gives me, and the garish paisley-embossed suit my brother swapped my custom Tom Ford tuxedo out with, a once-over. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’
Her incredulity recaptures my attention. ‘The pills you gave me last night.’
Mother erupts in laughter. ‘That wasn’t an opioid for heaven’s sake. Who do you think I am? A Real Housewife of the Upper West Side?’ She continues laughing, patting my shoulder. ‘That was extra-strength Tylenol.’
The words don’t compute. ‘Impossible. There’s no way I’d act like that on whiskey alone.’
Apparently, Mother and Chase find this amusing.
‘Wait.’ Chase’s grin widens on one side. ‘The stiff and proper Thomas actually took a pill without knowing what it was?’ He snorts. ‘And you drank on top of that?’ His nostrils flare in and out as he tries to stifle his laughter. ‘Is this because Alice whacked you in the face with—’
‘It was an accident.’ I force the words through clenched teeth and glare at my brother. Who, for once, shows good sense by looking anywhere but at me. A few choice words surface, but with my mother present, I swallow them back down and remind myself that this is Chase’s wedding.
Instead, I draw his attention to the kitchen’s rotating door across the way. ‘Your cat is escaping.’
Smile gone, Chase whips his head around in time to catch his feline costumed companion poised in pounce position, waiting for his moment to jump the next time the door opens. ‘Fuck.’
* * *
Alice
I’m sorry but the person you are trying to reach is unavailable.
Typical. Kayla called me when I was busy with the wedding, but when I try and call her back – no answer. And not only no answer, but it’s obvious that her voicemail is full from that automated message. I don’t even get the courtesy of a beep and a few seconds to vent my displeasure at her avoiding my calls. Or do what Leslie suggested and tell her to fuck off.
