Page 125 of Full Tilt
“Yeah, man,” I said softly. “Sounds exactly right.”
Oscar nodded and we took a moment; he sipped his beer and I waited until he was ready to speak again.
“So, when’s the big day?” I asked.
“She has to say yes first,” Oscar said, and cleared his throat. “But that’s another thing I wanted to talk to you about. The date. I want you to be there. My best man. Vegas is the capital of quickie weddings.” He stopped at my shaking head and waving hands. “What?”
“You can’t have a quickie wedding with Dena Bukhari,” I said. “Can you picture our girl in a traditional Iranian dress, in a gaudy chapel officiated by Elvis? No, no. She needs the works.”
Oscar shifted in his seat. “I know it. But her parents are in London and grandparents in Iran. The visa situation alone is going to take six months.”
I leaned forward and clapped my friend on his shoulder. “It’s enough that I know it will happen. I’m happy for you, man. For both of you. Give her the wedding you both deserve. I’ll be therein spirit.” I chucked his arm. “Literally.”
Oscar barked a laugh and looked away. “I’m going to miss you, man,” he told his beer bottle.
“Thanks for saying that,” I said, because I knew how hard it was for him to do so. “I’m going to miss you too. Both of you. And I’m really fucking happy to know you’ll take care of each other.”
“She’ll take care ofme,” Oscar said. “I’m going to spend the rest of my life trying not to screw up.”
I laughed and he laughed, and we got over the emotional hump like a wagon wheel finally lurching over a rock. I didn’t need Oscar’s tears to know he cared about me or expect a bunch of sentimental words. I just needed to be around him and that was enough.
After dessert, my father tapped his knife on the side of his wine glass and took a piece of folded paper from his shirt pocket.
“This arrived in the mail this afternoon,” he said. “From Carnegie Mellon. I presumed it was junk mail or a form letter. Good thing I opened it.” He cleared his throat and began to read. “Dear sir. This letter is to inform you, Jonah Miles Fletcher, that you have achieved the degree of Master of fine arts from Carnegie Mellon University and all honors, benefits and rights conferred hereto…”
There was more but the table erupted in cheers and applause, drowning out my father. Kacey’s arms went around my neck, then she pushed her chair back and crawled right in my lap. I held her face, gazed into the blue depths of her eyes. She was so much. I could spend a thousand full lifetimes and never reach the end of her.
She is a universe…
I realized in that moment my glass legacy was woefully incomplete. The evening drew to a close, a slow migration began for the door, with hugs and handshakes, and drawing on of coats. I pulled Tania aside.
“Yes, Master of Fine Arts?” she said. “How may I serve you?”
“Knock it off,” I said. “I wouldn’t have made it if it weren’t for you.”
She waved a hand. “It was nothing.”
“It was everything. I owe you so much, Tania. And I…”
She leaned forward. “Yes…?”
I grinned. “I figured I might as well ask you for one more thing.”
Tania snorted a laugh and swatted my arm. “I’mveryexpensive, you know.”
I took her hands in mine. “Meet me at the hot shop tomorrow?”
Her face brightened. “A new piece?”
“One last piece,” I said. “The most important piece of my life.”
CHAPTER
FORTY-TWO
I drove us back to Jonah’s place with butterflies in my stomach.
“What are you smiling about?” he asked.
