Page 3 of Champagne Kisses
Present Day
There they are! I pull my earbuds from the pocket of yesterday’s jeans and switch my phone to bluetooth. It had gotten so hot, I worried I might get first degree burns. Emily keeps going, either oblivious to or intentionally ignoring the noise coming from my end of the line during my search. As I listen to her yammer on about woodwind quintets and peonies, I consider just leaving my phone in the living room and going on about my evening. I doubt she’d even notice. Why the hell did Bryan make me his best man?
We met freshman year as roommates at Stanford. He got to campus four days after I did and actually had professional movers. With his half of the room brought to you by RestorationHardware and mine straight from the IKEA catalog, we were opposites from the beginning.
Though he looked like your standard All American Abercrombie & Fitch model, complete with blonde hair, blue eyes, and a tan from surfing some beach in San Diego, his family was actually Italian and from the Upper East Side in New York. His dad’s even an Italian chef. His mom is essentially a socialite; she may have released her own line of jewelry at one point.
Bryan was a legacy, and studied about as hard as you can expect from someone whose family’s name was on the West wing of the Humanities Center. He graduated with a Bachelors in Psych and a solid C average. I, on the other hand, stayed up most nights cramming for a final or practicing my coding, and I graduated with a 3.9 in Computer Science.
He did every extracurricular available: the Stanford Italian Society, the Stanford Alpine Club, the Nature Photography Club, the Stanford Wine Society, and the Stanford Democrats. I joined the Korean-American Student Society, but I probably only came to five meetings my whole time there. I did get pretty involved with the Stanford Video Game Association, but what self-respecting Computer Science major within ten miles of Silicon Valley wouldn’t?
Sure, I roomed with him all four years of college, and yes, we both chose New York over the West Coast after graduation (Bushwick for me and back to the Upper East Side with his parents for Bryan), but that hardly makes me qualified to counsel anyone on true love, vows, and the many,manycompromisesof marriage. I’ve never had a girlfriend serious enough for a three-day weekend, let alone three month’s salary for a diamond ring.
Hell, keeping things casual (very casual!) with the ladies is one of the few things Bryan and I have in common.Used to, anyway. Neither of us had the time or the inclination for anything serious, until he met Jessi. Then suddenly he’s blowing off drinks, bringing her to meet his family, and grabbing brunch. Fuckingbrunch! No self-respecting bachelor has ever grabbed brunch with a woman he was sleeping with; it sends all the wrong signals. Signals like “I love you,” “I see a future with you,” and “Let’s get married.”
At least Emily’s around to take the lead with all this wedding bullshit. As Bryan’s younger sister, the Maid of Honor, and one of the most sought after event planners in New York City, she was the obvious choice. She’s Type A to a “T”, like the main chick from “Legally Blonde” minus the chihuahua. I’m just the token penis so she can say she consulted a guy during the planning. It’s unlikely she’ll give me anything major to do out of fear I’ll fuck it up. Maybe I’ll luck out and just get to plan the bachelor party.
But there’s one small hiccup in what would otherwise be a cushy setup: she’s half in love with me. I’ve never told Bryan, even after she showed up drunk in nothing but a trench coat the night before graduation. That was awkward. When I declined her offer to role-play “Bugsy” with me as her “private dick”, she took it like a champ but has been sure to let me know theoffer is still on the table all these years later. Fingers crossed she’ll rein it in for the sake of being in the wedding party. In my experience, though, weddings make womenmorehorny, not less. Yeah, being Bryan’s best man is gonna be a blast.
I hide my annoyed sigh with a weak cough and try to buck myself up. There’s always a chance I’ll get to hook up with one of the bridesmaids. Bryan’s fiancee, Jessi, is a Broadway actress. Chorus girls flexible enough to be Rockettes plus Emily’s sorority sisters means a wealth of options at all the wedding events. Maybe Bryan was actually doing me a solid.
Emily still hasn’t noticed I’ve been tuning her out through her last few bullet points.
“...already booked the venue, because the property manager told me someone called RIGHT after me for the same date and time. Can you believe that?”
“No shit? That’s crazy,” I said, summoning all my powers not to just hang up.
“Wow. Is the wedding of your best friend and college roommate reallythatboring?,“ she asks, her voice filled with humor. I guess shehadnoticed I wasn’t listening. I chuckle in return.
“Sorry, Em. I’m just no good with this stuff. Give me batch files and schema and I’m golden, but photo booths and…” I try to remember some of the terms she’d mentioned. “…Uh, topiaries? That’s hardly my style. If it were me, I’d just go to the Justice of the Peace.”
If we weren’t on the phone, I know Emily would be rolling her eyes at me.
“Well, thank goodness everyone doesn’t feel like you do, otherwise I’d be out of a job.”
“True that. Cheers to late-stage capitalism!”
“Don’t you talk about Sombart to me, pal. You’re not the only one on this call with a degree from Stanford. Plus, last time I checked, working for a Fortune 500 telecom company isn’t exactly sticking it to ‘the man’.” Though she kept her tone playful, I can tell I wouldn’t want to be on her bad side. Event planning was definitely Emily using her powers for good and not evil.
“Truce, OK? I was only teasing.” Ever the professional, she changes the subject.
“I hope you boys keep it classy during the bachelor party. It’s the weekend before the wedding and there won’t be enough time to clean up any serious…” I hear her pause, searching for the word. “…messes.” I laugh out loud.
“What kind of messes?”
“I don’t know. A tattoo, shaved head, broken leg; use your imagination,” she replies.
“Sure thing, boss. I’m as classy as they come.”
“I mean it, Adam,” she says with warning in her voice. “Don’t you dare do anything to mess up my wedding.”
“Yourwedding?“ Nowayam I letting that slip by.
“You know what I mean.” I can tell she’s trying to hide her embarrassment, so I let it drop. It doesn’t take Sherlock Holmes to see she’s the marrying type. Probably been planning herwedding since she was six. I use my own project management powers and get this conversation back on track.
“So, what are my action items? Do I need to set up keg delivery? Vet the strippers? They have strippers at engagement parties, right?”
Emily giggles lightly.
