Page 93 of It Started in the Chatroom

Shaking his head, John pushed past me. It was then that I realized that each person carried a grocery bag, a duffel bag, and a suit bag.

“What’s all this stuff?” I asked, frowning.

“You didn’t really think we’d leave you alone the night before your wedding, did you?” Damien asked. He smiled. “Gotta make sure you’re okay and all that.”

“And I was told it’stradition.” Brandon spat the last word as if it tasted bad in his mouth, pushing past me to follow John and Damien.

I grinned; my brother was nothing if not a non-traditionalist.

“Also, we figured it would be easier to get ready at your place, and make sure you got to the church, rather than wait for you in Hemingway,” Harold added. He lowered his voice. “For real, though, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” I said, scratching my head. “Just…a brief moment of missing Mom.”

Harold hummed, his brow furrowing. “Well, we’re here to take your mind off all that,” he concluded. “C’mon, let’s go upstairs.”

As we trekked up the stairs, I turned to him to ask, “How’s your mom doing?”

“Good. She’s safe and comfortable at home.” He sighed. “I always forget how…oldmy parents are. Or how old they seem.”

His parents had him when they were in their mid-thirties, and then, ten years later, had Ava. Though the seventies weren’t extremely old to me, I had often had the same worries about my parents, who were much younger.

“Well, it’s good that she’s home,” I said. “I’m sure she’ll be fine.”

“Yeah. She just needs to stop climbing those damn ladders.”

When we got to the kitchen, the other guys were pulling food from the bags, setting it down on the kitchen island. I peeked at some of the containers, trying to discern what they’d brought.

“Thai food,” Damien explained.

“And drinks,” Brandon added.

I smiled. “Thanks, guys. I appreciate it. I was just gonna go to bed, but—”

“Nah, cut that shit out,” John said, making a slicing motion through the air with his hand. “This is your last night as a free man, and if we’re not gonna be out in these streets, we’re gonna commiserate that shit with some fuckin’ alcohol.”

“Oh, little bro.” I sighed, then laughed. “When you find the one you wanna be with forever, there’s no commiseration needed.”

“Yeah, aight, old man,” John grumbled. “Come get some of this food before I eat it.”

We all fixed our plates and drinks, laughing and joking before we sat down in the living room.

“So how are you feeling about tomorrow? Really.” Damien sat back, tipping his beer into his mouth.

I shrugged. “Everything’s good,” I said. “Ciara and I are already married and living together, so—”

The room, minus Harold, exploded with yells and requests to stop and explain.

“You can’t just blow past that shit,” Damien said.

“I should’ve known,” Brandon grumbled.

“What the fuck are we even doing tomorrow, then?” John protested.

“Guys, guys, stop.” I held up my hands. “We just signed the papers at the courthouse. We didn’t elope or anything. We’re only legally married.”

John sucked his teeth. “Man, whatever,” he said. “It sounds like we coulda just skipped all this wedding bullshit.”

“And deprive Mack of her dream to plan a wedding?” I raised an eyebrow. “I’ll save myself the argument, thanks.”

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