The Worst Wedding Date

In the interest of not looking like the guy who’s saving the wedding that he doesn’t want to happen, I leave the kitchen in the capable hands of the temporary staff and head to the lanai in a fresh Hawaiian shirt.

I hang with the Sullivan triplets across the way from where all of the mothers and bridesmaids are squealing over Emma and each other, and when they ask if I want to get together later to play hot pineapple—aka hot potato, but with pineapples and a lot of alcohol and some truth-or-dare mixed in—I decline.

I want to say yes.

But I don’t want to be the reason anything goes wrong. Not this close to Emma’s wedding.

She’s ushering everyone to their seats so that dinner can be served.

The triplets head to their spot at the front tables with the rest of the wedding party and the parents.

I duck to the back to sit with Uncle Owen and Aunt Brenda and a few guys I knew from high school who flew in to celebrate the happy couple.

“Wanna bet which one of the triplets throws food first?” Uncle Owen says.

“There will be no food-throwing,” Aunt Brenda says.

Uncle Owen winks at her.

She blushes.

Go, Uncle Owen, but maybe not in front of me?

I spot my dad up at the head table, looking around.

Probably means he’s looking for me. I wave.

He gestures to the seat next to him.

I jerk my head at Chandler.

Dad sighs.

I shrug.

He shrugs.

He doesn’t know I’m paying for the wedding. Don’t know if he knows about my GrippaPeen stardom. I do know he’s picked up on the tension between Chandler and me, and after all we’ve been through, he probably recognizes that I’m staying out of the way to try to not cause any trouble.

Not like he wasn’t there when I caught a flamingo costume on fire by sneezing.

A plate of nut-crusted mahimahi, purple potatoes, and coleslaw appears in front of me.

“I figured it out,” the server from this morning whispers in my ear. “I know where I know you from. Your… arms… are very distinctive.”

Every ounce of blood in my body drains to my toes.

“I won’t tell.” She giggles. “I’d be telling on myself, wouldn’t I?”

“Speak up, young lady,” Aunt Brenda orders.

“He’s already got himself a nice girlfriend. We think,” Uncle Owen adds. “Okay, we hope. Been a while since he had a girlfriend. Could use someone to make him feel good about himself.”

“Thanks, Uncle Owen.”

“I got your back, kiddo.”

He fist-bumps me.

“What was she whispering to you?” Aunt Brenda demands as the waitstaff I hired for the night passes plates to the rest of them. “Was it inappropriate?”

“Do I ever do anything appropriate?”

She sniffs.

Uncle Owen cackles with utter glee.

I wish I was having a private dinner with Laney anywhere but here. On the beach. In the back of the Jeep while looking up at the stars from the volcano park. In our bungalow while kittens frolic all over both of us.

No parents.

No relatives.

No wedding.

“I heard a secret about Bean & Nugget,” Uncle Owen says.

Ah. The secret. Seems I can’t avoid this one any longer. “Yeah?”

He leans in. “I heard they started sourcing unethical beans.”

“What’s that about beans?” Aunt Brenda says.

“They’re unethical,” Uncle Owen repeats.

“What’s unethical about them?”

“I dunno. What can be unethical about a bean?”

I look down at my plate, then glance up toward Laney.

She’s watching me. And her parents are watching her watching me, which I notice, but she doesn’t.

She lifts a fork and then both of her eyebrows.

Makes me smile.

Can’t help it.

She cocks her head. Do I need to come over there and force-feed you? that gesture says.

Wouldn’t object, princess. I would not object.

Her cheeks go a light pink as if she can hear my thoughts.

I pick up my fork, stab the fish, and dutifully take a bite.

She smiles. Good boy.

Fuck me.

I’ve never wanted to be a good boy in my life, but I would eat this entire plate and Uncle Owen’s too if she’d purr that to me in bed tonight.

Doesn’t hurt that it’s delicious.

She jerks her head to the side like she’s just realized someone’s talking to her, and her face erupts in a deep red blush this time.

Her mother’s frowning.

Her father looks confused.

And Uncle Owen and Aunt Brenda are still arguing over how a bean can have ethics and why that’s such a big secret.

I put my head down and eat.

It’s good. And I’m hungry.

I can work out more tomorrow. Cut back on my calories again when I get home.

Hell, the women who subscribe to my channel would relate to putting on a little vacation weight.

But what if it doesn’t come off?

But what if they don’t like it?

But what if this trip makes it all fall apart and you suddenly don’t have a bigger purpose anymore?

I tell the voices to shut up and I get back to work cleaning my whole plate.

Like a good boy.

I am absolutely asking Laney to call me a good boy in bed tonight.

Zero. Question.

And that’s what I’m fantasizing about when I realize something’s wrong.

There’s a commotion up near the head table.

“Whazzat?” Uncle Owen says.

“Someone fell,” Aunt Brenda says.

“Out of their chair?”

“Oh, god, call 9-1-1!” Chandler’s mom shrieks.

“Clear the room! I’m a doctor!” Lucky booms.

“You’re a nurse, stud,” Decker yells.

“Better than you,” Lucky hollers.

Laney’s out of her seat, bolting to the next table, where—oh, fuck.

It’s her father.

Her father’s on the floor.

Has to be.

No one else is missing from the table. Her mother’s on her feet, sobbing and pointing.

And Lucky is diving into action.

I rise.

Everyone’s rising.

Laney’s hugging her mom, looking terrified, and I can’t—I can’t—

“EpiPen!” Lucky hollers. “Anyone have an EpiPen?”

“Me!” Chandler bellows. “Emma. Emma. Where’s my EpiPen?”

“You don’t have an EpiPen,” my sister cries.

“I got mine!” Jack yells.

EpiPen.

EpiPen.

Fuck.

Fuck.

“You think he’s allergic to something in the dinner?” Aunt Brenda says. “Who’s allergic to bread crumbs and fish?”

“It’s macadamia nuts,” Addison says at the next table. “The fish has crushed macadamia nuts.”

My fingers go cold. My head gets light. And I feel like someone punched me in the stomach.

“You think he’s allergic to macadamia nuts?” Uncle Owen asks her. He’s standing on a chair. “Might be right. Look. See? Already starting to breathe again with that EpiPen injection.”

Gail drops to the ground next to Charles and cries.

Laney’s holding the back of the chair with a death grip.

Everything’s happening in slow motion and at warp speed all at once.

The kitchen staff has come running.

The resort staff has not.

The guests are all on edge, fidgeting and staying still and this is not okay.

“Back to eating, people.” Jack and Decker move as one, clearing a space. “All’s well.”

“Still going to the hospital,” I hear Lucky reply. “But they’re right. All’s well. And you’re not gonna forget that little allergy the rest of the time here on the island. Right, Mr. K?”

“Didn’t the kitchen staff get the allergy list?” Chandler says to Emma. “What the fuck’s wrong with them?”

All’s not well.

All is not well.

I look at Laney again.

She’s not looking at me.

She’s whispering furiously with her mom.

I want to hug her. I want to take her from here and never see that horrified, shell-shocked, grief-filled look on her face ever again.

But I did this.

I picked the menu.

I didn’t see an allergy list.

And I almost killed someone who matters to the woman of my dreams.

So here the world goes again, reminding me that some dreams aren’t meant to be.