Wedding Day Massacre

Uncle Ivan sat down at the table with the rest of the family. Everyone had turned out to witness the only next male son or nephew of the Zaluski clan get hitched. Sebastian had only invited the single table of family members in addition to a few scattered friends. The majority of the three hundred or so attendees were from the vast plethora of too-cool-for-school trendsetters that Taylor influenced with and those in her family tree (which was so extensive, it was more like a forest).

The second-generation Slavic-American family was a modest and hardworking bunch. While Sebastian’s parents, aunts, and uncles had all been raised in the United States, they arrived late enough to keep a foreign tinge to their accents which caused them to charmingly omit a necessary word from their speech here or there.

Their banter always sounded entertaining and Sebastian enjoyed their arguments. While they all whole-heartedly loved America, they still carried over many of the traditions that had been ingrained from the old country.

They were alike in many ways, but none of them had ever been able to replicate the success that so effortlessly overflowed from Sebastian. He was the golden boy. A much more cerebral creature than the rest of his bloodline who exuded a more rugged hands-on mentality.

Sebastian was excited that all members of his limited family would be present for the wedding. It was something that he clearly conveyed was quite important to him. His father, Zander, sat sandwiched between his mother, Hana, and uncle, Ivan, who had just taken his seat with what would regretfully but indisputably be the first of many vodka tonics.

Ivan’s fourth wife, Olga, looked on in silence but with disapproval while their teenage daughter, Nina, obliviously rounded out the table, fiddling on her phone. They had all seen this show before and they knew how it ended—Ivan gets sloshed, says ignorant things, and makes a total ass of himself.

“Getting started early, Ivan? Very nice. Hope you reserve Uber already.” Zander eyed Ivan’s tall drink, going in on his embattled brother’s bout with alcoholism from the jump.

“I have designated driver,” he rebutted, looking over toward his wife, Olga.

“Drink too many and that may not be truth.” Olga’s English was fractured but it cut right to the point. She didn’t appear to be in the mood for any of his typical horseshit.

“You know, I never thought we’d see this day,” Ivan said, changing the subject to ignore his wife.

“Why is that?” Zander asked.

“Because I never see Sebastian with girl, just work, work, work. I always thought your boy like other boys. I always thought he is faggot.”

“You drunk pig! Keep your mouth shut! Or it won’t be just the drink that knock you out tonight!”

“Oh, brother, I know you wish you could. But you know as well as I, you cannot have wedding without best man.” Ivan grinned as he reached deep into his inside pocket and retrieved a small box.

“You must be very jealous. Your son make me part of wedding, while you must only sit and watch.” A vile laughter erupted. His hoarse cackle sounded almost as disgusting as the pleasure he derived from his brother’s gloom. The hurt and rage blazed around Zander.

“Enough! You both stop! And, Ivan, you have respect for my son’s wedding or I promise the night will not be well to you,” Hana interjected.

“I’m not sure why Sebastian even wanted to come back to this place after the last time we were here…” Ivan continued.

“What happened last time?” Nina asked, finally finding interest in something besides her phone.

The waiter approached before anyone at their table could answer. A cheesy smile stuck to his face as he spoke, “Hello there, folks, so what’s it going to be tonight, chicken or fish?”