Gabe

Chet and I enter through a side door at the front of the room. Even knowing what was waiting for us, the spectacle of people catches me off guard.

“Gentlemen, over here, please. Come, take your places.” The reverend motions for us to move to his left. “Mr. Wilde, if you recall, you stand here.”

“Which one?” Chet and I ask simultaneously.

“Yes. Alright.” The portly man runs a hand through what hair remains on top of his shiny head. “The groom stands here.” He guides Chet to an x on the carpet, fashioned from masking tape. “And you sir…we’ll have you stand behind him on the next step down. Yes, right there. Just as we practiced in rehearsal. That’s good.”

I scan the crowd, searching for a partner to tear up the dance floor with later. What does it say about me as a man if the thought of another drunk stranger in my bed is a turn off? I ought to know everyone here, but no one stands out. Only blank, faceless heads, chattering back and forth amongst themselves.

Except for one. She was there, and when I looked back, she wasn’t. I only caught a glimpse—brown hair and a smile, but she seemed familiar. Not enough to recall a name, but there was something.

By any standard measure, like Sunday services or Wednesday bingo, this venue would be sufficiently large. Today however, there aren’t enough seats for everyone attending and, maybe it’s only me, but tugging at my collar I find the air stale and stifling. Could someone at least turn the goddamned A/C on?

The wall behind the reverend is floor to ceiling stained glass, replete with common biblical scenes, like Eve holding an apple, or animals being loaded onto the ark, two by two. I remember appreciating the imagery as a kid because it gave me something to focus on other than the same boring sermon week after week. My mind used to wander, thinking about the stories behind the scenes. I would try to trace each slice of blue and red and yellow back to the piece of glass it emanated from. Anything to pass the time while the adults dutifully listened and nodded. Eventually, after what seemed like hours, the music would begin, and I knew I’d survived another Sunday.

A dull roar blankets the room as folks in the audience chatter with their neighbors, buzzing on about the day, or the weather, or what have you. From my vantage point, I watch our mother step through the doors in the back, look around, and become overwhelmed at the sight of everyone here to celebrate the day. I look to Frank, my eyes darting back and forth, from him to our mother, until he notices her fumbling for a seat. Ha. Does she not remember anything from the rehearsal, either? He slips over to her, extends his arm and loops hers through, then proudly walks her up to the first pew. Kiss ass. It’s not like it was your idea for her to sit up here.

After she’s seated, the doors open wide and the organ begins to play, prompting the room to fall silent.

Da—da—dee-dum. Da—da—dee-dum.

Christy appears in the doorway, a truly beautiful bride, very pregnant, but radiant nonetheless. Her dress is modest, albeit in a timeless, classy way. Her shoulders are bare, with a halter that drops over her collarbone and plunges down her neckline. The material below her breasts was originally bunched together to narrow the waist. However, given her condition it had to be let out, like a lot, but now it forms an adorable little hammock for her baby bump. At her waist, the material flows down into a small train that follows behind her. Not that I’d ever admit it to Chet, but I’m jealous. He’s a lucky man.

Especially if you stop to consider she met me at the same time—guess there’s no accounting for taste.

Christy begins her walk down the aisle with her mother at her side, beaming as she escorts her only child to the altar. Christy holds her head high, her eyes locked on Chet, fighting to contain a smile. Maybe she really did take a Valium. She’s about a third of the way to us when she passes Leo, who I hadn’t noticed until now.

Half in the bag my ass. He looks ready to be poured into bed to sleep it off.

Unfortunately, he's seated at the end of the pew, next to the aisle, and I cringe as Christy approaches. She's almost past him, and I’m about to breathe a sigh of relief, when…

Shit.

Leo leans forward and extends his arm. He reaches so far, I think he may fall out of his seat and onto his face. Only he doesn’t. No, however embarrassing that might have been, by comparison to what he actually does, it would have been so much better. Instead, he touches Christy’s ass, then casually leans back and loudly whispers to his date, “I don’t care if she is pregnant, she’s still smoking hot.”

Maybe in his drunken stupor, he didn’t realize that, literally, the entire room had their eyes focused on her and just witnessed the whole affair, but I am speechless—and that never happens. His date sneers as she looks away, trying to ignore his rambling. Hank—seated on the other side of the girl—stares at our brother, slack-jawed, as he glances back and forth between Leo and me. Thanks for your help, little brother.

Christy stops and turns to look behind her, visibly confused about what happened. After she’s had a second to process Leo’s actions, her confusion turns to horror. Making matters worse, her stopping short has a cascade effect, causing the music to abruptly stop as well, which feeds the gasps and gossip erupting in the room. Our mother, seated only a few feet away, has one hand covering her mouth as she shakes her head in disbelief.

How on Earth did we go from happy day to complete chaos in five seconds? Answer—Leo.

Much as I don’t want to make eye contact with Chet, I know if I don’t do something, like right now, he’ll come flying past me and kill that boy. In a church. On his wedding day.

Double shit.

Reluctantly, I turn to my brother. The heat from his rage radiates off him as he stands motionless, seething with contempt and mulling what to do. I step up and lean in to him. “Chet, that was completely unacceptable, I know. And I promise you, we’ll handle it. Hell, I’ll kick his ass myself. But now is not the time,” I whisper. “Focus on your bride. She’s the only thing that matters now.” Chet pulls at his collar, loosening the tie as he breathes long, heavy breaths. When he looks to Christy, the anger in his eyes softens.

“Alright. For now,” he mutters through clenched teeth.

Once Christy sees Chet waiting for her, she regains her composure and resumes her walk as best she can. The music starts again, hushing the chatter in the audience back to a murmur. Christy’s smile has vanished, her lips now form a thin, flat line, but her head is high, and she finishes her walk with the grace of a saint, all things considered. She takes her place across from Chet and her mother stops across from me.

The reverend clears his throat and begins. Things settle down as the audience returns their focus to the bride and groom, until Leo starts fidgeting around, making a scene. Again.

Chet looks to me, and I acknowledge the issue. “I’ll handle it,” I whisper. After getting Hank's attention, I repeatedly jerk my head sideways towards Leo and draw my hand across my neck.

Cut it out or kill him, I don’t care which.

Hank makes a scene of his own as he shuffles seats with the red-faced girl between them. After he’s taken his place next to Leo, he elbows him in the gut. Leo groans and Hank sits back in his seat, pleased with himself. He even winks at me, smiling like he’s managed to solve world hunger. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear he was adopted.

Once again, the reverend clears his throat and does his best to pick up where he left off. The only saving grace in this situation is that once Chet and Christy look into each other’s eyes, everything else seems to fall away. Lord, I know I don’t pray often, but please…please, if you’re listening, let Leo pass out, or something, until this is over. Could you? I promise I’ll change my ways.

Thankfully, the ceremony continues without interruption, and when the reverend asks for the rings, I decide now is not the time to joke about being unable to find them. It could’ve been hilarious—under different circumstances. I dig them from my vest pocket and, as I hand them over, if I didn’t know better, I’d swear I catch a glimpse of Chet with tears in his eyes.

He speaks first, echoing each word from the reverend before placing the small band on Christy’s finger. Christy, in turn, echoes the words from the reverend and places Chet’s ring on his finger, only his gets stuck when she tries to push it over his knuckle. Just like Chet to have stupid, thick knuckles like his stupid, thick head. Everyone giggles as she leans in, putting a little weight behind her effort to push the ring back. Even Chet chuckles as he finishes the job for her.

“I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride!” The reverend steps back, allowing Chet to take his bride in his loving arms to kiss her. They turn to the guests, and indeed, tears of pride roll down his cheeks.

There it is. Perhaps for the first time in his life, my older brother has found happiness.