The emergency being that she has to tell her family how big of an asshole I am.
“She’s not coming?”
“I didn’t say that. I just said she isn’t here. Look, I have to call her before the guys get here. Have a great spa day—I promise to keep your husband in line. See you tomorrow.” I hang up. I never hang up on my sister before she’s said goodbye first. I’m in a downward spiral.
I start typing out a text to Maddie. It seems like the smart thing to do—take her temperature first before calling—since I’m not exactly bringing my A-game with the ladies today. Before I’ve even finished typing three sentences, my mother calls.
And I know, even before I answer, exactly how this conversation is going to go.
“Hey, Ma.”
“Dec. Why isn’t Maddie here? What happened?”
“It’s just what I told Casey.” I say a quick prayer, just in case there’s a chance she’s so busy she’ll actually fall for that crap.
“Don’t you give me that, mister. There’s something wrong. I can hear it in your voice. You’re hungry and you’re anxious. Tell me. Or, you know… If you’d feel better lying to your only sister and your only mother, then just keep doing that. Go on. I’ve got a million relatives coming into town and a house to clean, but I got all the time in the world over here.”
“We had an argument, okay? She quit.”
“She quit her job?”
“Yes. And she quit…being my fake girlfriend.”
“What did you just say? She quit being your fake girlfriend? Did my sixty-year-old ears hear that right?”
“Yes. I know it sounds weird—”
“Ya think?”
“But that’s just how it started out. Things got real, fast. And they were good. They were better than good. They were better than anything. And then I messed up, but I’ll make it right. I just have to talk to her before the guys get here.”
I can hear her sniffling, which is awesome.
“Ma. Don’t cry.”
Well, this is a fucking delightful unexpected treat.
“Aw, Decky, I’m sorry. I’m sorry you felt so bad about everything that you had to go and fake a girlfriend.”
“It’s no one’s fault, Ma. Well, maybe it’s my fault.”
“I like her, Dec. I like Maddie. I like her with you. Even Nonna likes her.”
“I know. I do too.”
“I just don’t know where I went wrong with you. You were such a good boy. Always my little angel—I don’t know why you can’t get it right with a girl.”
“I wish I knew. I thought I was doing pretty good, too… You think I should go back to New York real quick to fix this?”
“Declan Sullivan Cannavale, don’t you dare! You can’t leave your brother with those animals—Aiden and Eddie can’t handle them.”
“Those animals from your side of the family, you mean?”
“You should be Brady’s best man—we don’t talk about it, but you know it.”
“Yeah. I know.”
“Least you could do is be there for him for the next few days.”
“Yes. Least I could do after providing him with a bride.”
“All right, that’s enough about that.”
There’s banging on the door.
“Eh! Room service! Somebody in there order a wicked awesome steamin’ pile of trouble?!”
“Shut your feckin’ gob, O’Sullivan—this here’s a fine establishment.”
“Shit,” I whisper into the phone. “They’re here. I gotta go.”
“Me too. I gotta pick your granny and grandad up at the airport.”
“Oh good. His foot’s better?”
“Enh. Good enough. Love you, Dec. Don’t screw up your life. But don’t let those boys screw up Brady’s wedding for him either. And I don’t want all you boys showing up for the rehearsal all banjaxed and unshowered!”
“On it. I’ll take care of all of it. Love you too. Bye.”
I check the text that I had started writing to Maddie and delete it without sending. I’ll try again when we’re in the party limo. I roll my eyes and gird my loins, because what the fuck are a bunch of grown men doing getting into a party limo at one in the afternoon anyway?
More banging on the door. “You in there, Dec?” It’s Brady, and he sounds mildly frightened.
“Yeah. Coming.” I grab my coat, slide my phone into an inside pocket.
As soon as I unlock the door, Billy O’Sullivan comes bursting through it. He gets me in a headlock and shouts out, “Eh, Manhattan! Look at this ugly mug. I missed this mug so hard all these years.” Billy has burst through every door he’s ever walked through, and he shouts in his sleep. I’m already exhausted. He looks around at the suite and lets go of me. “Whoa. Check out this wicked fuckin’ pissa hotel room!”
“Should we get going?” I ask as he bounds over to the windows.
My Irish cousin Nolan squeezes my shoulder and hands me a can of Guinness in a brown paper bag as he passes by while unzipping his jeans. “Drink up, cousin. I need to hit the jacks.”
I do appreciate that the can is unopened, because the last time I drank from an open container that he presented to me, here is what I’ve pieced together about how the next 48 hours played out: Nolan shaved the front part of my legs. We all ended up on stage at a Steve Miller Band concert singing "The Joker." We took over the drive-thru window at a Taco Bell. I sang that Chumbawamba song into the mic and bought tacos for everyone who came through—with my new credit card. The next morning, I tried to adopt all of the dogs at an animal shelter in Toledo and cried for half an hour when they wouldn't let me. No one really knows how we ended up in Michigan.
I pull my brother in for a hug. “Having fun yet?”
“I can’t wait to never go out without my wife again. Or just to never go out again.”
“Sounds good.” Sounds really good. I am not going to cry.
“Sorry, is it weird for you when I call your ex-girlfriend my wife?” he asks with a smirk.
“Naw. Is it weird for you when she screams my
