Granny and Grandad O’Sullivan are sitting next to me. Granny’s wearing one of those wrap dresses, and it reminds me of the one Maddie was wearing that night at the hotel in Youngstown. It’s wrong. It’s so wrong that I’m thinking about all the things Maddie and I did to each other that night while my granny is telling me about my grandad’s foot problems. At the same time that she’s talking, Grandad is telling me about the shenanigans at his bachelor party sixty-some years ago. Or rather, the stag night. Or rather, your basic night out for a bunch of Irish guys. He’s told me the story ten times, so I know exactly what to say, even though I’m picturing Maddie naked right now.
“Did you get to the church on time, Grandad?” I ask when he pauses to take a breath.
“Aye. I got me to the church on time! Banjaxed, still totally langers, and I made a right bags of the wedding! Didn’t I, dear wife?”
“Ohhhh, didn’t you, dear husband? Made a right bags of every day of our life together since.” She waves him off while simultaneously making eyes at him as he grabs her knee under the table.
“Shall I try to do better, then?” My Grandad nudges her, grinning.
“I’d like to see you try, old man. I’d like to see you try.”
So, I’m not the first and I won’t be the last lad in this family to screw up and then beg forgiveness from his lady love. I’m not even half as charming as my grandad—I can only hope that Maddie is twice as forgiving as my granny is.
I look across the table and see that the skin on Billy Boston’s forehead is pink and raw from when he was vigorously rubbing off the penis earlier. That sounds all kinds of wrong, but absolutely nothing is right today. Like for instance, Eddie looks like he spent yesterday at the spa with the ladies instead of drinking with us—but he was definitely drinking with us. Fucking twentysomething asshole.
Actually, something is right. Brady is over there staring at Hannah like she’s the queen of the universe, and even I feel a little more alive seeing the two of them together. He looks tired but happy.
According to the fifty or so new pictures I found on my phone, he spent most of the night with a big dopey grin on his face and a “pecker veil” on his head. It looks like I spent a lot of time at the brewery having a deep discussion with a waitress. According to her nametag, her name was Bernice, and according to her white hair and wrinkles, she must have been about a hundred and twenty. I’m sure she told me some really wise things about love and life, but I have forgotten all of it. It looks like I was very happy while playing the slot machines at the casino and then got very sad and angry at the craps table.
Apparently I got my aggressions out by playing the drums on stage at some music venue around town. There is also a picture of me in the drive-thru window of a Rally’s, having what looks to be a very serious conversation with a guy in a truck. I was probably giving him legal advice or something. Guess I’ll never know.
One thing’s for certain—despite everything, I’m glad I came. It may not be thanks to me that Brady survived the night, but he survived it. I’m here for him. We’re all here for him and Hannah. People have been getting up to toast them ever since dessert was served, and Eddie is wrapping up his adorable speech, so it’s probably time for me to get up on the little stage and say something too.
I take another big gulp of coffee, another big gulp of water, slowly stand up, and saunter over to the stage, clapping for Eddie and for Brady and Hannah. I don’t have a fucking clue what I’m going to say, and maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe I’ll just sing the Chumbawamba song and then drop the mic. Or maybe I’ll actually say what I’m feeling when I’m feeling it instead of playing verbal chess for once in my adult life.
I pick up the microphone, and as soon as I lock eyes with Brady, I have a flashback to last night.
“Hi,” I say, and then there is a very long pause because I’m trying to remember our conversation. I can tell by the way everyone is staring at me that they’re afraid I’m either going to vomit or declare my love for the bride. Neither of these things are an issue. “We had a night last night, didn’t we, buddy?”
“Wicked pissah of a night!” Billy Boston yells out, and then he drops his head to the table with a loud thud.
“That’s enough outta you, Boston,” I say into the mic.
Nonna is frowning and cursing at him from another table.
“Thanks for being here, buddy,” Brady says, raising his glass of water to me.
“It’s good to see you back in the arms of your beautiful bride, where you belong.”
I wait for the “awwwws” to subside. I wasn’t even playing that one for effect, but I’ll take it.
“At some point last night—and to be honest, most of the night is a blur, but—at some point…I remember sitting on the ground next to Brady. We may have been hiding from our cousins…”
Pause for laughter and for Nolan to yell out, “You can run but you can’t hide, Americans!”
“But I remember asking
