Post by Lets_Eat_Paste on Nov 18, 2013 3:01:19 GMT -6
William MaCarthy
The wedding had been seamless and beautiful. As Ben and Matvey exchanged vows, they both spoke through sheets of tears (though no one cried harder than Bill’s mother) and unfolding before Bill was a wedding plucked right off of a movie screen and placed into the realms of real time. The knot was tied and the happy couple walked out amid an orchestra of cheers and applause.
The throng assembled onto the cobblestone and dirt paths that lead to the reception area tucking into their seats beneath the tent or gazebo. Bill stood and made his toast, welcoming Matvey into the family and embarrassing Ben until his face matched the rose petals on the table. But once he was done, seated again, he cast his eyes out into the crowd and searched every face for Devi. A salmon-colored dress caught his eye and a smile crept onto his face when he saw the wearer was Devi. Everyone else watched as Ben and Matvey shared their first dance as a married couple, but Bill felt he was the only one watching the main attraction: the wedding planner herself. The way she ran her finger around the empty crystalline wine glass, scanning the room, clandestinely double checking that every minutia was in place. He moved to walk up to her, but was stopped by his grandmother who hugged him tightly.
“I’m so proud of you!” she said.
“Jesus, Gran, it’s not my wedding,” Bill said, thrown off guard, angry that he lost sight of Devi. He looked around the room again.
“I know, but you made such a good best man up there. Isn’t the wedding beautiful?”
“Yeah,” Bill said absently, as the song came to an end. He locked his eyes once more on that black ad coral dress.
“It’s a real shame your brother Geoffrey couldn’t have seen this. His brother getting married! If only the pneumonia hadn’t of been so nasty.”
Bill wanted to shake her and yell ‘Bloody f*ck, woman, this is a wedding, not a funeral!’ But instead, Bill gingerly pushed her off of him, nothing but Devi in his mind, and said “Yes. Lovely, isn’t it? I have to go.”
He dodged waiters and the flower girl and finally ended up at Miss Devi Kumar’s table, the picture he drew of her like molten lead, burning a hole in his pocket. “Miss Kumar, I believe you owe me a dance.” He offered her a hand and bowed slightly. “A deal’s a deal.”
The wedding had been seamless and beautiful. As Ben and Matvey exchanged vows, they both spoke through sheets of tears (though no one cried harder than Bill’s mother) and unfolding before Bill was a wedding plucked right off of a movie screen and placed into the realms of real time. The knot was tied and the happy couple walked out amid an orchestra of cheers and applause.
The throng assembled onto the cobblestone and dirt paths that lead to the reception area tucking into their seats beneath the tent or gazebo. Bill stood and made his toast, welcoming Matvey into the family and embarrassing Ben until his face matched the rose petals on the table. But once he was done, seated again, he cast his eyes out into the crowd and searched every face for Devi. A salmon-colored dress caught his eye and a smile crept onto his face when he saw the wearer was Devi. Everyone else watched as Ben and Matvey shared their first dance as a married couple, but Bill felt he was the only one watching the main attraction: the wedding planner herself. The way she ran her finger around the empty crystalline wine glass, scanning the room, clandestinely double checking that every minutia was in place. He moved to walk up to her, but was stopped by his grandmother who hugged him tightly.
“I’m so proud of you!” she said.
“Jesus, Gran, it’s not my wedding,” Bill said, thrown off guard, angry that he lost sight of Devi. He looked around the room again.
“I know, but you made such a good best man up there. Isn’t the wedding beautiful?”
“Yeah,” Bill said absently, as the song came to an end. He locked his eyes once more on that black ad coral dress.
“It’s a real shame your brother Geoffrey couldn’t have seen this. His brother getting married! If only the pneumonia hadn’t of been so nasty.”
Bill wanted to shake her and yell ‘Bloody f*ck, woman, this is a wedding, not a funeral!’ But instead, Bill gingerly pushed her off of him, nothing but Devi in his mind, and said “Yes. Lovely, isn’t it? I have to go.”
He dodged waiters and the flower girl and finally ended up at Miss Devi Kumar’s table, the picture he drew of her like molten lead, burning a hole in his pocket. “Miss Kumar, I believe you owe me a dance.” He offered her a hand and bowed slightly. “A deal’s a deal.”
