I blew out my breath, oblivious to the uncomfortable silence that had engulfed the room, and began to pace one, two, three steps in one direction and back, keeping my blurred vision on my feet. “Because, see, Ricky and Lucy weren’tsupposedto be together, but before I was shipped off to join the Army”—one, two, three—“I asked Ricky tokeep an eye on my sisters, to make sure they were okay while I was gone, but”—one, two, three—“I guess I forgot to also tell him to keep his fucking hands to himself—"
“Max,” Lucy warned, emerging from the crowd.
I looked up as I paced back toward the DJ booth—one, two, three—and held the glass of champagne up to her. “No, no, no, Lucy, it’s fine. ‘Cause this story—yourstory—has a happy ending, right? Because if Ihadtold Ricky to keep his hands off you—or Grace, I guess, since, you know, you two look the fucking same—then this wouldn’t have happened. And, yeah”—one, two, three—“I was pissed when I first found out. ‘Cause doesn’t that go against some unspoken oath or something? Bro code or whatever the fuck they call it? Like, Rick”—I glanced toward the crowd, sweeping my gaze quickly through the mass of tense faces—“wherever the hell you are, didn’t you feel at least alittlelike an asshole, screwing my sister behind my back, while I was out there, being shot at?”
“Maxwell.” My father’s voice drew my attention, and there he was, stepping out to stand beside my irate sister. “I would strongly advise you to reconsider whatever it is you’re about to say. You’ve caused enough damage here.”
One, two, three, and I stopped to stand before Dad. A humorless, huffed chuckle scraped over my throat and into the microphone.
“See, that’s exactly what I was about to say, Dad,” I said, my voice low and monotone, barren of emotion. “That, out of all of my failures, of all the things I had ever done wrong”—I raised the glass and my pointer finger to him—"which, according to you, has been everything—amI right?”One, two, three. “Of every little thing I have fucked up, I guess the least of them was to not tell good ol’ Ricky—wherever the hell he is—to keep his fucking hands to himself. Because if Ihad, I guess there’s a pretty good chance none of this would’ve happened. And that would’ve been a damn shame. ‘Cause this is truly a great wedding, Luce. Seriously. I mean, maybe it’s a good thing I didn’t die—right, Dad? I would’ve missed this entire shindig, and whatever the hell that shit was we ate for dinner, and, uh”—I looked up toward the chandelier, peering at the dozens of dangling crystals—“that thing. That’s really pretty. Sparkly.”
“Hey.”
I turned so quickly to my right that I tripped over my own feet, and there was Sid. Ricky behind him.
“Ah, there he is,” I said. “The guy with the grabby hands. But really, Rick, I’m happy for you—"
“I think that’s enough of this now, man,” Sid said gently, taking the mic away without any effort at all.
He passed it behind him to Ricky, who hurried off to give it back to the DJ.
I glared at Sid, even as I shouted, “To Ricky and Lucy!”
But her name didn’t sound quite right, did it? There was a slur in there, a slowness. And before Sid could grab another glass from my hand, I knocked back the champagne until the flute was empty. I stumbled again, nearly falling backward, and the glass slipped from my hand to shatter on the floor. Sid reached out to grab my shoulders and steady me back on my feet, but I wasn’t onmy feet. Not quite. The room was spinning. The one chandelier was now three—no, there were four.
I blinked heavily at the ceiling and drawled, “What the fuck was in that—"
Then, before I knew what was happening, my guts emptied all over the floor and my shoes and Sid. Somewhere, I heard people groaning with disgust. Somewhere, I heard someone—one of my sisters maybe—screaming as someone else—my other sister perhaps—began to wail, crying.
I remembered that they had called me a hero once upon a time. But what kind of hero ruined his sister’s wedding?
“You’re all right, man,” Sid said, rubbing my back, even as I became acutely aware of just what a mess I’d made of his dress shirt, tie, and pants.
“Oh God,” I groaned, my mouth dry, like I’d inhaled a bag of cotton. “Fuck. I-I’m—"
Before I could continue, I was shut up by a sharp, blinding pain blooming across my jaw. The blow nearly knocked me to the ground, but someone—was it Ricky?—caught me before I could hit the floor.
“Yo, what the hell, man?!” Sid shouted angrily.
“You.” My father seethed, and my head wobbled on my neck until I was facing his finger, pointing directly at my face. “I want you out of here now. Do you understand me? Get the hell out of here. You miserable, lousy, dishonorable piece of shit. You are an embarrassment to this entire family—do you realize that?”
I barely nodded as I choked out, “Yes. I do.”
He guffawed, his laugh barren of mirth. “Well, at least we finally agree on something.”
Then he looked at Ricky and Sid and said, “Drag him out. I don’t want to see his face in here again.”
It felt like I was walking on air as Ricky and Sid flanked my sides and helped me out of the wedding hall and out into the cool summer night air. It was late August. Fall would be coming soon. At one point, I would’ve cared about that. I would’ve been excited, looking forward to school and the reprieve it gave me from being at home. Now, it was just another time of year, same as the last. There was no reprieve, no relief.
“You okay, Max?” Ricky asked, as if I hadn’t just ruined his wedding.
“The hell do you care?” I muttered, feeling oddly and instantly emotional and alone despite their company.
Ricky hung his head, sighing. “Come on, man. You know I care.”
I waved a dismissive hand in his direction as I turned to stare off toward the adjacent beach and a lighthouse, somewhere in the distance, breaking through the night with its blinking light.
“Go back to your fucking wedding, Ricky.”
