“Not helpful, Henn,” I say. “In what universe would you ever think that’s a helpful thing to say?”
“Sorry.”
Jonas puts his hand on my shoulder. “Josh, you got this. IfIcan say my vows without sharting, then you most certainly can.” He flashes me a warm smile and I’m struck, as I often am these days, by how genuinely happy my brother seems.
“You know what, Jonas?” I say. “You should wear black-tie more often, bro—it suits you. You’ve got this Thor-meets-James-Bond thing going on.”
Jonas scoffs. “I feel more like I’ve got an Idiot-Brother-meets-Dancing-Monkey-thing going on.”
“All done,” Uncle William says, patting Henn on his shoulder. He turns Henn to face me. “Acceptable, Joshua?”
“Suave perfection,” I say. “You’re Cary-Grant-meets-Steve-Jobs, Henn.”
Reed sidles up to me with a bottle of Patron. “A little something to calm the jitters, Faraday?”
“Just a little sip,” I say, grabbing the bottle. “Any more than that and I might spontaneously shart from being toorelaxed.” I take a quick sip and then pass the bottle around.
“Pretty good,” Uncle William says when the bottle makes its way to him. “But at the reception, we’re all drinking my Scotch.”
“Did you bring the good stuff?” I ask.
“Of course. I brought several different bottles to be shared at theparty, plus I’ve got bottles of some forty-year-old stuff for each of you boys to take home.”
“Bottles of what now?” Henn asks, his face perking up.
“Scotch,” I answer. “From my uncle’s private stash. Whatever it is, it’ll change your life, I guarantee it.”
“Well, don’t mind if I do,” Henn says. “Thanks, Uncs.” He pats my Uncle on the back.
Uncle William laughs. “You’re very welcome, Peter. Do you boys know anything about Scotch?” he asks, and when Henn and Reed both admit they’re fairly clueless, my uncle proceeds to school both of them on the topic.
“Hey, Jonas?” I say. “Can I talk to you for a second?”
We move to the corner of the bungalow.
“You okay?” Jonas asks.
I nod. “Just a lot more nervous than I expected to be.” I shake out my arms. “It’s taken me a lifetime to get here. I don’t wanna fuck it up.”
Jonas looks at me sympathetically. “Just take a deep breath. It’ll be over soon.”
“No, not the ceremony. Themarriage. I don’t wanna fuck it up.”
“You won’t. You never fuck anything up.”
I scoff. “We both know that’s a load of complete bullshit. Got any advice for me?”
“Just imagine everyone naked,” Jonas says. “Except Sarah. Definitely don’t picture Sarah naked or I’ll have to punch you in your pretty face.”
“No, don’t give me advice about saying my vows—gimme your best advice for a happy marriage. You’re the happiest married guy I know.”
Jonas shrugs. “Well, I haven’t been married all that long—but, yeah, I guess I already know the secret. Put her happiness ahead of your own every single day and it’ll come back to you ten-fold.”
“You sound like a fortune cookie.”
He laughs. “Yeah, just add ‘in bed’ to anything I say.”
“Thank you, Jonas,” I say. “That’s exactly what I’ll do. I’ll worship her every fucking day.”
