FOL short fiction
Title: The Best Man
Rating: G
A/N: A short piece that assumes familiarity with characters in my other stories.
The groom nervously adjusted his bow tie. “I can’t get it right; I can never get it right.”
“Here,” his friend, the best man, offered. “Let me.” The knot was adjusted and the edges perfectly aligned.
“How do you know how to do that so well?”
The friend laughed. “I grew up with ties. Trust me, I know ties.”
The groom peeked out the door of the house. The guests were in their chairs on a sun drenched lawn, all facing a spectacular view of the Atlantic Ocean. “We sure lucked out on the weather, didn’t we?” he remarked.
“Did you have any doubt? What rain god would dare to brave the wrath of this wedding party?” The chamber orchestra started to play. “OK, let’s hit it.”
“Wait…wait, I just have to say something.”
“You aren’t getting cold feet are you?’ the best man growled. “Because leaving this woman at the altar is non-starter. You do something like that and you’ll be singing soprano for the rest of your days.”
“No, of course not. This is happiest day of my life. I still can’t believe she said yes.”
“Hey, you’re not a bad catch, for a Red Sox fan.”
“Thanks. No, I just wanted to say, I don’t think I could have gotten to this place, to today without you. I’m really grateful for..for..everthing.”
“Don’t get too sappy, buddy,” the best man replied. “You haven’t heard my toast yet.”
The groom laughed. “I can just imagine. But think about it. I mean, she and I-we grew up together-sandbox partners. We're bros, comrades. It took me a while to realize how hot she was.”
The best man put an arm around the groom. “I’m glad you did. I’ve given you a lot of advice over the years. Some good, some bad. But there’s one thing I do know. Falling in love with your best friend, and having them love you back. Well, let’s just say, it rocks.”
“I can only imagine,” the groom replied. “Anyway, thanks.”
“You’re welcome. But I can’t take all the credit. I may have told you to go for it, but she had to respond.”
“She responded,” the groom smiled. “For a good church going gal she’s, um, what’s the word, adept.”
The best man winced. “Whoa, too much information, dude. But you may want to send a special thank you note to her godmother. I’m pretty sure the bride got a lot of her um...dating tips from her so-called aunt. Nothing like consulting an expert.”
The groom laughed. “I’ll be sure to do that. OK, I’m ready.”
The groom and the best man walked down the flower bedecked aisle. As they passed the section where the mother of the bride and two of her friends sat beaming, the best man gave them a wink, thinking, for women in their forties, they sure do look great. Especially the blonde. How hot is she?
The duo reached the minister and then turned to watch as the bridesmaids and ushers followed in a procession. Then came the bride, looking spectacular, on the arm of a distinguished looking man with salt and pepper hair.
After escorting his daughter to the altar, the father of the bride turned to the best man and whispered, “You didn’t lose the ring, did you? My wife wanted to make sure. Actually, they all did.”
“No, I did not lose the ring,” the best man muttered, insulted.
“Just checking, just checking,” the man chuckled as he gave his daughter a kiss and returned to his seat.
The minister cleared his throat. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today, on this glorious Maine afternoon, at the place where the bride was born, to consecrate and celebrate the union of Tisha Jonab Johnson and Francis St. Clair-Perlmutter. And what a wonderful celebration it is…”
Amen, the best man though to herself, suddenly swept away on a sea of memories.
“Ms. Polniaczek, Ms Polniaczek,” the minister intruded on her thoughts. “Do you have the ring?"