Three Stupid Weddings

by Ann Gallagher

  And while he was recovering, I was happy to step in and be a human shield of sorts so he didn’t have to fend off potential suitors at the weddings. I just tried not to let myself get too excited about what we were doing. About what could hypothetically happen if we stepped out as “boyfriends” and pretended—if only for a few hours—that we were exactly what I would have sold my soul for us to be. There was no point in thinking it was anything but a harmless charade while Vic got over his ex. In his mind, I was a protective big brother, and that was all I’d ever be.

  I genuinely didn’t mind Vic seeing me as that protective big brother.

  Sometimes I just wished he could see me as more.

  Chapter 3

  Vic

  “You are so lucky you don’t have to do this.” I huffed as I tugged at the cuff of the black sleeve and glared in the tux shop’s full-length mirror.

  Behind me, Dom chuckled. “Oh come on. It’s not that bad.”

  “Says you,” I muttered. And okay, it really wasn’t that terrible, but this was the eighty-seventh jacket I’d tried on and I still couldn’t find one that fit without making me look like I still had the thirty pounds I’d worked very hard to lose over the last two years. Short of getting one custom tailored, I was probably just going to have to suck it up. Or in. Whatever. “What do you think of this one?”

  Dom made a turn around gesture, so I did a slow three-sixty. Earlier, I’d done some silly pirouettes, but I was so done with this whole thing. A grumbling, lumbering turn was all he was getting.

  “Hmm.” He stroked his beard, then shrugged. “It looks great. I think this one’s my favorite, actually.”

  “Yeah?” I straightened, hopeful I’d found a winner.

  “I still think you’re going to bake in it, though.”

  Wrinkling my nose, I groaned. “Unless they have one in stock with miniature air-conditioners under the armpits…” I turned to the infinitely patient saleslady, who sadly shook her head. “I think I should just make peace with baking.”

  “Tell me again why your sister is having an outdoor reception in June?”

  “Because she wants to watch the entire family melt, I guess. Mark my words—she’s going to have a sleeveless, barely-there, light-as-a-feather dress, and she’ll wonder why the rest of us are dying.” I shrugged off the jacket and started putting it back on the hanger. “And since my cousin’s wedding is black-tie, I should be smart like you and just buy the damn thing. Then I wouldn’t have to do this every damn time someone in my life gets married.”

  “Well, you’ll still have to get a different vest or cummerbund.”

  “Fuck my life.”

  Dom chuckled. “They’re not that bad once you have the jacket and trousers.” He paused. “If it helps, you really do look great in that one.”

  I met his eyes in the mirror, and smiled as warmth rushed into my cheeks. “Thank you.”

  He smiled back.

  “And it doesn’t make me look—”

  “Not even a little.” He shook his head. “You look fine. You’ve looked fine in every jacket you’ve tried on. I promise.”

  I pushed out a breath through my nose and faced the mirror again, turning this way and that because I was still convinced I saw my two-years-ago self. I didn’t want to hear my ex’s voice in the back of my mind, but even though the son of a bitch had moved out of our apartment, he hadn’t quite moved out of my head.

  “That’s what you’re wearing?”

  “Baby, you might want to spend a little more time at the gym before you put on something like that.”

  “Hmm, I’m sure a tailor could let it out.”

  My stomach knotted. Trying on clothes used to be an okay thing for me, but ever since Max, it had become an ordeal. I missed eighteen-year-old me who’d put on a cheap rental tux, looked my chubby self up and down in the mirror, and said “Yep, I’ll take it,” because I’d been more excited about going to prom with Alejandro Lòpez than I’d been worried about my waistline. Those were the days.

  “Vic?” Dom’s gentle voice prodded at me, and I faced him.

  “Hmm?”

  He cocked his head. “You want to take a break?” He gestured over his shoulder with his thumb. “There’s a place a few doors down that sells dress shoes, or we could go to the food court and just chill for a bit.”

  After trying on clothes for the past however long we’d been here, the thought of food turned my stomach. At the same time, though, it sounded a hell of a lot better than parading yet another tuxedo in front of this mirror.

  I released a breath, shoulders sagging inside the heavy jacket. “That’s a good idea.” I looked at the saleslady. “You don’t mind, do you? If we—”

  “No, no, of course not.” She smiled as she started pulling rejected tuxes off the rack. “We’re open until nine, and I’m here until six, so take your time.” She sounded sincere, but I had a feeling she was thanking God we’d be out of her hair for a little bit. I couldn’t imagine she was getting paid enough to put up with me.

  I stepped into the dressing room to put my normal clothes back on. Damn, he was right—I did need a break. Just slipping into my jeans and T-shirt was enough to soothe my nerves and make me feel less… I don’t know. Weird? Exposed? I’d never had body image issues before Max, but I sure had them now, and I hated how they made me feel this uncomfortable in my own skin. I wasn’t overweight. Honestly I hadn’t even been when Max had started giving me grief and I’d started working my butt off (literally). I’d been a pudgy kid, and then slimmed down a little in college and mostly stayed that way.

  But Max had wanted a trophy boyfriend, and to him that apparently meant his boyfriend should weigh the same as one of those ridiculous plastic trophies they gave us all in second grade after a season of soccer. I should’ve known it was time to kick him to the curb when my doctor—not to mention my boss, my mom, half my clientele, and my friends—had started telling me I needed to gain weight.

  I met my reflection’s eyes and sighed. All the “you need to gain weight” crowd had backed off. The “oh my God, you’ve lost so much weight and you look fabulous” bunch had too. Maybe that meant I’d landed somewhere in the middle and could stop obsessing over my body. Which I would totally do. Any day now.

  Sighing again, I pulled my gaze away from the mirror and stepped out of the dressing room. As my gaze landed on my friend, I realized I wanted to be like Dom. He ate what he liked. He worked out but didn’t obsess over it. Sometimes he was a little overweight, sometimes he wasn’t, but he always looked healthy. If he had a few extra pounds on him, he didn’t suck it in or bury it under jackets and sweaters. No matter what, he always looked happy. God, I missed feeling that way.

  He cocked his head. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. Yeah.” I waved a hand as we headed for the door. “Trying on clothes these days is just… It’s depressing.”

  Dom scowled. For a moment, I thought he’d have a few more choice words about my ex and all the body image issues he’d created for me, but Dom mercifully changed the subject. “Why are they even making us wear tuxes? Neither of us is in the wedding party.”

  “Because my sister wants the whole family to be black-tie formal for portraits, and my cousin wants everything fancy. Like fancy.” I rolled my eyes. “I can only imagine what the wedding party has to wear. Poor bastards.”

  “Probably gold-plated cummerbunds and boutonnieres made from flowers picked from the gardens of Versailles.”

  I snorted. “Gold-plated? Please. Those bad boys better be solid gold.”

  Dom laughed. “So I guess we really can’t complain about tuxes.”

  “Oh, we so can.” I wagged a finger at him. “Someone makes me swelter in a tux in the middle of July and doesn’t even bother to have their wedding someplace air-conditioned? Darling, I will complain.”

  “Okay, I can’t argue with that. But hey, at least it’s just the ceremony.” His lips quirked. “It’s not going to be like a big Catholic cerem
ony, is it? Because those go on forever.”

  “Let’s hope not.”

  We wandered through the sparsely crowded mall to the food court. The thought of eating didn’t hold much appeal because of all the Max hamsters running through my mind, but the mall had one of those fruit smoothie places. Standing in line for that, I could smell the pretzels at the place next door, and Dom mentioned they’d brought back the cinnamon sugar ones they’d discontinued last summer.

  “You want me to get you one?” he asked. “You wait for the smoothies, I’ll get the pretzels?”

  But pretzels have so many calories, plus the cinnamon and sugar, and—shut up, Max. Shut the fuck up.

  I met Dom’s eyes and said with as much confidence as I could in that moment, “Deal.”

  Minutes later, we were sitting at a tiny metal table with smoothies, pretzels, and a cup of sugar frosting that was just too good to resist.

  “God, these are good,” Dom said after he’d taken a bite. He brushed some cinnamon and sugar off his beard. “It’s a crime they ever stopped making them.”

  “I know, right?” I dipped the end of mine in the frosting. The weight loss demons tried to speak up, and nearly cost me what was left of my appetite, but I took a bite anyway. And yeah, it was definitely a crime that the place had ever stopped making these.

  Two bites in, though, I started feeling like crap again. Eating something like this wasn’t going to make trying on clothes any less aggravating. Those trousers had been a little snug, and I needed to fit into them twice in the next couple of months, which meant if I rented that particular pair I would seriously have to watch what I ate and go to the gym and—

  “Hey.” Dom gently nudged my foot under the table. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, I…” I set the pretzel down and sighed. “Man, I used to like trying on clothes. I mean, it wasn’t something I went out and did as a hobby, but it was kind of fun, you know? Try something new? See how it looks?”

  Dom grimaced. “Not anymore?”

  “No. It stresses me out now.” Stomach in knots, I pushed my barely touched pretzel away. “I’m not gonna lie—I really miss not giving a shit about my weight.”

  The grimace turned to a scowl, and he put his pretzel down too. “Max really messed with your head, didn’t he?”

  “Yeah. He did.”

  “Ugh.” Dom brushed some crumbs off his fingers. “You looked fine before you got together with him, and you look fine now. I don’t know what the fuck that idiot’s problem was.”

  I blinked. I’d never had any illusions that Max had been Dom’s favorite person, but Dom wasn’t usually quite so open about how much he disliked anyone. “You really didn’t like him, did you?”

  He studied me as if he wasn’t quite sure what to say.

  I sat back, shoulders sagging a bit. “It’s okay if you didn’t. I think everyone caught on a lot sooner than I did that he was a jackass.”

  Dom held my gaze, his expression cautious. After a moment, he started picking at his pretzel again. “I just didn’t like how he made you feel. Just, every time I turned around, it seemed like he was making you feel bad about something.”

  I didn’t argue. I couldn’t. It had taken a long time for me to figure out my relationship with Max was toxic, and yet I knew damn well that if Max hadn’t left me, I’d still be with him. I wasn’t sure if that made me a coward or the King of Denial, but it made me sick with shame to realize how much of a doormat I’d been for Max—and would still be if he hadn’t left.

  “I was such an idiot,” I muttered.

  “Don’t do that, Vic,” Dom said softly. “You were beaten down. It was his fault, not yours.”

  “Yeah, but I still should have—”

  “You should have been treated like a boyfriend, not… like that. And he shouldn’t have made you feel like you can’t enjoy eating.” He gestured at our food. “You’re supposed to enjoy food. Not be miserable just because some twatwaffle thinks you should be skeletal.”

  I blinked again. And again, I couldn’t argue with him.

  “You’re better off without him,” Dom declared. He paused, then grinned with something that was half triumph, half caution. “And hey, every time we sit down and eat something he wouldn’t approve of, he gets a little more gone, am I right?”

  That actually made me laugh. “A little, yeah. I mean, I’m getting better about things. Just…trying on clothes kind of threw me off-kilter.” I paused. “Hard to believe we’re talking about the same guy I’ve been moping around about for the last two months. Ugh. Is it stupid that I’m still having a hard time getting over someone who was such a dick to me?”

  Dom shook his head. “Not at all. He was still part of your life, and he wasn’t an asshole all the time. It’s okay to be sad about the good parts being over, and it’s okay to have a hard time with change.”

  I rolled my shoulders, and I swore I could feel months’ worth of tension melting away as if he’d just told it all to leave. I wasn’t back to a hundred percent or anything, but trust Dom to know exactly what I needed to hear.

  “In fact,” he went on, “I can see why going to these weddings is going to be so hard for you. You’re still getting used to him being gone, and as much as he’s still messing with you, the last thing you need is someone trying to set you up.”

  “Yeah, exactly. And… I really appreciate you coming along. I know I’ve said that a million times, but I mean it.”

  Dom smiled. “Hey, I told you—I like wedding cake.”

  I laughed. “It is pretty good, isn’t it?”

  “It is.” He picked up his pretzel and grinned. “And so are these.”

  “True fact.” I chuckled, and though my stomach was still a little tight, the thought of eating didn’t make me want to gag this time. Stubborn demons notwithstanding, there was something to be said about sharing some munchies with a friend who didn’t care about carbs or calories. A few more meals with Dom, and maybe I could start eating like a normal person again too.

  He nibbled his pretzel. “So, do you want to take care of the tux on another day? There’s still time, so it’s not like—”

  “No, I’d rather just get it over with. I’ll probably feel shitty the next time, so I might as well.”

  “Okay. But if you don’t want to, we can always go do something else.”

  “I’ll be fine. But thanks.” I dipped my pretzel in the frosting because fuck my ex-boyfriend. “Then we can go to the wedding and melt.”

  He groaned. “We’re going to die. You know that, right?”

  “Probably. And I doubt my cousin will let us take off our jackets even if it’s five hundred degrees.”

  “Is she a sadist?”

  “Worse—a perfectionist.”

  “Oh God.”

  “Right.” I paused, then grinned. “Would it be bad if I wore ridiculous socks under my trousers?”

  Dom chuckled. “I will if you will.”

  “Yeah?” I raised my eyebrows. “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.”

  I fought a smirk. “I swear to God, I’m talking Star Wars socks.”

  His eyes widened and he grinned. “Dude.”

  I snorted, shaking my head. “I guess we’re going to sock shopping after this, aren’t we?”

  “Hell yeah, we are.” Grinning even wider, he gestured back toward the tux ship. “Let’s go back and find one that fits so we can go sock shopping!”

  I laughed, and damn, I was actually kind of eager to get my tux just so we could go find some ridiculous socks to wear. “All right, all right. Let’s go.”

  ~*~

  Dom and I had long ago bonded over our love of Star Wars, but he admittedly—hell, proudly—took Star Wars nerd to a whole new level. It was kind of adorable watching him get giddy like a kid on Christmas whenever we were in line for one of the new movies, and I could buy him literally anything for his birthday as long as it had something to do with Star Wars. I’m not kidding, either. He not only put up t
he BB-8 shower curtain I bought him, he went out and got R2-D2 rings to hold it up. If he ever found a light sabre curtain rod, he’d absolutely use it. Especially if it glowed.

  So it was no surprise at all that Dom knew of a place in Seattle where one could come into possession of Star Wars socks. Forty-five minutes after I finally settled on a tux and vest, we walked into a hole-in the-wall comic book shop at the edge of Fremont that claimed to have “all the Star Was propaganda you could ever want.”

  And in the back of the shop, between some creepy-looking Ewok bobbleheads and a life-sized C3PO display…

  “I’ll be damned.” I grabbed a pair of fuzzy Chewbacca socks off the stand. “If my cousin’s wedding weren’t in the middle of the summer, I would totally wear these.”

  “Yeah, but it’s gonna be hot. You need something that breathes.” Dom plucked a pair off another rack. “Like these.”

  My jaw actually dropped open. “Jar Jar Binks…socks. Those are a thing that exists.”

  “Looks like they are.” He grinned, eyes narrowing. “I dare you.”

  Under normal circumstances, I drew the line at Jar Jar. Just…no. But in the interest of wearing something hilariously tacky and tasteless under an uncomfortable tux in million-degree heat? Well, damn. Suddenly Jar Jar was perfect.

  So, I hung up the Chewy socks and took the ones he’d picked out. “Okay, I’m in.” I nodded toward the display. “Now we need to find a pair for you.” I spun the rack, wincing at the shriek of metal as it wobbled around on its axis. “Do you think they have Jabba the Hutt?”

  Dom wrinkled his nose. “Eh, I wore a Jabba T-shirt to my mom’s birthday. I should—”

  “You did?”

  “Well, yeah.” He half-shrugged as he carefully turned the squealing rack. “I wasn’t going to wear the same R2-D2 shirt I wore on Christmas.”

  I chuckled, shaking my head. Knowing him, he wasn’t kidding, and his family adored his nerdiness as much as I did.

  As the rack turned, a pair came into view with COME TO THE DARK SIDE in bright red lettering. I held them up. “These are so you.”