by Tara Sivec
When I mentioned the color choice reason to my mother, she flipped out and started yelling and crying about a football themed wedding and how appalling it would be to have “Shabby Cat” Ohio State decorations.
The tears fall from my eyes, realizing my mother doesn’t just live to drive me crazy. Every once in a while, she actually listens and does something to make me happy. Still ignoring the shouts from behind me, I slowly take in everything around me: The rows of white folding chairs with red, satin ribbons tied around the back with the small, Ohio State “O” symbol nestled in the middle of each bow. The red aisle runner lining the grass in between the seating and leading up to a giant, wooden, block letter “O”, painted red and lined in white. It’s the focal point of the yard and acts as the canopy for us to stand under to say our vows, the bottom cut off so Sam and I can easily walk under it. I gently swipe away more tears when I see a huge, stop and repeat banner off to the side with a life-sized photo of the Horseshoe stadium printed on it, so guests can have their photos taken in front of it.
I feel Sam come up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me back against his wet chest as the two of us quietly look around at what my mother’s done.
A short distance away from where the ceremony will take place, white tents have been set up with round tables underneath, each one covered in red linen with red and white roses nestled in square silver containers in the center of each one. A wooden dance floor has been installed in the middle of the all the tables with a giant letter “S” next to a giant letter “N” painted in the center of the floor, the letters in Ohio State block shape, in scarlet red lined with white.
“I know you said no ice sculpture, but that’s one decision I had to veto,” my mother says, coming to stand next to us as she points at a table with a red cloth draped over the top under one of the tents.
Sam and I turn our heads in that direction, neither of us saying a word.
“That’s going to be the dessert table and since I ordered two hundred homemade buckeyes from those nice ladies at Seduction and Snacks, we needed something to keep them from melting,” she explains. “Your father tried to make an O out of the ice blocks I ordered, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get it to not look like an oddly-shaped boob.”
“They were NOT oddly shaped; they were spectacular ice boobs!” my father argues.
My mother sighs before continuing.
“Anyway, I found a local company who could do an exact replica of the O and they’re going to drop it off tomorrow morning. We’ll spread the buckeyes all around the base and they’ll keep cool all day. I’ve also made a sign letting people know they will be removed from the premise if they pee and or try to stick their tongue to the ice.”
My mother barely finishes her explanation when I pull out of Sam’s arms and launch myself against her, giving her a tight hug.
“It’s perfect, Mom. I love everything,” I whisper as she runs her hand down the back of my head.
“I love it too, Bev. You did such an amazing job,” Sam agrees, moving in to join the hug when my mother lets go of me with one of her arms to hold it out to the side, inviting him in.
“Good, I’m glad the two of you like it and you’re happy. Please remember this feeling when I tell you what I’m about to tell you,” my mother says, dropping her arms from around us and taking a few steps back.
“I thought you were going to wait until tomorrow for this?” Aunt Bobbie asks, walking over to us with her hands linked through Nicholas and Alex’s elbows.
“I was, but I just got a text and circumstances have changed,” Bev tells her, giving Sam and me a worried look.
“Mom, what did you do?” I ask softly, trying very hard not to ruin the euphoria I’m feeling about how great the yard looks and knowing how perfect tomorrow will be.
“Remember when you explained to me why I couldn’t invite so many people because Sam doesn’t have anyone, and you didn’t want him to be sad when we had a bunch of people sitting on our side of the aisle and he didn’t have anyone?” she asks.
Sam leans down and kisses the top of my head as I try to think back to that night I drank my weight in vodka and what I may or may not have drunkenly slurred to my mother.
“I love you so much,” he whispers into my ear, making me momentarily forget that my mother is about to drop a bomb on us.
I turn my head to look up at him, taking in his full lips, the dimples in his cheeks, and his blue eyes as they stare down at me, knowing without a doubt that no matter what my mother says next, I’m putting an end to this no-sex interval. As soon as Scheva gets here later for the rehearsal practice, her number one duty as my maid of honor is going to be figuring out a way to sneak Sam into my old bedroom window tonight so I can bang the hell out of him. It’s the least she can do now that I can no longer stomach the sight of butter. My morning coffee and slice of toast has been sad, plain and pathetic since Buttergate 2016.
“Well, what you said about Sam not having anyone got me thinking and you’ll be happy to know I fixed the problem and now no one will be sad,” my mother continues, forcing my gaze away from Sam’s mouth to look at her.
“HAPPY FOURTH OF JULY, MOTHER FUCKERS! ’MURICA!”
The shout from the side of the house has all of us turning in that direction to see a man walk into the backyard.
“Surprise,” my mother announces weakly.
Sam drops his arm from around me and curses under his breath as I try not to stare at the guy. He’s wearing a pair of cut-off jean shorts, much shorter than the ones I’m wearing and so miniscule that the pockets of the things hang down below the frayed edges. His knee-high socks have American flags on them, partially hidden behind the tall, tan unlaced work boots on his feet that clunk all around as he waltzes toward us.
“I brought the good stuff, Sam! Who’s ready to drink some Natty Light?!” he asks with a smile, lifting the case of beer above his head when he stops a few feet from us.
Unfortunately, this motion causes the tight t-shirt he’s wearing with a bald eagle printed on it, that was already showing off his bulging gut due to it being hacked off unevenly across the middle, to rise up above his unnaturally large nipples and abundantly hairy chest.
“Sammy, you crazy-ass mother fucker! I can’t believe you’re getting hitched,” the guy says with a smile and a shake of his head, tearing open the case of beer and taking out a can of Natural Light before setting the box down in the grass by his feet.
He looks over at Aunt Bobbie and gives her a wink.
“Is this the old ball-and-chain? Look at you, Sammy, all grown up and snatching yourself a hot one. How you doin’, purty lady?” he asks, pulling back the beer tab on his can and quickly bringing it to his mouth, loudly slurping the liquid that sprayed out and collected around the rim.
“’MURICA!” he shouts again, holding his can up in a toast before tossing it back, chugging the entire thing, then crumpling the empty can in his fist and tossing it into the grass.
“Holy shit, is that Ralph?” Alex mutters.
I turn my head to see him staring at the guy in front of us with his mouth dropped open and his eyes wide, my head swiveling back to this Ralph guy that Alex seems to recognize, when I hear him crack open another beer.
“I take it you guys know each other?” I ask softly, as Ralph adjusts the American flag bandana tied around his head, lets out a loud belch and pats his protruding stomach.
“The name’s Ralph, but all my friends call me Fat Ralph,” he informs me, holding his hand out to me.
I tentatively slide my hand into his, wondering why Sam is still remaining silent and not introducing us. Ralph’s sweaty, meaty hand engulfs mine and I try not to cringe as he shakes it, giving me a squeeze and yanking me toward him when I try to let go.
“We’re so glad you could come to the wedding on such short notice,” my mother announces happily, moving to Ralph’s side and patting him on the back to try and get his attention away
from me as I shoot her a panicked look when he still won’t let go of my hand.
“You’re a purty one too. Not as hot as the redhead with the big hands over there, but you’ll do in a pinch. You got a date for this shindig tomorrow?” Ralph asks me.
Sam finally wakes up, taking a step forward to grab my shoulders and pull me back away from Ralph, tucking me protectively under his arm. Sadly, he still hasn’t remembered how to speak.
“How…why…when…HOW?” he mutters, the last word going up a few octaves, signaling that he’s pretty close to losing his shit.
“Aunt Bobbie and I snuck into your house when you and Noel were at work a few weeks ago,” my mother starts to explain nervously as Ralph turns his head in her direction and gives her a wink. “We went through your address book to find the addresses of some of your fellow Marines so we could send them wedding invitations, when we came across Ralph’s name.”
Ralph leans in and sniffs my mother’s hair.
“I told you, my friends call me Fat Ralph. You smell like a purty bouquet of flowers, hot stuff. What say we get this celebration started early, grab us a bucket of fried chicken from the KFC and make our own fireworks?”
My mother laughs uneasily, shooting my father her own panicked look, but he just casually slides his hands into his front pockets.
“I could go for some fried chicken. And if we’re being honest, I’m still exhausted from trying to get that coat rack of a hard-on to go down after last week. I could use some help,” he tells her with a shrug.
Ralph wags his eyebrows at her and she quickly moves a few feet away from him visibly shuddering when he never takes his eyes off of her as he bends down and grabs another beer from the case at his feet, shouting another “’MURICA!” in toast when he snaps open the tab.
“I’m beginning to see the error of my ways,” my mother whispers.
“What Bev is trying to explain, is that we saw Ralph’s name-” Aunt Bobbie pipes up, stopping mid-sentence when Ralph points at her.
“Sorry, we saw Fat Ralph’s name,” she corrects.
“Thank you kindly, sweet tits,” he says with a wink as Aunt Bobbie continues.
“And next to his name and address was the word FAM. So we assumed it stood for family and, of course, we had to send him an invitation,” she finishes.
“Is that true? Is this one of your relatives?” I ask, my head whipping around to look at a still shocked and tongue-tied Sam.
I’ve always felt badly that Sam never knew what it was like to have a family since he was an only child and his parents were killed in a car accident when he was a baby. He grew up moving around between foster homes, and even though he’s told me on more than one occasion that he didn’t have a bad childhood, I still couldn’t stop feeling sad about it. Especially when it came time to plan our wedding and make our guest list, and Sam had nothing to contribute. Even if Fat Ralph is the trashiest hillbilly on the face of the earth, I’m still going to be happy for Sam that he has one person here tomorrow to support him, and try not to be upset that he never told me about this guy. As Fat Ralph lets out another loud burp, I can kind of see why he chose to keep this part of his family tree a secret and I immediately forgive him.
“Shit, I’m not just a relative, I’m his brother!” Fat Ralph announces with a smile, showcasing a gap in the front where one of his teeth is missing.
“No, no, no, not my real brother,” Sam quickly ads, seeing the way my body suddenly tenses with this news. “Foster brother, I guess. Sort of. I mean, I lived with his family for one summer right before I turned eighteen.”
“That was a damn good summer, Shit Sock Sammy,” Fat Ralph laughs. “Did you tell them about the shit sock story? You probably did and left out all the good parts. How about we go inside so I can see what you got in your fridge and tell you how Sam got his nickname.”
My mother, Aunt Bobbie, Nicholas, and my father quickly move to lead the way as Fat Ralph grabs his case of beer and heads toward the house, most likely wanting to make sure they get there before him and he doesn’t start inhaling the food that started to be delivered today for the wedding.
“I can’t believe everything you said about him was true,” Alex whispers, still staring wide-eyed at Fat Ralph’s retreating back.
“And you didn’t believe me when I told you he was just like Cousin Eddie from the movie Christmas Vacation, but a thousand times worse,” Sam adds with a deep sigh.
Sam, Alex, and I watch Fat Ralph reach behind Aunt Bobbie and pinch her ass right before they make it to the kitchen door. In the blink of an eye, she turns, grabs his arm and yanks his entire body up and over her as she bends forward, the three of us wincing when his back slams into the ground.
“WOOOOOOHOOOOO I DIDN’T EVEN DROP MY BEER!” Fat Ralph shouts, holding his arm up above him that still holds the can.
“In case you were wondering, the FAM written next to his name in my address book didn’t mean family. It stood for Fucking Ass Motherfucker,” Sam tells me with a sigh.
With a sympathetic pat on his back, I grab his hand and pull him toward the house to join everyone else. Now I’m definitely going to put Scheva to work when she gets here. If anyone needs a release and some sex a day early, it’s Sam. Let’s just hope Fat Ralph is staying somewhere other than my parents’ house tonight.
Chapter 15
Liquefying Labia
Sam
Have you ever had a feeling of doom? That feeling when one bad thing happens and you know, without a shadow of a doubt, that it’s only the beginning? You’re positive it’s a sign, telling you that everything that could possibly go wrong in your life, will quickly follow that one bad thing in a tidal wave of horrible shit that you can never un-see, resulting in nightmares for the rest of your life. That’s pretty much where I’m at right now, standing in Nicholas’s old bedroom at Reggie and Bev’s house, staring at myself in the mirror above the dresser, trying to pinpoint exactly what that first bad thing was.
Naturally, I want to blame my jack-ass of a foster brother for showing up yesterday afternoon, but then I’d have to blame Bev and Aunt Bobbie for inviting him. Then I’d have to blame Noel for being worried about my lack of family at the wedding and I can’t fault any of them for loving me and caring about me. Right now, I’ve settled on blaming my dick for all that has happened, mostly because he can’t talk back when I curse at him.
I have to say, I look damn fine and I’m kind of glad one of the bad things that happened over the last few weeks was Alex doing exactly what I warned him about—pissing off the seamstress at the tux shop so much that she’d cancel our order. Thankfully, my soon-to-be wife was still in Keep Calm mode when we got the call, she quickly wrote down everyone’s measurements, and her and Aunt Bobbie ran to the mall to get us all something to wear.
Running my hand down my tie, I unbutton the cuffs of my fitted white dress shirt and roll them up to my elbows before straightening the grey belt attached to my gray dress pants. Noel got myself, Reggie, Nicholas, and Alex the same outfits, with the exception of the ties. They’d be wearing ties the same color gray as the pants, and I got a scarlet red one. Honestly, not having to wear a tux, when the temperature has already reached ninety degrees before noon, is perfectly fine with me, but I’m still adding this to the list of bad shit I’ve been calculating in my head.
After having to sit through Ralph explain in detail to everyone why he gave me the name of Shit Sock, an unfortunate event that involved Ralph shitting in a pair of socks when we camped in the backyard one night when we were teenagers, and me sliding them on at four in the morning when I had to take a piss, I couldn’t wait for him to go the hell away. There’s a reason why we’ve only communicated via email for the last seventeen years.
Even with the retelling of the shit sock story for a second time for Scheva’s benefit when she showed up to the house, Noel still had that look in her eye that I’ve learned to look for in the last seven months. The one that can give me a boner in two-point-f
ive seconds, even after the vibrating phone incident and even with Ralph going on and on about me putting on a pair of shit-filled socks, in between chugging an entire case of beer by himself and hitting on all the females in the room.
All through the night, including when we went outside to do a run-through of the ceremony, and after Ralph made Alex drive him to KFC to pick up chicken, Noel kept giving me that look. The one that said she was one second away from dragging me into an empty room and fucking my brains out. The hope that she had decided to end our agreement a day early was the only thing that gave me a reason to live all night. Noel found every excuse she could to rub her body against mine, graze her fingertips over my upper thigh right by my dick, and gently run her fingers through my hair at the nape of my neck. When she leaned closer to me on the couch when no one was looking and nibbled on my earlobe, I shot up to my feet, grabbed her hand and told everyone we had a wedding errand to run.
Bev chose that moment to inform me that Ralph would be staying at my place, Ralph held up a chicken leg in his greasy fingers and pointed it at me with a cheer, and my dick wilted and died in my pants as Noel and I both slumped back to the couch with echoing sighs of frustration.
“Awwww, look how pretty you are, Pussy Face,” Alex says with a smile as he waltzes into the room, shuts the door behind him and spins around. “Now, you’re supposed to tell me how devilishly handsome I look.”
I glare at him through the reflection in the mirror as I straighten my tie.
“Aren’t you supposed to be keeping an eye on Ralph and making sure he doesn’t try to breed with any of the guests?” I ask.
“Now, now, don’t get your moist panties all in a bunch just because I got laid three times last night and you had to listen to your brother crank one out while he watched YouTube videos of how to do self-breast exams,” Alex scolds, making me wish I could erase everything I heard at three in the morning from my memory. “I left Aunt Bobbie in charge of Fat Ralph so I could come up and check on you.”