ANTITYPE

JULY ~ DECLAN

Abel Gaines lifts a glass of champagne from the end of a long table bedecked in white, yellow, and gold flower arrangements. “To my son and his new wife. May you be blessed with children and lifelong happiness.”

Agreement rings out from upward of thirty guests, gold-rimmed glasses raised and clinking. We all sit in padded teak chairs in varying shades of brown, from light to dark. Gilded net overlays a white tablecloth, and bronze rims the flatware. The tent shielding us from the sun has pale yellow, camel, and umber material draped and gathered overhead at angles. Candlelight flickers inside glass votives despite the two o’clock hour.

My best friend, Mitch, smiles in a tight-lipped way at his new wife, Ella, reminding me how uncomfortable he is with attention. It’s part of the reason why I’m surprised to be here at all. The other part is because I’d assumed he’d wait. But Abel had been putting a lot of pressure on him to get married. Probably more than I realized. I understood parental pressure and expectation better than anyone.

After lunch, guests filter into the large backyard. More drapes shade sitting areas and a small dance floor to one side of a glittering pool. A band plays from a stage, accompanying a singer swaying his hips to the beat.

I stand in the back with an import beer in a chilled glass, debating whether or not I can slip out within the next ten minutes. It’s a Saturday, and technically my day off, but Jacob’s been working long hours to make me look like a complete failure. He takes advantage of every opportunity.

“Over-the-top,” Mitch says, appearing beside me. He sips from an identical beer. Froth residue layers the inside of his glass. “Dad’s idea.”

“It’s a big deal,” I tell him, though I have to agree.

He grins at me. A breeze whips the longish dark strands off his forehead. “You won’t be saying that when your time comes. I’m guessing Andrew will have you married off in the next month?”

I shrug. “Even if that were the case, I doubt Dad will make a spectacle of it.” I puff out my chest in preparation for my best Andrew Burke impression. “It’s a business arrangement.”

Mitch and I tap our glasses, laughing. He sighs and grins toward a table where his father and new wife sit. She’s smiling at her father-in-law, but like Mitch, she’s forcing her outward appearance.

“She’s pretty,” he says before tipping the remains of his beer into his mouth.

I follow his gaze. Ella is more than pretty, in my opinion. Her dark hair cascades down her back in long, natural curls. Her almond-shaped eyes have a large, expressive quality about them.

“We, uh . . .” He trails off and clears his throat. His cheeks redden and his gaze falls to the ground, where he toes the lawn.

I laugh. “You what?”

“She came to my room last night.”

My eyebrows rocket toward my hairline. “Really?”

He glances at me from the corner of his eyes. “We didn’t sleep together, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“You didn’t really leave room for another impression, man.”

A nervous chuckle slips past his lips. “We talked. And talked. And talked.” He shakes his head, eyebrows raised and eyes wide. “She’s really . . . normal. I didn’t expect that.”

“You like her.” I hadn’t meant to sound so surprised, but it’s already out there.

He nods and squints past the sun to watch her again. This time, she meets his eyes and the smile she’d had glued lengthens and warms. “I think I do,” he whispers.