“A rye and ginger, please.”
Previous to noticing Nick, Mr. Georges, who was a stout, jolly- looking man, traded banter with a group of Lebanese men at the corner of the bar. Retrieving the drink for Nick appeared to be a chore for him.
“How are you, Mr. Georges?”
“Fine, Nick. I am fine.”
“That’s nice to hear.”
Mr. Georges placed the drink on the bar without the cordial lime. Nick sampled it before he left. It tasted more of ginger than rye, so he turned back.
“Can you make that a double?”
Mr. Georges hesitated.
“Actually, make it a triple please. And can I have a lime?”
Mr. Georges stared at Nick for a stoic moment before pouring an immeasurable amount of liquor in his drink. His eyes darkened.
“Thank you, Mr. Georges. Cheers. And I’m sure I’ll see you again in a few minutes.” Nick gestured in a mock toast.
He left the bar mumbling profanities but then turned once again to offer Mr. Georges a smile. Nick realized at that point that Shari’s mother had discussed her concerns about Nick and her daughter to their friendly Lebanese neighbour.
The smoking remained a fixture after every cours and was doubled up by everyone during coffee. The time had come for the first dance and Nick thought it a good opportunity to leave. He rose as the bride and groom rose, then changed his mind. He took his seat again. He bummed another cigarette from the made-up lady, gulped a swig of his mighty drink and chased it with a glass of warm wine. He had convinced himself that he would have a word with her, at whatever cost, even if it meant going to the microphone and addressing her in public. And she was going to listen to him, no matter how hard she tried to get away, no matter how hurtful it would be to see herself exposed as the person she once feared becoming.
After the customary cutting of the cake, and the messy supposedly surprise feeding of the other spouse (for pictures’ sake), Nick sat listening to the speeches. He waited through bridesmaids’ and groomsmen’s speeches, relating tales of childhood mischief and ending with melodramatic promises of loyalty and honour. Nick waited while her parents expressed the pride they felt that their daughter had managed to find the love of her life coincidentally from the same village where they were raised as children. He watched while Shari approached the microphone with tears, and a bumbling voice, which was applauded by a crowd prepped to appreciate maudlin exhibitions of emotion. Her husband steadied her with hands to make sure she wouldn’t get too emotional.
Nick stood up and made a detour towards the bar. He needed another drink. The passionate music had resumed and the Dubka circle formed.
At the sound of the music Mr. Georges was all smiles. In a jovial tone he took back the drink he had made Nick and asked, “How about I make it a triple just for you.”
Nick accepted the drink with a snicker, took another long gulp, this time not feeling any kickback at all. He looked Mr. Georges in the face, turned, and accepted his defeat. The time had come to leave.
Placing the plastic cup on the table reserved for the engagement picture, Nick stopped. The picture was a casual one, as most engagement pictures are. Shari straddled the back seat of a motorcycle and her new husband posed as if he had driven one before. Shari withheld a smile and Nick wondered whether her new husband knew that she didn’t like to smile for pictures. Her jaw was set back a little, something she had genetically inherited from one of her aunts, and something she utterly abhorred in her appearance. As Nick made a sharp turn to go to the bathroom, he bumped straight into her in the little foyer before the two doorways.
Although her hair was up and the tiara attempted to press it down, the unruly curls escaped.
“Oh, Nick. I didn’t think you would come.”
“They say you don’t remember half of your wedding day anyways, so I suppose it doesn’t matter.”
“Everything seems to happen so fast, doesn’t it?”
“You’re trying to tell me that?”
Nick felt an oncoming surge of anger abetted by an alcohol- induced shot of adrenaline.
“What are you trying to tell me, Nick?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“To whom?”
“To you!”
“What is?”
“This! This entire night is a joke. You don’t love him. You’re not like this. You would rather sit back and criticize this garbage than eat it. I know. You’re a sell-out.”
“So now I’m a sell-out because I’m married.”
“Yes!”
“Than what does that make you? The fool?”
Nick leaned against the wall in the tiny foyer. He could hear the timed flushing of the urinals in the men’s bathroom. He couldn’t find words. But then they rose to his tongue like steam from a pot.
“Just tell me honestly. I don’t give a shit that you’re married now, that we lead separate lives, that we spent the majority of our lives together to have it end like this. Tell me honestly, because I could always count on you to give me the truth, straight up. Is this what you wanted?”
“Yes.”
“Then, I guess it’s about time I got going.”
As he was about to leave, she spoke again.
“I shouldn’t even give you the pleasure, you know that, but I’ll tell you something else that you’re probably going to forget because you’re drunk. But I always wanted it to be you. How is that for a stinger?”
“You’re lying now.”
“I would have married you in a minute. I would have left my family for good. I would have went against everything I’ve been raised to believe if you would have simply asked.”
“But…”
“No!” Her anger, coupled with the angelic way she appeared to him at this moment, was beginning to make her look ugly, the way he appreciated her most.
“You never asked. And you never even thought to save me from this, because you’re a coward and you never loved me. And at least he believes he does.”
“Then I guess we’re both fools.”
He stopped her from running into the public eye with tears by grabbing her forearm. It was no longer hers, it seemed. It was covered in white, beaded, arm-length gloves. Composing herself and taking a breath, she turned around to smile in his face. She had literally transformed herself again, changed colors, in the blink of an eye. The smile relaxed and her dark olive eyes grew bigger. She leaned against the door and the music outside slithered in like a snake, dividing them. At that instant, Nick believed he had destroyed something in himself, something he would never forgive himself for. And although he had gained the courage, albeit too late, to tell her all was possible, he resolved to let her leave thinking he was the same child she had secretly kissed in her basement.
Shari left shortly afterward and so did he. On his way out the two ladies who were smoking at his table smiled at him. They had left their husbands outside in conversation with the father of the bride. Nick would pass them as well on his way out. They had already forgotten who he was.
