Ray’s wedding is as fucked-up whacktarded trailer trash glorious as Brad could’ve hoped for. It’s held out in an open field lined with port-o-potties. There isn’t even a tent in case it rains. He’s got his buddies from home done up in dresses, chicken wings at the sagging buffet table, and a drunken priest to officiate. He doesn’t know what the bride did with her maids of honor, because he doesn’t see any women running around in tails. Millions of kids pile up underfoot and somebody’s DJing straight up country with an occasional Lynyrd Skynyrd song thrown in to preserve everybody’s sanity. The entire thing is ridiculous and Brad realizes of course that not even Ray is this messed up. He's doing it for plain ole performance's sake.
“Dawg, you gotta admire the fact that his old lady let him do this,” Poke says, appearing at his elbow.
“How do you know it wasn’t her idea?” Brad replies. “Maybe Ray found the other half of his soul.”
“Dawg, I only know one person with a soulmate and it’s y—” Poke breaks off suddenly, lips slamming together like he can gate in what he was attempting to say.
Brad stares at him. “What?”
“Nah, nothing,” Poke replies. Ray’s wife is letting him smear cake on her face so that he can lick it off. “Maybe you’re right, maybe Ray has found his soulmate.”
“Mmm,” Brad replies, staring at the antics over his cup of beer. He looks past Ray and his wife and sees Nate stepping out of port-o-potty. Almost all of Ray’s guests are way overdressed, because they were expecting an actual wedding and not this farce, but somehow Nate looks even more pristine. The wind is blowing slightly and his jacket flaps back. Brad watches Nate smile and shade his eyes, lifting his chin to the sky.
When he turns back to Poke, he finds him staring at Brad with a nonplussed expression, arms crossed. “What?” Poke shakes his head and walks away. Brad turns to look back at Nate and their eyes connect through the shifting melee of fake hillbillies.
Ray's Wedding
“Dawg, you gotta admire the fact that his old lady let him do this,” Poke says, appearing at his elbow.
“How do you know it wasn’t her idea?” Brad replies. “Maybe Ray found the other half of his soul.”
“Dawg, I only know one person with a soulmate and it’s y—” Poke breaks off suddenly, lips slamming together like he can gate in what he was attempting to say.
Brad stares at him. “What?”
“Nah, nothing,” Poke replies. Ray’s wife is letting him smear cake on her face so that he can lick it off. “Maybe you’re right, maybe Ray has found his soulmate.”
“Mmm,” Brad replies, staring at the antics over his cup of beer. He looks past Ray and his wife and sees Nate stepping out of port-o-potty. Almost all of Ray’s guests are way overdressed, because they were expecting an actual wedding and not this farce, but somehow Nate looks even more pristine. The wind is blowing slightly and his jacket flaps back. Brad watches Nate smile and shade his eyes, lifting his chin to the sky.
When he turns back to Poke, he finds him staring at Brad with a nonplussed expression, arms crossed. “What?” Poke shakes his head and walks away. Brad turns to look back at Nate and their eyes connect through the shifting melee of fake hillbillies.