Champagne
I sleepwalk my way through the ceremony. Not literally, of course, but I might as well be asleep, as uninterested in watching the whole farce as I am. Even from my jaded point of view, I can see that a lot of care and planning went into this ceremony – maybe even more than went into the original one, considering how rushed it was.
Kate and I walk down the aisle arm in arm and there’s something in her eyes that I can’t quite place. I wonder if she’s planning her own vow renewal, or if she knows that we won’t make it that far. Once we part ways and stand on our respective sides of the altar, I try not to meet her eyes again. I don’t know what she’ll see in mine, but I can’t help fearing that all my sins will be laid bare the second she looks.
Speaking of my sins, the first person I spot when I glance out at the guests is Carrick. I can’t imagine he got a formal invitation, but here he is nonetheless. I don’t mean to catch his eye, but I do, and he wiggles his fingers at me in the tiniest, most discrete wave ever. As usual, he stands out from the crowd without even trying, with his shaggy hair and black suspenders, and I can’t help returning his smile.
Once the vows have been said and I’ve succeeded at not laughing all the way through them, the reception begins. It’s spread out through the large rooms on the first floor of the mansion, with food in one room and the dance floor in another. There are a few seats scattered around, but most people are sitting at a handful of tables in another section of the lawn. That’s where I find Kate once I’ve gotten myself a plate of finger foods and a large glass of wine.
She eyes the wine glass critically, but doesn’t say a word, as I sit down next to her. She isn’t drinking, of course; she never does. In theory, I quit before Shepherd was born. In practice, well, sometimes a guy just needs a drink. Or seven. Considering the conversation I’m afraid we’re about to have, I don’t think anyone would fault me for drinking half the open bar.
“Isn’t it all beautiful?” Kate asks. When I don’t give her more of a reply than a tiny nod, she adds, “We worked hard on it, you know.”
“I know,” I reply, picking at some shrimp thing on my plate. I’m not even hungry, but it keeps me from having to look at Kate.
“It makes you think, doesn’t it?” She asks, running her finger around the rim of a glass I’m sure contains nothing but water. “If they can make it work, maybe anyone can.”
“But maybe not,” I reply, my voice so low I almost don’t even hear myself.
Kate nods. I get the distinct impression that she knew what my answer would be before she even asked. She’s not clueless. She may not know my deepest, darkest secrets, but she still knows enough to see that we’re not Taylor and Natalie – not even this fantasy version of them that everyone at this damn reception seems to have bought into.
“Maybe not,” she echoes, eying me carefully, critically. “I’ve been thinking about going back to Georgia for a while.”
I nod. “That might be a good idea.”
“I think it is. We can sort all this out when I get back,” she replies, waving a hand between the two of us, as if otherwise I might not have caught her meaning.
It’s so strange to realize we’re on the same page that all I can do is nod again and say, “Okay.”
With a tiny nod of her own, she stands up and walks away. I stare down at the wine glass I’ve apparently managed to empty during this conversation. It feels oddly like she was putting me through some kind of test, and I’m not sure whether I passed or failed. I’m going to call it a pass, and I think more alcohol is the perfect way to celebrate.
I set the empty glass down and make my way inside to what I suppose is normally the mansion’s dining room, but now holds a makeshift bar. I shouldn’t be surprised to see Carrick already standing by it, his long hands wrapped around a glass that I’m sure isn’t just soda. Deciding that wine really isn’t going to get the job done fast enough, I walk up to the bar and flash Carrick and the bartender both a smile.
“I’ll have whatever he’s having,” I say, taking a weird sort of pleasure in saying such a cliché line.
From the corner of my eye, I can see Carrick’s eyes on me, his lips turned up in a smirk. The bartender hands me the glass and I spin around to face Carrick. We clink our glasses together, as though we’d planned this whole thing, and simultaneously take a sip. Rum and Coke, I discover.
“Such a touching ceremony, don’t you think?” He asks, and I’m almost too distracted by the droplet of soda on his lip to catch the sarcasm in his voice.
“Oh, absolutely,” I reply with a chuckle before taking a larger sip of my drink.
“Is that why we’re drinking?” His tone of voice has softened; he’s fallen back into the overprotective best friend role.
“Surprisingly, no,” I say. “Celebrating the fact that I think me and Kate just agreed to get a divorce.”
Carrick’s eyes widen with surprise, but I think I can see a hint of relief and happiness in them as well. He takes a big sip of his own drink, and I get the distinct impression that he’s trying to keep himself from saying something. I’m just not sure what.
We finish our drinks in silence, both turning back to the bartender for another at exactly the same time. The crowd around us seems to be making their way out to the lawn, which can I only assume means something interesting is happening out there. I flash Carrick a look and he shrugs. Drinks in hand, we make our way outside and sit down at the nearest empty table.
A table holding a cake decorated with soft pink flowers has been rolled out into the middle of the crowd. Taylor and Natalie stand behind it, a wide smile on her face and a grimace on his. It’s funny; I always thought Taylor liked to be the center of attention, but Natalie is far worse. She’s the only person I’ve ever seen successfully steal his spotlight, but rather than be upset with her, he just seems resigned to it these days.
They slide a knife into the cake, their hands laced together, and pull back two tiny little slices. Natalie’s eyes are trained carefully on Taylor’s as they feed each other the cake; she’s daring him to even smear the tiniest bit of icing across her face. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve practiced this at home to be sure it’s the picture perfect moment. As everyone claps on cue, a waiter swoops in to slice the rest of the cake up for the guests.
Troops of waiters and waitresses are weaving their way through the crowd with trays full of champagne glasses. Carrick and I each grab one, even though we’ve already got our other drinks. I’m a little surprised that they’re doing a champagne toast; they didn’t do one the first time around because of the baby and the fact that neither of them was of age. I watch carefully as they twine their arms together, and I wonder if I’m the only guest who knows that probably isn’t real champagne in Natalie’s glass.
I tilt my head back and down the bubbly stuff in one gulp, chasing it with the rest of my rum and coke. Carrick’s eyes fill with concern and I just stare back at him, daring him to say a single word. He doesn’t. He seems frozen on the spot, and I take the opportunity to pry the glass from his hand and drink it down as well.
Carrick shakes his head, but still doesn’t say a word. He’s not really in any position to judge my substance abuse, is he? I don’t even feel drunk, anyway. Well, I don’t feel that drunk. A waiter walks by and offers us both a piece of cake, and we both decline. I’m still holding onto Carrick’s empty glass, wishing it weren’t.
“Zac…” Carrick says with a sigh. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” I don’t meet his eyes when I say it, because then he’ll know it’s a lie.
“No, you’re not,” he replies. Apparently he doesn’t even need to look me in the eyes to know when I’m lying now. Awesome.
“I’ll be fine,” I reply, trying to peer through the crowd and spot Taylor, but I don’t see him. “I just need to…”
I don’t even feel like finishing the sentence. Instead, I let it trail off as I pull myself out of my chair, which takes a surprising amount of effort. It’s possible I am drunk. I slam the empty glass down on the table before stumbling away, intent on finding Taylor. I’m not even sure why I need to find him, but I know I do.
But he’s nowhere to be found. At his height, he’d be easy to spot in the crowd, yet I don’t see him anywhere. I’m so focused on finding him that I nearly collide with a waiter. I mumble an apology to him, then grab another glass of champagne from his tray and down it quickly. Isaac passes by me a few seconds later and tells me that he thinks he saw Taylor go inside.
Perfect. Inside – that’s where the bar is.
I still don’t see him, though. I wander through all the rooms, winding my way through people eating, dancing and just generally standing around in my way. Frustrated, I head to the bar and order yet another rum and coke. Drinking this much probably isn’t a good idea, but I’m far past caring. Even though my mind is filling with fog, I can still see clearly Natalie and Taylor in my mind, can still picture how Taylor looked like he wanted to run away.
Of course. He can’t leave, but he’s hiding. I chug the rest of my drink and walk away from the bar with a new sense of determination.
I only stumble twice on my way up the stairs, which I think is pretty good considering all the alcohol swimming in my bloodstream right now. The door to the bedroom where we all got dressed that morning is open just a crack, and I push it open further. Just as I suspected, Taylor is sitting on the edge of the bed, his head cradled in his hands.
“Tay?”
He doesn’t even glance up at me, but I’m undeterred. Not yet. Closing the door behind me, I cross the room quickly and take a seat next to him. He flinches ever so slightly, but doesn’t push me away or tell me to leave. It’s a big risk to take, but I can’t stop myself from wrapping an arm around him, a little lower down on his back than I probably should. But who am I kidding? Drunk or sober, I can’t stop myself from touching Taylor.
Taylor leans against me, his head resting on my shoulder. I don’t think I would even know what to say right now if I was sober, so I just rub his back gently and wait for him to make the next move or say the next words.
I don’t know what I’m expecting from him, but it definitely isn’t his lips on my neck. As soon as his lips touch my skin, I gasp. “Taylor?”
“Please,” he whispers against my neck.
I’m not even sure what he’s asking for, how much he wants from me, but I know I can’t tell him no, no matter what. For once, I want him to get what he wants. I hook a finger under his chin and lift his face so that I can kiss him on the lips. He tastes faintly of champagne, but I’m sure he’s sober – unlike me. I’m pretty sure I’m too far gone for this kiss to be very good, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He kisses me back hungrily, his hands clutching at fistfuls of my shirt.
I ease him backward on the bed until we’re both laying down, Taylor pinned gently beneath me. His dress shirt is already open, revealing the white tee beneath it, and I run my hands over his chest as we kiss. He seems to hang on my every touch, his body arching toward my hands, and I want to give him more.
I’m pretty sure it’s a really stupid idea to attempt this for the first time while I’m drunk, but I don’t care. I slide my hand down his chest, bringing it to rest between his legs. His hips fly up off the bed, pushing his hard-on into my hand. At least I don’t need to second guess whether or not he wants this.
If he didn’t already know I was drunk, the way I fumble to get his fly open should be a dead giveaway. Finally, though, I free him from his pants and boxers, and slither down so that I’m staring right at his dick. What the hell am I even doing? If I were sober, I would be absolutely terrified right now. But I’m not, so instead of jumping up and running away, I lean down and run my tongue along his length.
It tastes good. Really, really good. I don’t have any sort of technique here; I just want to taste him. I want him to always moan and whimper the way he is right now, and I want to know it’s because of me. His thighs are trembling beneath me as I bob my head up and down. He presses his fingertips into my shoulder so hard I’m afraid he might leave bruises.
“Zac, I’m gonna…”
The sentence trails off into a whimper, but I know what he means. His grip on my shoulder tightens even more and his hips buck up off the bed as he comes. It’s not exactly a pleasant taste, but it’s Taylor, so I want every drop of it. I swallow it all – it’s not that difficult, really – then give him one last lick before tucking him back into his pants.
I crawl back up his body slowly, afraid of what might happen next. Whenever he initiates this kind of thing, he runs away afterward. He’s not running now, though. He just sighs and kisses my forehead. I curl into his side, suddenly feeling very, very sleepy. Maybe I’ll just take a little nap.