Nick Gregorio
Embracing Skeletons
Cory says Jessica is pissed. At me, at Ben. But mostly me. Leaning against the bar, waiting for our beers—paid for in part by his parents—Cory says, “You should have told us earlier.” He peeks over his shoulder. Jessica’s across the room, smiling, laughing. Hugging and kissing friends and family hello. “I had nothing to do with this,” I say. “It was all Ben.” “Yeah, well. Shit.” “Really, I had no clue what was coming. I don’t think he did, either. His job—” “I get it.” Cory thanks the bartender for his beer, takes a drink. “When you guys—if you guys get married—keep in mind I owe you a no-call, no-show.” Cory opens his mouth, but Sara shows up, silences the room. She announces herself with an “I made it,” and a “Woo-Woo,” while she raises the roof and asks if anyone knows who made up that dumb-ass move. Then it’s all mussed hair and bullshit about getting lost. “This city is like Labyrinth without Bowie,” she says. Then she points at me, “He did call to say he wants his pants back, though.” I yell across the room, say I wasn’t the one who bought them. But no one hears me. I say it’s Ben’s fault. But I can’t hear myself over the guests and the bridal party laughing. Cory talks about Ben again. Says Jessica still expects a gift. Asks if I’m fucking up another relationship. Or fucking other guys. Again.