The Wedding Game Page 3

  “No ‘Hey, brother, how are you?’” I ask, forcing my voice steady. “Just getting down to business?”

  “As if you even enjoy small talk.”

  “I might be in the mood for it,” I say, just torturing him at this point.

  “You want small talk? Fine.” Thad crosses his arms over his chest. “Hi, brother, how are you? Oh, is that so? Busy? Great. Yeah, I’ve been busy too, but still find time to text. Did you know it was Mom’s birthday the other day? I did, because I went to the brunch she held. I was the only child she birthed who was there, which was sad since she only birthed two. It was a boring-as-shit brunch with a bunch of old ladies in hats talking about Candace Howe’s latest face-lift, which, according to them, has wreaked havoc on her eyebrows. Oh and hey, did you know vaginas get dry when they’re old, making it harder to have sex? I do now, thanks to Mom describing the best lube—”

  “No more small talk.” I hold up my hand as bile starts to rise in the back of my throat.

  “Oh, you don’t want to talk about Mom’s dry vagina?”

  “Get to the favor.”

  “That’s what I thought.” Thad smirks. “Now, to business. As you know, I’m getting married to my beautiful Naomi. Weddings are expensive—”

  “So you need money? How much?” I reach into my drawer for my checkbook, irritated that once again, money is taking hold of one more thing in my life.

  “I don’t need money.” Guilt stabs through me at the insulted look on Thad’s face. I should know better at this point. Thad never asks for money. Just my attention. And the thought of him asking for my attention makes me wish he wanted just a check.

  “Sorry.” I grip the back of my neck. “What do you need?”

  He looks off to the side, and his demeanor morphs from annoying little brother to concerned fiancé. “I want to give Naomi a great life, the one that she deserves.” He chuckles. “For putting up with me and loving me. We want to move to Manhattan, make the leap, finally. But I can’t do that and put on a wedding at the same time. That’s when I came across an opportunity to compete on a wedding show, where contestants plan a New York City wedding on a budget.” He glances up at me.

  Ohhh.

  Shit.

  I think I know where this is going.

  “The Wedding Game. Have you heard of it?”

  “No.”

  “Didn’t think so. Well they’re looking for couples. Naomi and I would be perfect. The wedding would be paid for, and the grand prize is a penthouse in Manhattan. I definitely have the charisma for television. America votes, and there’s no way they won’t choose this handsome face.” He vogues a frame around his face, and I repress the deep, passionate urge to smack his hands away. “I can feel it in my bones. We can totally win, but there’s one catch.”

  “There always is.”

  Ignoring me, he says, “Every couple needs at least one member from their family to participate. Since Naomi’s family lives in Oregon . . .”

  “No.”

  Don’t even have to think about it. That’s a big fat no from me.

  Television.

  Wedding planning.

  Dealing with what I can only imagine will be a groomzilla of a brother . . .

  Not to mention the fact that I specialize in gut-wrenching divorces, not happily ever afters, and wouldn’t know what family bonding is if it was a wedding bouquet that slapped me in the face.

  No fucking thank you.

  “You can’t just say no like that.”

  “I can and I did.” I move the mouse of my computer and light up my screen. “I have work to do, Thad. If that’s it, you should go.”

  I turn to my computer, but I can feel his deep-green gaze on me as the tension starts to rise between us.

  He’s about to explode.

  From the corner of my eye, I can see his chest rise and fall rapidly. I can see the clenching of his jaw, the narrowing of his eyes, the anger on the tip of his tongue.

  “No is not an acceptable answer.” His voice is so low, so menacing, that if I didn’t actually know my brother was all talk, I might have been a little frightened.

  Keeping my eyes focused on the screen in front of me, I say, “You’re going to have to find it within yourself to accept no as an answer, because I’m not changing my mind.”

  Instead of storming off like I thought he would, he leans forward, picks up a pen off my desk, and chucks it at my head, hitting me right in the temple. When I whip around to face him, he doesn’t even flinch.

  “Naomi’s pregnant.”

  Okay, was not expecting that. I spin in my chair and face him straight on. “Seriously?”

  “No, I would joke about that.” He rolls his eyes, and I realize it was a stupid question.

  “Wow, I mean . . . wow,” I repeat. “Are you . . . excited?”

  “Of course I’m excited. I’m going to be a father, for fuck’s sake. It’s a total dream. A little out of order, but still, it’s amazing.”

  “Well, congrats, Thad. That’s really great.”

  “It’s the biggest reason why I want this, why I need this opportunity.” He pauses. “It would be a giant head start for my family.”

  “You can have a simple wedding, Thad. Save up for an apartment in Manhattan.”

  “Saving up isn’t really easy when you’re a single-income household. You know Naomi got laid off a few months ago, and now that she’s pregnant, she won’t be getting a new job for a while. I’m not a divorce attorney. I’m an event coordinator.”

  “There are other ways—”

  “There aren’t, Alec. You’re it, the only option, and even if you weren’t, I would still want you by my side.”

  “Because I’m so well versed on the light and joy of a beautiful marriage,” I answer with a sarcastic lilt.

  “Noooo,” Thad drags out in an irritated tone. “Because you know how to make everything better.” I pause, the hairs on my arm standing up with apprehension. He continues. “Growing up, you knew exactly how to make me laugh, how to help me forget the environment we were living in, and how to turn a shitty situation into a lifelong memory. You’ve always come through, and I know you would come through on this and help us win. You’re scrappy like that.”

  “I’m not scrappy,” I say, pulling my hand over my face. “I’m not the same guy, Thad. I’m—”

  “You’re a shitty brother.” He looks me dead in the eyes, and despite myself, I’m offended. Sure, I’ve been a little absent lately, but to be called out like that? I don’t fucking think so.

  “Because I won’t parade around with you, draping tulle over chairs on national television?”

  He shakes his head. “No, because the minute you went off to college, you basically forgot about me. Getting you to hang out is like trying to herd cats into a room. You barely give me any of your time, and when I do get to see you, you’re not really there. Your mind’s always on work. I don’t want us to be brothers who drift apart, who never talk until something traumatic happens in the family. I miss you, Alec. And I’ll be damned if my child is raised in a world where he or she doesn’t know you.”

  He stares at me, his eyes growing larger with every second that passes. How is that even possible?

  “I want them to play with Uncle Alec, to experience the guy I grew up with. The fun, protective, intelligent guy who helped me become the man I am today. Please, Alec. If not for me, for my unborn child . . .”

  Mother.

  Fucker.

  CHAPTER THREE

  ALEC

  “So that was your brother, huh?” Lucas asks.

  “Yeah,” I say, leaning against the bar top, beer clutched in my hands. I’m not much of a day drinker, even on the weekend, but after everything Thad just put me through, I needed a beer.

  “You’re nothing alike.”

  Which is weird since I’m the one who apparently “raised him.” But it’s true: we’re nothing alike. Thad’s sensitivity level is frighteningly high, whereas I feel
pretty much dead inside.

  I’m not just walking through life with no purpose, though. After I graduated high school and was accepted into Columbia, I knew one thing: I was going to become a lawyer so when assholes like my father cheated on their wives, I could help deliver exactly what they deserved . . . giant settlements in favor of their soon-to-be exes. I represent only women, I seek revenge for them, and I go home to my moderately sized, minimally decorated apartment, sip on my whiskey, and then call it a night. Then I repeat the entire thing the next day. There’s an occasional one-night stand or an outing with friends, but both are rare when you’re a workaholic.

  Thad, though . . . he’s not a workaholic. He puts in his hours, does a decent job at work, then goes home and watches every new show on Netflix with Naomi. They’re always going out—the reason I know this is that Thad continuously asks if I want to join them—and they’re in the business of experiencing new things, mostly free things. Art galleries, movie screenings in Central Park, comedy shows—you name it; they’ve done it.

  Thad has fun.

  Whereas I think I’ve forgotten the meaning of fun.

  But what’s scaring me most right now is Thad’s closing statement, which he delivered over his shoulder on his way out the door.

  Don’t turn into Dad. Don’t become a workaholic who only cares about himself.

  That fucking cut deep. The last person I ever want to be is my father. I make sure every day that the apple has fallen as far away from the tree as possible.

  But Thad made me think. He made me assess my life, and hell, he made me consider his proposal.

  It’s why I’m sitting at a bar with Lucas, waiting on a huge burger and the biggest-possible order of fries.

  “Whatever he said must have rocked you, man. You look pale.”

  I sip my beer. “He wants me to be on a TV show with him.”

  “What?” Lucas laughs. “What TV show?”

  “The Wedding Game.”

  “Oh shit, with Mary DIY? Dude, she’s hot. I would totally let her sew me something. I catch the show occasionally just to watch her.”

  I rotate my head to eye my friend. “You’re into a DIY lady?”

  Lucas is already typing away in his phone, and he holds it up a moment later. Damn, okay, I see why he’s watching The Wedding Game. Sleek blonde hair, bright-blue eyes, gorgeous body. Yeah, I get it. “She’s hot. And she’s clever, dude; she comes up with some crazy shit.” He pauses, and then his eyes light up. “Holy shit, if you do the show, you could introduce me to her.”

  I shake my head and turn back to my beer. “It’s not a guarantee Thad and Naomi would even be picked. I also didn’t commit to doing the show.”

  “You didn’t?” Lucas actually looks perplexed, like saying yes was a no-brainer. “Why the hell not?”

  “Why the hell would I?”

  Lucas shrugs. “I don’t really know your family dynamics, but from the tension in the office, I could tell there’s some resentment between you guys.”

  “Not as close as we used to be” is all I say while downing a large gulp of my beer.

  “Alec . . .” Lucas is quiet for a minute before he exhales loudly. “I lost my brother from alcohol poisoning.” Oh shit. “He was pledging my fraternity, drank too much, and passed out. No one noticed.” He looks down into his drink. “If I were you, I would do just about anything to make sure there’s nothing standing between you two. You never know when you won’t have the chance to see him again.”

  “Fuck, Lucas, I had no idea,” I say, feeling like a complete ass.

  “I don’t talk about it much, and I really don’t want to focus on it now. I just want to give you some perspective. Whatever you two went through can’t be so bad you can’t fix it, right?”

  I scratch the side of my jaw, knowing exactly what’s holding me back.

  Whenever I see Thad, I see the scared little boy he used to be. I see the fear in his eyes, the uncertainty of what was going to happen to our family. It makes me sick, and it makes me angry. Angry that two adults couldn’t pull it together for their kids, that they left us, alone, without anyone to talk to but ourselves, a ten-year-old and a fourteen-year-old. We were drowning in their problems, with no life raft. And that anger takes over—it builds and builds inside me until I can’t even take a breath.

  “It’s complicated,” I finally answer. “And just got a whole lot more complicated.” I roll my head to the side, trying to ease the stress headache that’s creeping up on me. “Thad’s fiancée, Naomi, is pregnant. Thad wants me to be a part of the baby’s life.”

  “Ah.” Lucas nods. “Thad thinks participating in The Wedding Game could help you mend things, start a new chapter in your relationship.”

  “That and other reasons as well.” Reasons I don’t need to get into with Lucas.

  “Seems like enough of a reason to say yes.”

  “I know.” I drag my hand over my face. “I really don’t think I have a choice in the matter.”

  Lucas shakes his head just as our plates arrive. The burger I ordered isn’t looking at all appetizing anymore.

  I tap my foot, hands in my pants pockets, waiting for the door in front of me to open. After a long lunch with Lucas, I tried to convince myself I didn’t have to say yes to Thad, that I could figure out another way to repair our relationship, but I just kept picturing Thad’s desperate face. He wants this so much, and at the end of the day, I’ve always tried to make my brother happy.

  Which has led me here.

  The door opens, and I see Naomi’s bright-red hair on the other side, followed by her shocked eyes, a lighter shade of green than Thad’s and mine. More beautiful.

  “Alec.” She opens the door wider. “I wasn’t expecting to see you. Come in.”

  I step into their one-bedroom Bronx apartment, and Naomi gives me a brief hug. I remember when Thad and Naomi moved in. I brought them a housewarming gift—a new smart TV—but wasn’t considering their limited space when I purchased the seventy-inch screen. It takes up almost an entire wall.

  I can see why Thad wants a bigger place. I know they already pay over $2,000 for rent, and for what, really? The kitchen, dining area, and family room are squeezed into one long room. Off to the right is their bedroom and bathroom, with an additional coat closet near the front door—that’s about it. Far cry from the Park Avenue apartment we grew up in, the one my dad took in the divorce, despite my mom taking custody of the kids.

  “It’s so great to see you.” Turning toward their bedroom, Naomi calls out, “Thad, it’s your brother!”

  Instantaneously, Thad’s head pops past the doorframe. “What?” When he sees me, his mouth falls open for a second before he snaps it shut and walks out into the living room, wearing sweats and my old high school baseball shirt that I gave him before I left for college. How does it even still fit him? Granted, we wore them big back then, but still . . .

  “Hey, Thad,” I say, rocking back on my heels, feeling really fucking weird and wishing I’d just done this over the phone.

  But in usual Thad fashion, he pulls me into a warm hug and says, “I got some carrot cake from the bakery around the corner. We were just about to have some. Want a piece?”

  “I’d like that.”

  Naomi retrieves an extra plate while Thad gives me another hug. His arms feel familiar . . . like home.

  I return the embrace with a quick pat to the back and then pull away, done with the lovefest.

  “Too much too soon?” Thad asks, clearly sensing my need to flee the scene of the crime, where I hugged my brother twice in a row just for showing up at his apartment.

  “Uh, yeah.”

  “Fair enough. Baby steps.”

  Naomi brings over cake, and we all sit down on the sofa in their living/dining/kitchen area. While they pick up their forks, I just stare down at my piece. They’re acting so normal, as if we do this every Sunday night. This might be a lot harder than I thought.

  Wanting to get to the point and
then get the hell out of here, I say, “Uh, I’ll do the thing.”

  Thad picks up my fork and forces me to take it. “Eat up, bro.”

  I glance between the two of them and then repeat myself. “Did you hear me? I said I’ll do the thing.”

  “I know,” Thad responds, mouth full of cake. “I knew you would. You always come through when I need you.” He smiles and continues to dig into his cake.

  Well . . . hell.

  Mr. Reliable: apparently that’s me.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  LUNA

  “What’s wrong? You love my biscuits and gravy. Just like I can’t get enough of your hearty goulash, and—I’m going to be frank—I’m peeved you only saved me one bowl,” Farrah says as we sit at the counter in our dim apartment, Grey’s Anatomy playing in the background.

  “You weren’t home.” I sigh, poking one of the biscuits with my fork. “Cohen claimed the sibling card and took the rest home with him. Sorry. He was irritated with me, so I didn’t put up a fight. I’ll make you some this weekend.”

  “Cohen? Irritated at you? I don’t believe it. Cohen is never irritated at you.”

  “Well, he is right now. He’s been texting me one-worded answers. I know he’s busy and all with some new renovations his company took on, but one-worded answers aren’t like him.”

  Farrah takes a big bite of a biscuit. “Okay, tell me what happened. Clearly it took place when he was here the other night.”

  I nod as I lean back in my chair and then just stare at my food. “Have you ever seen The Wedding Game?”

  “That budget wedding show? It’s like a crossover of Top Chef and America’s Got Talent, but with crafts?”

  “That’s it.”

  “I’ve caught a few episodes here and there. The Nashville season, I believe.”

  “Well, they’re coming to New York, and I suggested Cohen and Declan fill out an application. They would be perfect for it.”

  “Uh, yeah, they would be. New Yorker lumberjack and sexy Asian schoolteacher? The show was made for them. America would vote for them in a heartbeat.”