I wasn’t usually one to make faces, preferring to keep my thoughts to myself unless situationally necessary to achieve specific aims. But right now? After arguing the point with Jethro for ten minutes and being surrounded by a sudden swell of strangers?
I made a face. “I don’t want one of your suit jackets. Thank you.”
“You don’t even need to change,” he said, calibrating his voice to entirely reasonable, earning him a glare.
“Here’s your tea, Cletus.” Patti set a teacup and saucer on the bar top and turned to Jackson and Billy. “Can I get y’all any beer or wine?”
I picked up only the teacup, having no use for the saucer.
“I think I’ll take some of that tea. My throat’s a little scratchy,” Jackson teased.
Patti looked unimpressed. “We’re all out of tea, deputy. How about a beer?”
Billy used their exchange and his hand on my shoulder to steer us away. “Roscoe can bring one of your jackets, he was just getting out of the shower when I left.”
“For the last time, I am content with my present attire. Cease and desist, s'il vous plaît.” I didn’t have to lower my voice as the cacophony of chatter had mushroomed, the faux-barn filling with people and their inconsequential discussions.
“Cletus—”
“Jethro already harassed me about it. My mind is made up. I am not in the mood for more brotherly pestering.”
I should’ve known this would be an ostentatious affair as soon as Diane and Jenn turned down my donation of homemade moonshine and superior boar sausage last month. But, again, I hadn’t been paying attention to anything much these days other than Jenn’s magnificence.
Within my woman exists such a vast quantity of magnificence, I shouldn’t be chastising myself for being blinded by it.
Billy sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets, looking me over as though assessing my state of mind. “Are you nervous?”
That earned him another glare, but I was saved from answering by a ruckus followed by a whispering hush rippling over the crowd. Something by the faux-barn’s main entrance had seized everyone’s attention, even Billy’s.
My brother’s concerned expression cleared almost at once and a soft, appreciative-looking smile took its place. “Well, look at her.”
“Who?” I snuck another deep gulp of my whiskey.
“Jenn.”
“What?” I craned my neck to peer over those gathered, and I spotted her instantly, breath catching in my lungs, the sight similar to the effect of sunlight on snow.
Jenn.
She stood at the big doors next to her momma, smiling graciously at people as she greeted them, welcomed them, and the knot in my stomach eased, my troubles and muddles and irritation forgotten. She looked genuinely relaxed, happy. Seeing Jenn happy always improved my mood.
But her being relaxed and happy was likely not the source of Billy’s soft appreciation nor the crowd’s gentle hush. Her exterior, her hair, the dress she wore and how it fit, the artful makeup were likely culprits.
Jenn’s long brown hair had grown even longer this past year. She’d said she wanted to grow it long for the wedding and planned to cut it after. Presently, she wore it loose and wavy around her shoulders, which were bare. A single strap on each side held up the fire-engine red fabric that wrapped around her body like a second skin.
The dress—which, as a point of note, I heartily approved of—was basically a cloth tube starting under her arms and ending at her mid-calf. She looked sophisticated and classy as hell. The neckline was a straight line mostly above her breasts, the top curve of them just visible. So add sexy to sophisticated and classy and you’d have it right.
Also, her breasts looked fantastic, which I had no choice but to notice. A pleasant topic for my planned rumination.
“I swear, she gets more beautiful every day,” Jackson said, suddenly next to me again and sounding a little winded. “You’re a lucky, lucky man, Cletus.”
“Beautiful is not the correct word,” I mumbled on autopilot, but not because I disagreed with him per se.
Objectively, Jennifer was stunning, and sexy, and beautiful. Absolutely.
Now imagine if you will being in love with someone who is objectively stunning, and all the sorrow and joy that accompanies true, deep, abiding love. In her I saw flaws and strengths others would never see, secret parts of her known only to me, and my private knowledge of this stunning woman elevated her from the one-dimensional being implied by the pithy descriptor beautiful to someone quantum, cosmic in nature.
To Jackson, she may have been merely beautiful. To me, she existed as a multi-dimensional angel and devil, owner of my heart, my joy and my pain, light-years beyond beautiful, or celestial, or exquisite. Because when I saw Jenn, I saw all of her, all versions of her, and all our history, and all the wonderous and frightening possibilities of our future.
So, no.
Beautiful was not the correct word.
Especially not in that particular dress.
“Yes! She wore it.” Sienna appeared out of thin air and inserted herself next to me. She then placed a big old kiss on my cheek and wrapped her arm around mine, squealing a little. “Doesn’t she look amazing? I told her it was perfect. And here you are, in your red shirt. Good on you, Cletus.”
Tearing my eyes from Jenn, though it physically hurt, I inspected my sister-in-law. She wore a fancy dress too. Despite Jethro’s fretting, Sienna must’ve received the memo. “You’re responsible for that dress?”
“I wouldn’t say responsible.” She seemed to debate how best to answer. “Unless you consider ‘responsible’ being the one who commissioned the designer to make it and being the one to pay for it? Then, yes. I am responsible.”
Sienna, who I already adored, was now my second favorite person in the world. “I’ll be sending your thank-you gift post haste.”
“As you should.” She winked. “Now shouldn’t you be over there? Go get her!”
I returned my attention to where Jenn and her momma—who I realized was also in a red dress, just a tamer, more matronly one—stood greeting folks, making their way through the crowd like royalty at a coronation, and I rocked back on my heels. A renewed string of disquiet wrapped around my chest and squeezed.
“Nah.”
“Nah?”
“They got it covered.”
Sienna barked a laugh. “Cletus. You’re the groom. You have to.”
Was she out of her mind? If I went over there, I’d have no choice but to do one of two things:
A) Sweep Jenn off her feet. Leave. Maybe we’d go to my car—I’d brought one of the Buicks—or perhaps we’d abscond to one of the lodge’s swanky cottages overlooking the mountains. Then I’d make love to her. Then we’d make love to each other. Then, perhaps if she wasn’t too tired, I’d make love to her again. A solid plan, but perhaps not what she’d hoped for this evening.
Or—
B) Talk to people I barely knew about subjects other than cars, sausage, or my superior banjo playing and pretend to care about their inanity.
Of the two scenarios, the latter was the most likely. Therefore—
“Pass.” I’d rather sit through a lecture on climate change delivered by flat-earthers than be forced to chitchat with no ulterior gain.