Victoriously, I flip the visor down and uncap my lip balm. “Why do you assume everything I do is part of some sinister plan?”
“You know you’re insanely easy to read, right?” His eyes flash between me and the road. My face gets hot. “Are you waiting until the officiant asks for objections or are you creating some kind of a diversion?”
“If whichever random they coaxed from a peyote circle to officiate this mess is taking objections…”
“Beekman, no,” he protests, tapping his signal to change lanes. “As the de facto best man, I can’t be an accomplice to ruining their wedding.”
The words “best man” still chafe after the way our friendship fell apart when he was supposed to be my “best man.” I trade my lip balm for a Gatorade and take a hard gulp. I’m desperate to quash the nausea and accompanying ache. “I’m gonna talk to her. That’s all.Youof all people should understand the necessity of that.”
He squints as though debating whether to take me at my word. “Just talking? The normal kind? No legal tricks or cross-examination?”
I consider the question but opt not to answer. I know I can’t tie a grown woman down and keep her from doing anything she wants to do, but I’d prefer not to make any promises I’m not 100 percent sure I can keep. “I won’t make a scene. Just a simple, sisterly chat,” I assure him.
He smiles like I’m ridiculous. “You think Laurel Miriam Beekman will be receptive to you accosting her—”
“Gently. It’ll be agentleaccost,” I say, correcting him.
“—at her own wedding? Or Petey, the guy with a tattoo of your sister’s face on his left triceps, with the words ‘My Khaleesi’?”
“That tattoo did not age well.”
He ignores my commentary. “You need to trust that they’re making the right decisionsfor them, Chuck. You can’t control everything.”
“Agree to disagree,” I say, but when he glances sidelong from the driver’s seat yet again, I give in the tiniest bit. “I won’t have to say anything if they break up by the time we get there.”
“I think they’re going to surprise you…” He sputters out a declarative sigh—I’ve said what I’ve said, it announces. “But consider me in.”
“Really?” I squeak with delight.
“Mostly because I’m genuinely worried you might die alone in the woods if I opt out, but your ‘gentle’ ambush is all on you. After that, if they still want to get married, you are letting them get married, got it?”
“I’m not going to kidnap her,” I promise, popping open the kettle chips.
He holds out his hand in a Pavlovian response to the sound of a bag splitting apart. I place a pile of potato chips into his cupped palm. “You’re capable of almost anything. It’s terrifying,” he says around a full mouth.
I tilt my head. “You love it.”
“Yeah.” Giddy relief uncoils my muscles and cancels out any remaining nerves. Ethan’s on my team. All’s right with the world. “This is not at all how I saw this weekend going, by the way.” He passes me his phone. “Put some music on, will you?”
“Road trip DJ? Me?” I gasp theatrically. “This is so much power. You’re not a little worried I’m going to let it go straight to my head and put on nonstop sea shanties? You must really trust me.” I swipe around for his music app.
“No. I know you’ve never been interested in listening to men sing.”
I scrunch my nose. “That’s not true. I listen toyou.”
“Not according to your Spotify Wrapped,” he says accusatorily, and now my gasp is real. “It’s all Maggie Rogers, Lana Del Rey, Florence and the Machine, Beyoncé—”
“Ethan Powell! You are not allowed to comment on someone’s Spotify Wrapped! It’s themostvulnerable.”
“You listened to an alarming amount of Phoebe Bridgers in 2024. I’m not supposed to remark on that?”
“I was getting divorced! Can you allow me one year for my sad-girl era? As though you’re listening to anything more interesting.” My finger jabs at his phone. “Jesus, Powell. Why is there a playlist called ‘THE END OF THE WORLD’?”
“Oh yeah. Put that one on,” he instructs, immune to my judgment.
I comply, tapping open the playlist. “I’m already so stressed about whatever’s going to be on this.”
To my surprise, I’m satisfied by its contents. It’s a solid mix of artists I like and people I’ve never heard of. I put it on shuffle and toss his phone back into the perfectly sized compartment just below the A/C controls. I’m immediately put at ease by the hazy, ethereal female vocals. My eyes are closed as I vibe to the music, picturing us inside a movie montage.
