“The light comes off the water and up onto the underside of a bridge. Do you understand what I’m describing? It is free. Nobody is charging for that light. It’s simply there, on the bridge, and no one in this city has thought to stand underneath it and get married.”
“There’s a reason for that,” Trier said.
“What reason?”
“It’s under a bridge. Pigeons nest there.”
“I’m also writing my toast,” Varga added.
“You can’t write your own toast,” Cross’s wife said. “Somebody else gives the toast.”
“That’s the flaw in the system. It’s a clear flaw. You spend your life with a person, and then on the most important day you’re not permitted to speak about it. Instead, a man named Gary from the wedding party stands up and rambles for eight minutes about a fishing trip. I’ve written four drafts.”
“He’s read me three of them,” Rook said.
“You said the third one was good.”
“I said the third one was shorter.”
“You said it was good, Mattias.”
Rook swallowed a mouthful of beer and set the bottle down.
“It was better,” he said.
Varga sat back, satisfied.
Cross’s wife asked who was next, and the entire table turned and looked at Pratt.
He’d been eating quietly the entire time and had said perhaps nine words.
“No,” he said.
“Nobody has asked a question yet,” Trier said.
“They were going to.”
“Yes, we were,” Kieran said. “There are two engagements at this table. It’s contagious.”
“How long do you need?” Varga asked, leaning around Heath to get a clear line. “Why haven’t you asked him?”
“We’re fine.”
“Fine.” Varga held a hand over his heart. “He says fine. Where is Sully anyway?”
“He’s working at the bar. He’s coming when his shift ends.”
“I know what Sully deserves,” Varga added. “Sully deserves a production. Sully deserves a man on one knee in a public place with a crowd and at minimum one stranger crying.”
“He’d hate that,” Pratt said.
“He would love that,” said everyone at the table, all at once.
Pratt took another bite and didn’t answer.
My phone buzzed, and I looked.
Niko: Thursday’s good.