The boys were in beige. Dave wore a black tux with a beige cummerbund; I got stuck in a beige tux with a dark purple cummerbund. I looked absurd. Thankfully Lorraine took the curse off of most of it by telling everyone that I was Dave's brother - a story he and I gratefully stuck to.Overall, everything went well. The wedding was at a local church. Then four million assholes invaded my home to eat and drink like they'd never seen food before.The boys officially had the day off, but apparently they all had 'wedding usher' duties. Juan was working closely with the caterer and the wedding planner to make sure that Lorraine's Special Day was just that.And it seemed to be. She cried at all the times she should cry, she smiled at all the rest. She tossed the bouquet, danced with her father, had a piece of cake, everything a girl was supposed to have at a wedding reception.And, to be honest, I was glad. Lorraine was as close to a kid as I was going to have. I'd known her since her conception. Before he finished his task, Angela was fast asleep. The next morning, Angela woke disoriented. Thinking that everything that happened the night before was a dream, she walked to the bathroom across the hall. Glancing at the mirror, she noticed the large black and blue fingerprints on her arm and another on her jaw line. Not remembering she only wore a nightshirt that came down to just her thighs, Angela stumbled into the kitchen. She found Jack standing by the stove, cooking eggs. She stood in the doorway for a short time, watching him. Jack’s muscled, tanned, shirtless back faced her. His jeans rode low on his narrow hips and his feet were bare. As Angela watched him, Jack ran his hand through his sleep-tousled hair. ‘Good morning. So everything that happened wasn’t a dream?’ Angela walked to the coffee maker, reaching above her head, she took out two mugs and poured the exotically bitter liquid. Looking over his shoulder at Angela, ‘Morning, and no, it wasn’t a dream.’ he noted.
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