Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 70570 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70570 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
No.
This isn’t how this is supposed to go.
I can’t take Nice Jimmy. I can’t take Sensible Jimmy. I don’t know what the hell to think about this Jimmy.
“S-Stop talking,” I blurt out.
He drops his hand from my shoulder and takes a step back. “I don’t think that’s possible. You know who my ma is? You ever try tellin’ her to stop talkin’? Listen, I don’t know what you’re going through right now, but my advice is to lay off the drinking, enjoy the rest of the night, and have fun with Cole. He’s a great guy. All put-together and well-presented like a fancy gift basket. He’s what I imagine is exactly your type. As for me …” Jimmy turns and gives himself a look in the mirror. “I’ve gotta figure out what the hell I’m gonna say to Bobby tomorrow at the altar. The idiot I am, I lost my frickin’ vows. Lost it at the gym someplace, I think.”
Nope. In your wallet. Then the floor of your mother’s kitchen. Then my pocket. Then the wash. Now a trash bin—in shreds.
I could fess up right now. It might even be satisfying, to see the look on his face when he realizes I’m the reason his vows will soon be on their way to a stinking landfill.
But somehow, the joy in torturing Jimmy is gone. He diffused my anger bomb. Now I’m just a skinny, popped balloon in the shape of Malcolm Tucci, staring at Jimmy through a set of weary eyes, wondering what I was mad about in the first place.
“Just speak from the heart,” I mumble miserably.
Jimmy looks at me. “Huh?”
“Your vows. You don’t need them written out. Just look at … look at your Bobby, think about how he makes you feel … and just say all of that. What you just said to me,” I go on, gesturing at him with a drunken hand that only does half of what I tell it to do, “all of that, just now, all of that crap about not deserving him …”
“It’s not crap.”
“… just say all of that. It came from the heart, right?” I drop my stony gaze to the floor. “He’ll love it.”
“Of course he’ll love it. He’ll love it if I recite a poem I wrote in third grade. He’s the kindest, most forgiving person on Earth. He’s Bobby-fuckin’-Parker. But I want to be better than that for him. I want to tell him words he deserves to hear. Powerful words. Is it even possible to put into words? Shit, man, I worked on those vows so hard. They were perfect. I’ll be a nervous wreck. I can’t ‘speak from the heart’ like others apparently can. I need those vows.” He sighs. “And my dumb ass lost ‘em.”
It’s more obvious than ever now that I don’t belong here. Not in this bathroom. Not in this church. Not at this wedding. Not with Cole Harding, who is patiently waiting out there at the table and likely wondering if I’m blowing chunks in one of God’s toilets.
I hate Jimmy Strong. I’ll always hate Jimmy Strong. I should tell him I ruined his vows. I should pretend I did it deliberately, just to stick it to him.
I can’t stomach the idea of having been wrong about Jimmy this whole time. Maybe some part of me still isn’t convinced. All of this is an act—a bathroom act. He’s pretending to be kind to me. His maturity is a well-rehearsed performance.
He’s still the asshole who hates you, Malcolm.
“You alright?” asks Jimmy from the mirror.
I suddenly can’t stand his kindness. “I’ll never be alright. You made sure of that.”
“Did I?”
“But what do you care? The Jimmy Strongs of the world always get what they want.”
“Hmm. Except their vows, apparently, but—”
“You’re never sorry for anything. You’re Jimmy Strong. You get away with everything around here.”
He frowns in thought. “Is that what you really think of me?”
“Yes.” I don’t know anymore. “Yes, that’s what I think.”
“Huh.” He shrugs. “Well, alright, maybe I got it all wrong and you should drink all the alcohol in the building. Go crazy. I won’t be the one to stand in your way.” He lets out a sigh. “I think we could probably talk more, maybe straighten this out, but … I gotta take a monster leak, and I’ve been holding it in this whole time.” He points at one of the urinals. “Mind if I …?”
The wine is really getting to me, too. I feel like the restroom is rotating like a cylinder. It takes everything in me to stay standing. “Sorry. Knock yourself out,” I mumble, deciding the battle is over, then stagger toward the door and see my way out.
The noise of the room is twentyfold somehow. Everyone has become a giant headache, and I can’t seem to see straight as I head through the obstacle course of tables toward my own. I bump into some lady who protests. I bump into a guy who’s too busy cutting something on his plate to notice. I think I hear someone call out at me, but I don’t have it in me to look their way.