My Best Man by Andy Schell (top 10 novels TXT) 📕

she’ll snap right back to this place, this hallway, with her nasal linings throbbing, and her head in a marijuana cloud even if her sense of humor prevails. She’ll remain out of control, pushing her family away, while hunting out her next five-minute man to jump in and rescue her.

“What’ll we do?” she sobs.

I look at her and smile. “We’ll get married … that’s what we’ll do.”

“Harry, you belong with Nicolo,” she tells me, wiping the tears

from her eyes. “You don’t care about money like other people do. Fuck the inheritance.”

I can’t believe she says it. “It’s not just the money,” I say wistfully. “If I give up the wedding, I’ll be giving up my family too. They’ll abandon me. My whole identity, fucked as it is, like it or not, is still wrapped up in my family. How can I just let them go?”

“I can’t answer that. I just don’t know how that feels,” she answers in a dazed whisper, “being a part of a family like that.”

“Amity, I’m not supposed to tell you, but I met your parents. They’re nice people. They love you. They told me great stories. Playing Blanche Dubois, reading Gone With the Wind. How you stole makeup from the neighbors when you were three,” I tease, nudging her on the leg.

“I didn’t steal that makeup,” she says in a trance. “I earned it. From my friend’s father.” Tears stream down her face.

I get a sick feeling. “Oh, God,” I whisper, after her statement hits me. “Is that why you’re never having kids?”

She nods. “They might turn out like me.”

I take her hand and hold it in mine. “I’m sorry.” I let her cry for a minute, then explain, “I’m not trying to hurt you, Amity, but my guess is you’ve been running your whole life toward some kind of home you feel is good enough for you. Or maybe you’re just running away from the neighbors’ home because it was so bad for you. But the faster and farther you run, the more unhappy you become, and the larger your ghosts loom over your bed at night. If I leave my family, don’t you think it’s going to be the same for me?”

“But you’ve overcome all that. That’s what’s so great about yOU.”

I shake my head no. “You’re wrong. I haven’t overcome them at all. You can’t escape your family because your family is what makes you who you are. This whole year has showed me that.”

She shrugs, the tears drip down her face.

I take her hand and push my fingers against hers. “I want to say I’m sorry. I’ve been thinking some pretty awful things about you lately. I sold you short. You’ve been a wonderful friend to me, Amity. Nobody else came to that hospital room when I was sick. And you pulled me off that couch at the airport and were willing to let me live here for free. You shared the spoils with me as they came your way and covered me in Padre Island when my credit cards were bum. You’ve become friends with my mother and made her feel younger than any face-lift ever could. You’ve confirmed what I’ve always known about my brother. And most important of all, you’ve taught me I can never escape my past never outrun the Fords of Kansas. So how can you tell me to choose Nicolo over you?”

“Because you’re gay. And you love him. Right?”

The tide turns. The tears recede into her eyes and flow from mine. “Yes, I love him. But he also has a family that loves him just as he is,” I say, wiping the tears away with my forearm. “Unlike me. And maybe through this whole sicko bullshit game, you and I can create some kind of new family we can live with. So I want you to marry me, Amity. But I have to tell you right now: If we do this, we do it for love. No money. Winston can have it. Or my mother or whoever. But no inheritance. It’s the only way.” ‘

She looks uncomfortable. “Not a dime?”

“Not a dime.”

“But you love me?” she asks, her brow wrinkled. “You truly love me?”

“Yes, Amity. I love you.”

“Enough to give up Nicolo?”

“Yes,” I tell her, wiping away more tears. “Enough to give up Nicolo.” I wrap my arms around her and pull her close to me and hope that I’m doing the right thing.

CHAPTER

TWENTY-FIVE

When we arrive at Love Field, the Lear is idling. Amity, in her black stirrup pants and lemon-colored sweater, is radiant, carrying her wedding gown in one hand, a container of biscuits and gravy in the other. She’s gone light on the makeup and left her blond hair straight and pulled back into a pony tail. I don’t know how, but she looks ten years younger than I’ve ever seen her. Her eyes are clear, focused, even after the four bong hits she swallowed into her lungs before we left the house. Her complexion is luminous. There’s a softness to her sense of purpose that I don’t recognize.

I’m so nervous I feel as if I’m going to throw up, but she’s as relaxed as the day we met. And just as ebullient. She’d insisted we stop at Butch’s for biscuits and gravy, so the pilots of the Lear have a chance to eat a real Texas breakfast. The smell of the food while driving made me nauseated. As I lowered the windows to take in fresh air so I wouldn’t vomit, she laughingly told me, “You’re probably pregnant, darling’!”

As we climb the little steps to the jet, Amity calls, “Hi, boys! Harry and I brought you some grub. Get it while it’s hot!” The pilots are instantly in love with her and thank her kindly for the food.

She lays her dress in the seats across from us, and we buckle ourselves in. The jet takes off like a rocket, leaving Dallas in the dust. We streak past the skyscrapers