“Are you free tomorrow evening? Twenty-thirty hours?”
“So far's I know.”
“Awesome.” Ceepak takes Rita's hand. “We'd like you to be our best man. Will you?”
“Excuse me?”
“At our wedding,” says Rita.
“You guys are getting married?”
“Roger that.”
“I'm in charge of walking her down the aisle,” says T. J. “Barkley's going to be the ring bearer. We'll put 'em in a pouch on his collar.”
“Is this a church wedding?” I ask.
If it is, I might need to swing by Sears. Pick up a suit.
“Negative,” says Ceepak.
I guess he's had enough organized religion for one week.
“Judge Willoughby will preside,” says Rita. “It's a civil ceremony. On the beach at sunset.”
“I can't believe this,” I say. “This is so cool! Are you guys like registered anywhere? Do you need salad bowls or something?”
“Danny?” says Rita, beaming her impossibly radiant smile straight through my heart, making me feel better than I have in days. “Come on-answer the question! Will you stand up for us? Will you be our best man?”
I smile back.
“Sure. Absolutely.”
I say it with great gusto, even though I know it will be an extremely tough act to pull off. Practically impossible.
It's hard for anybody to be the so-called best man when John Ceepak is already standing there.
But I'll give it a shot.