I am totally fine. Toh-tah-lee.
I think I’m going to throw up. Or faint. Or spontaneously combust. What the hell is going on? Why did they bring him out?
I study the two groomsmen propping Ah Guan up. Since I’m only a few feet away from them, I can see that behind their sunglasses, they’re drunk AF. All twelve of the groomsmen are. They’re all swaying on their feet and giggling and pointing in random directions, and none of them seems to know what the hell’s going on. Can absinthe have such a dramatic effect on people? Just how much did Fourth Aunt give them?
Sweat trickles down the back of my neck. I need to do something. These guys aren’t going to stay on their feet for long, and once they go down, there’s no telling what’ll happen with Ah Guan’s body. I look around and try to catch the wedding planner’s eye without calling too much attention to myself, but it’s useless; she’s behind the crowd, overseeing her various staff members, probably coordinating the bridal party’s entrance in time with the music.
“And now, here he is,” the MC booms, getting back into his rhythm after the interruption of the groomsmen, “the man of the hour, the handsome groom, Tom Cruuuuise Sutopo!”
Snapping out of my panic, I raise my camera and capture the moment as Tom swaggers down the aisle with a smug smile. Each time I press the trigger to take a photo, I want to laugh hysterically. Why am I still bothering to do my job? There is a literal corpse on the altar! Things can’t possibly get any worse than they are right now. Still, somehow, through my panic, I keep taking photo after photo, even adjusting the shutter speed in between pictures. Here’s Tom looking smug; here’s another of Tom looking even smugger; here’s yet another one of Tom, looking nice in his suit but also smug. And the whole time, Ah Guan’s body is only a few feet away from me. It’s as though I can feel the coldness of his aura creeping up my back. I have to keep stopping myself from turning around and looking at him.
As Tom nears the altar, his smile wavers. Ah. He’s spotted his groomsmen. He tries his best to keep the smirk on his face, but his eyes flash as he takes in their rumpled tuxedos, their sunglasses, and their unsteadiness. He takes his spot next to them.
“What the fuck, guys?” he says, his lips still stretched in a fake smile. “Seriously, what the fuck?”
The groomsman next to Tom turns to stare at him, mouth agape. It takes a few moments before his brain apparently catches up and he says, “Whur?”
“Unfuckingbelievable,” Tom mutters. “You guys are in so much trouble.”
I swallow. Tom’s only separated from Ah Guan’s body by seven groomsmen. He’s so close to him. When he leans forward to look down the scraggly line of groomsmen, my heart squeezes like a fist and I very nearly pass out. But all Tom does is sneer and shake his head at them before straightening back up.
The music winds down to a pause and the MC says, “And now, ladies and gentlemen, let’s welcome the bridal party!” Pachelbel’s Canon in D Major starts playing, and the first bridesmaid comes out.
With all eyes on her, I’m the only one who spots the first groomsman’s head bobbing down slowly before jerking back up. Oh no. He looks like he’s about to fall asleep.
I inch closer to Tom. When I’m within whispering distance, I say, “Tom, I think we need to dismiss your groomsmen.”
He glances at me like I’m an irritating fly, and scoffs. “Right, and be groomsmen-less on my ceremony like some fucking loser? Not happening.”
“Look at them. They can barely stay on their feet.” I nod toward the groomsmen, at least three of whom are swaying more dramatically. Shit, one of them’s holding Ah Guan up. If he falls . . . “If they fall over, it’ll make such a huge scene,” I hiss, my voice rising with panic. “It’ll ruin everything!” Like my life, for example.
A flicker of uncertainty crosses Tom’s face, but then he lifts his chin, his jaw working into a stubborn clench, and says, “If they fall over, I’m gonna sue the shit out of them.”
“Sue them?” How does his twisted little mind even work? Sue his own friends? I mean, sure, from his point of view, his friends have let him down majorly, but still, that’s not a good reason to let this go on and ruin his own wedding. Talk about cutting off your own nose to spite your face. Also, with a twist of guilt in my guts, it hits me that it’s not even really the groomsmen’s fault. Fourth Aunt was the one who got them drunk out of their minds. I need to fix this, but how? I take out my phone and dial the WP’s number.