Page 44 of The Snuggle Is Real

“Oh, wait, they’re doing speeches.” She places a hand on my arm.

Shit. I obediently plunk back down into my chair. My heart is thumping. I take a sip of water.

Malcolm stands up. He removes index cards from his jacket pocket. The stack looks a little thick. I’ve warned him that if he goes over five minutes, the guests start to plan their own funerals. I can see they’re color-coded. Probably something like blue for anecdotes, green for sentiment, yellow for a joke about MacKay getting his head stuck in a bannister in 2004.

When the DJ introduces Malcolm, he takes the microphone, and looks down at the cards.

Then puts them back in his pocket.

No. “Malcolm, no,” I murmur. No one, and I mean no one, should wing it at a wedding speech.

I’m scared for him.

Of all the times in the world to decide to go off script, this is when he does it?

"Good evening," he says. "For anyone who doesn't know me, I'm Malcolm. I'm the oldest Lennox brother, which means I've been responsible for MacKay since he was born. I want to say that it's been a pleasure, but my mother is here and I don't lie in front of her."

People laugh. MacKay salutes Malcolm with his bourbon.

"MacKay, I am proud of you. I’ve always been proud of you. But you’ve outdone yourself this time. You found a woman who is smart and funny and kind, and who has somehow made it all the way to this moment without realizing she's way out of your league. Faith, I wish you nothing but happiness. And good luck with this guy, you’re going to need it."

Faith laughs.

I breathe a sigh of relief. That wasn’t bad. It was pretty good actually. Sentimental, a little joke, short and sweet. Wrap it up with a focus on the bride. I’d give it an eight out of ten.

But then Malcolm keeps talking.

"When MacKay told me he was going to propose, I asked him how he knew. Because I'm me. I wanted data. And he said, 'I just stopped being scared of it.' And I thought that was the dumbest answer I'd ever heard."

Malcolm pauses. I’m gripping my empty champagne flute and holding my breath.

"I was wrong. It was the only answer."

The tent goes quiet. Behind the head table, a breeze kicks up and a handful of leaves blow in under the edge of the canvas.

Malcolm picks up a cocktail napkin.

“What is he doing?” I say anxiously.

I don’t even realize I’ve said it out loud until Eloise, sitting next to me, answers.

“I think you’re about to get a proposal,” she says, reaching out and squeezing my hand.

“What? No.” But…I would love that more than anything on this earth. Well, maybe we’re not ready for a proposal. But a commitment? To us? Hell, yes.

"I'm going to go off-script for a minute," Malcolm says. "MacKay, I'm sorry. You can get me back at my wedding, assuming I'm lucky enough to have one."

MacKay's eyebrows go up. Then he grins. He waves his hand at his brother like go on.

"Fifteen years ago, I was at a wedding. It was at a country club. Everything was salmon-colored. I was stuck at the singles table next to the kitchen doors with my best friend in the whole world, and we wrote a deal on a napkin just like this one.” He shakes the napkin in the air. “Three rules. Always say yes. No questions asked. No complications."

I swallow hard. Malcolm seeks me out with a penetrating stare.

He knows. He always knows. I was just thinking it’s time to toss out the rules.

"I wrote rule three," he says. "I want to be clear about that. That one was mine. Because I was twenty-two and scared out of my mind, and I'd figured out I was in love with her about three minutes before I picked up that pen. And I thought if I said so, I would lose her. So I made sure I'd never have to say it at all."

Somebody at table six gasps. I'm almost positive it's Miss Bettie.