It was the best man who spoke last, topping off his wine glass for the third time that night as he rose from his chair. His gait was already much too unsteady to move without leading a trail of chardonnay from his seat to the podium, prompting his sister, Micah, to usher the ring bearer into action. Raphi was older than he looked. At nine, his height and mass had him looking more like a six-year-old. But what he lacked in form, he made up for in speed, and he was quick to clean up after the best man, gliding on his knees as he wiped the spills off the floor with a tablecloth. This drew a few raised brows and whispers from the guests seated closest to the stage.

“Hey, I'm Mateo, the best man here, and I have my speech somewhere,” Mateo mumbled into the microphone, patting down his jacket in exaggerated hand gestures. “It was here a second ago.” Squinting anxiously at the reception hall full of guests, the best man forced a smile as he sheepishly dug through his tuxedo pocket.

“See?” He grinned as he pulled out a crumpled piece of paper and flattened it out on the podium. “I knew I had it.” Then clearing his throat, he inhaled sharply, straightening his stance and holding up the glass of wine, just like he’d rehearsed over a dozen times in front of a mirror.

“Do as much as you can around the house, Ephraim,” Mateo urged in practiced mock seriousness. “That’s the secret to a good marriage. Do everything. And I mean everything; shopping, cooking, tidying up, vacuuming,” he said as he counted off with his fingers. “Everything...except washing. Don’t touch the washing. You’re not qualified.”

A ripple of laughter filled the reception hall, and somewhere near the back tables Ellie, Ephraim's much younger sister, fidgeted with a frayed paper napkin, twisting it into knots, and looking on with a firm mouth at the bride as Claire clung onto Ephraim’s arm, bracing herself against him whenever she fell into laughter.

“If you expect your marriage to last, you will not touch the washing,” Mateo went on, glancing over at Micah, the smile momentarily fleeing from his face. “There’s systems to follow, procedures, rotations….special hanging techniques. Tissue discovery checklists. All of which can’t be taught and can’t be learned.”

“Tell that to my wife!” Claire’s newlywed uncle shouted, and another wave of laughter erupted over the dying chuckles.

“And...it’s scary too.” Mateo continued as the silence set back in. “You’ll find things you don’t want to find. I remember discovering that my wife had an eye abnormality because I kept finding all these eye patches.” He paused. “Like the kind that pirates wear...I know, scary. Turned out to be her underwear.”

Someone in the back let out a loud whistle, and within moments the hall swelled with whistles and whoops from the crowd. Mateo raised a hand to take back the floor.

“The point is, stick to the vacuuming, and you’ll be just fine.” Raising his glass up higher, he urged his audience to do the same. “To Ephraim and Claire,” he toasted. “May their happiness endure the most tragic of washing cycles.”

“To Ephraim and Claire,” the guests chorused.

Mateo smiled tightly as he nodded to Ephraim, and polished down his teeming glass. He didn’t return to his seat after his speech. Jamming the crumpled paper back into his pocket, he walked past his table and out the main doors of the reception hall. Moments later, the band began to play, their music barely muted through the old soundproof walls. Mateo took a seat in the lounge, and lit a cigarette, indifferent to the no-smoking sign in the middle of the room.

“That was quite a speech,” Ephraim declared just as Mateo took his first puff, music bursting loudly behind him before the door to the reception hall clicked shut. “You may very well have upstaged me at my own wedding,” he chided, swiping Mateo’s cigarette before his friend had a chance to protest.

“I thought you quit.”

“I did. I will. This will be my last one,” was Ephraim’s sheepish reply. He took a long puff, inhaling deeply and savoring the sensation as he closed his eyes and leaned his head back. “And thus, everything is right with the world,” Ephraim declared, his body stiffness yielding to the elation of his nicotine high as he sunk into the pleather sofa.

Mateo stood and wordless snatched his cigarette back, crushing it into the stone ashtray on the side table.

“I love you man,” he uttered with hard eyes, unfazed by the startled expression on Ephraim’s face, “but I’m not sure if you’re just blind or if you simply don’t want to see what’s in front of you.”

“What’s gotten into you?”

“She was crying, Ephraim. Half of the wedding guests could hear her sobbing all the way from the bridal room. So, how can everything be fine?”

Ephraim stood stunned. He opened his mouth to speak but he was interrupted by the blast of music that flooded into the lounge as the door to the reception hall opened once more. The two men turned to find Ellie standing at the door frame, eyeing them curiously.

“Hey kiddo,” Mateo grinned, and his demeanor quickly slipped to an easygoing one. “You were great today. I’d never seen a more perfect flower girl.”

Ellie frowned and crossed her arms stiffly over her chest.

“I was a bridesmaid,” she grumbled.

Mateo laughed.

“My mistake,” he remarked. “I keep forgetting that you’re not so little anymore.” Then turning to Ephraim, he added, “Sometimes we just see what we want to see.”

But Ellie wasn’t one to be dismissed so easily. “I’m thirteen and a half,” she asserted, offended to be percieved as anything less.

“You certainly are, pipsqueak.”

Mateo gave a short wave goodbye, and he pushed out into the cold evening, thrusting his hands into his pants pockets to keep them warm. He hadn’t bothered to look in Ephraim’s direction before he left, but Ephraim could still feel the anger directed his way, lingering like a bad hangover.

“‘We’re fine,” Ephraim whispered to no one in particular after his friend had gone. “She said so herself. Just fine.”