Page 13 of Passing Ships
The waitress tucks her pad into her apron and gathers our menus before heading to the bar.
“Now that Lennon is here, planning for the bachelor party weekend can commence,” Anson announces. “What are we thinking? Atlantic City? Vegas? Cabo?” He throws out suggestions.
Sebastian shakes his head.
“No can do, fellas. Avie is stressed out enough. I’m not going anywhere.”
Anson’s face twists into an expression of disgust. “Are you kidding me? You’re not even married yet, and she’s tightening the leash?”
Seb’s eyes cut to him. “I’m not on a leash. I just happen to care about the mental state of my bride, asshole.”
The waitress comes back with a tray and sets our beers and a round of water on the table.
Anson thanks her and then turns back to Sebastian. “Why do women get so worked up over weddings? It’s literally a thirty-minute ceremony, where the preacher man feeds you what to say, word for word. Slap rings on each other’s finger, kiss, and you’re done. What’s there to stress out about?”
Parker and I mumble our agreement.
“It’s all the other shit. The dresses, the hair, the food, the flowers, the seating arrangement, and the DJ list. I swear her mother has called every other day for the last six months to add or subtract something,” Sebastian gripes.
“It’s a beach wedding. All you need is a Jimmy Buffett tribute band, a pool with a floating bar, and a taco truck,” Anson says.
“And a bachelor-party weekend in Vegas,” Parker adds.
Anson points at him. “Exactly!”
“Sorry, guys, it’s not going to happen. You’ll have to settle for a night out somewhere around here.”
They both pout like a couple of ten-year-olds.
“Fine. But we’re going to spend the night in Wilmington, at the very least. A farewell to your freedom is a bigger deal than happy hour at Whiskey Joe’s,” Anson declares.
“Wilmington is fine. It’ll have to be the Friday night before the wedding. Every other night has an activity scheduled,” Sebastian agrees.
“I can’t believe we have to take dance lessons,” Parker gripes.
Wade’s girlfriend, Eden, is a dance teacher on the island, and as a favor, she agreed to give the entire wedding party a few easy dance instructions for the first dance.
“I’m not happy about that either. Why can’t we just sway back and forth, like normal men, while the girls dance?” I finally add my two cents to the conversation.
“My soon-to-be mother-in-law attended one of her friends’ daughter’s weddings last year, and the wedding party did the rumba, which wowed the crowd and looked ‘great on video,’” Sebastian explains, using air quotes.
Anson groans.
“Come on, guys. Eden promised she’d come up with something easy, and it’ll make Avie and her mom happy,” Sebastian pleads.
Parker clasps Anson’s shoulder. “We’ll be there, right?”
Anson grabs his mug and raises it in my brother’s direction with a forced smile planted on his face. “With bells on.”
Our food arrives as the conversation shifts from bachelor-party shenanigans to this evening’s plans.
“Mom and Dad want to have us over to grill out tonight,” Sebastian informs me.
“That’s fine, but Wade is picking me up around four to give me a lift to Oak Island.”
“Oak Island? What’s going on up there?”
Oak Island is another small barrier island off the North Carolina coast, a few miles north of Sandcastle Cove.