m is for matthew

“I don’t understand why I have to be here,” he grumbled as he followed Isabel and Reese across the lot to the café where they were meeting the caterer.

“To help pick out the food.”

He scoffed at that. “You don’t eat at these things. You drink. You dance. You talk. Endlessly. You don’t eat. Especially yall. Because everybody and God’s gonna wanna talk to yall, and yall are gonna be so giddy from being hitched that you’ll be too oblivious to care that you most likely won’t see Joe and Carla from Bedias or some such couple—whom you’ve not seen, by the way, in like five years—for another five years. You just want their present.”

“Which is why we’re going to feed them and let them chat us up.”

“I don’t understand why I have to be here. I ain’t the one getting hitched.”

“But you are the best man,” Isabel said, with only a slight trace of irritation in her voice, “And we value your opinion.”

He snorted. “August coming?”

“Of course.”

“I don’t—”

“Matt. Knock it off. What else do you have to do right now?”

They’d stopped just outside the door, because Reese and Isa were both sort of glaring at him. He shuffled his feet. “Nothing. It’s my day off. I was gonna—”

Reese smiled. “Spend time with your friends? Be a best man?”

“Yeah. That.”

“Great. So glad you could tag along. Oh, and Matt? We don’t know a Joe and Carla from Bedias. We don’t know anyone in Bedias, for that matter. Where you come up with this stuff …” Reese shook his head, held the door open for Isabel, then followed her inside. “Come on,” he called over his shoulder. “Free food.”

That perked him up. “Is there free beer?”

Reese ignored him. He and Isabel had immediately struck up a conversation with a dark-haired woman standing near the counter.

Matt sighed, pulled out a chair and sat, surveying the place.

The walls were painted indigo. Pictures were hung here and there, boldly colored prints in intricately carved frames. The tables scattered throughout were small, not much bigger than a good-sized stool. Most of them were held up by three legs, rather than four. While they were fairly similar in size, however, they were drastically different in coloring. One was a wild red. Another a sunny yellow. The one at which he sat was a bright aquamarine. Others, though were simple, stained wood. Or made of wrought iron. A few were built like small trunks and had been covered in a mosaic or painted to give the illusion of one. The chairs, though, they were the same–basic, black, wrought iron. They weren’t comfortable.

He wasn’t impressed. Sure, it looked fun. Cozy. Cute. Quaint. But it wasn’t a place a man would go for lunch. Ever.

At least the owner had paired the tables to give her customers a little more room to eat. That made up for a little bit.

He hoped the food was good. That'd make up for a lot.

He stared at the woman. She was dressed a lot like she’d done up her cafe. Still, she was pretty enough. Kind of striking, actually. Isabel was at least a head taller than she. But the woman’s curves were a lot better. That, at least, he could appreciate.

“Mommy?”

His attention turned to the young girl sitting at a table near the corner, close to the counter.

“Yes, Baby?”

“I’m hungry.”

“Okay, Hannah. Can you give me a few more minutes? I just need to talk to these people for a little bit longer, and then I’m gonna make you some lunch, alright?”

“Okay, Mommy.”

His gaze settled back on the woman. She looked way too young to be a mommy. Too bad, that. He stood, moved to the window to watch the traffic. And waited for his best man duties to be done for the day.

read about the gang here.

(c) twenty-eleven. jennifer k. griffin, otherwise known as c.c. this publication is the exclusive property of c.c. and is protected under the united states copyright act of nineteen seventy-six and all other applicable international, federal, state and local laws. the contents of this post, and any other c.c.-crafted picky post for that matter, may not be reproduced as a whole or in part, by any means whatsoever, without c.c.'s consent. all rights reserved. in other words, steal this, and i will follow you to the depths of hell and the edge of forever and kick your puny, thieving ass. thanks. :]

this was a(nother hastily written) matlock project. learn about that here.