“Well,” Stephen said, placing the last of the empty shots on top of his pyramid. “That could have gone better.”
They were in a Wetherspoons. It was quarter to midnight. Mike’s top button was undone, the tie was missing, and he was starving. The wedding, suffice it to say, had not exactly gone without a hitch.
“I’m surprised though,” Stephen continued blithely. “I didn’t think Jo’s dad would get involved. Mostly because I didn’t think he’d show up, but still…”
Mike peered fuzzily at the pyramid. Steady hands. Stephen was still sober. So all—he counted—ten belonged to him.
“Could’ve gone worse,” he slurred.
“How?”
“Could have been a jilting.”
“A what?”
“Jilting. You know. Jilted. Um.”
“Left at the altar?” Stephen asked.
“Yeah!”
Mike knocked over the pyramid in his enthusiasm, and
