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Most of the wedding party looks like they're feeling about the same as you are: like they'd rather still be in bed this morning, or at least in a room that wasn't quite so brightly lit. The stained-glass windows of the chapel filter and soften some of the mid-morning light shining in, but not enough... not nearly enough.
Connor plonks himself down next to Chris on the pew behind you, one eye seemingly permanently squinted shut. "I told the stragglers still shoveling in food to hurry it up. The rest of us are waiting." He casts a concerned glance at Chris's unmoving form, his friend's head firmly planted on his arm on the back of your pew, and then looks to you and mouths: he ok?
You shrug and start to laugh, but then rethink your mirth. Food, water, and a dose of something didn't quite rid you of the headache and way the space behind your eyes keeps pulsing this morning. Clearly Chris is regretting his insistence on trying to outdrink you last night, or maybe he'd stayed up once everyone parted ways and ventured back to their rooms. You haven't tried to ask. You've got your own hangover to worry about. "Should I make a note of who I'll need to chase down tomorrow?"
"Nah," Connor slides in place a little on the pew to survey the rest of the members of the wedding party already amassed, likely looking for Amy. "They miss the wedding – they miss the wedding."
"Amy might feel differently about that."
The words are muffled by the way he's hunched over but at least Chris is awake and paying attention. You and Connor exchange a brief look before Connor leans over to flick Chris hard on the spot just behind his ear.
Chris groans as he sits up and slides a little further down the pew to escape his friend's reach, rubbing at his neck as he shakes his hair from his eyes. A bright red mark is already forming on his forehead and arm as result of the way he'd been sitting and is probably gaining another where Connor had landed the blow. Chris blinks hard before focusing on you, nodding carefully, "Pro'lly should make a list."
"Thanks for that show of support." You'd roll your eyes at him but that might set off a different type of headache. You're battling enough as it is. Maybe you should've tried a little harder to get the kitchen to make a hangover cure to go with your omelet you had at breakfast.
Connor leans to poke in Chris' direction but his effort gets parried, "I think that was an offer to help."
"Yea," Chris shoves Connor's outstretched hand aside and scoots a little further away, half standing to take an extended stride and place himself well out of Connor's reach. "Anything my wedding buddy needs."
"Oh. Nice." You watch as Chris opts out of switching rows the normal way, instead vaulting to join your row. "Now it's anything I need. Last night at the bar wasn't it: not unless you get up and sing?"
"Who drove you around yesterday running errands?"
You start to slide yourself backwards in a poor attempt to stay out of whatever is starting to develop between Chris and Connor. You don't want anything to do with a slap fest, but don't really feel like putting in the effort of standing and walking away from them, either. "I thought you volunteered for that job. And no – don't you – sit." You point at Chris, knowing it'll be futile. Your back discovers the end of the pew far too quickly. "Sit down. Right there. I learned my lesson. I don't want any part of shenanigans the pair of you pull."
Chris sits just about where you pointed, but then slides the rest of the way to bump into your legs, grinning the whole time. "Oh c'mon. Last night was fun."
"You do remember the hour we spent backtracking, looking for your phone, right?"
He has enough sense to look a little sheepish, shit-eating-grin aside.
You do your best to maintain your frown, "When it was in your other pocket the whole time. Some of us were wearing heels."
"Which he did offer to hold." Connor leans forward to rest his forearms on the back of the pew, leaning until he can make eye contact, peering around Chris as he comes to his buddy's defense.
Getting up is so unappealing, but so is having the pair of them gang up on you. Who said that rehearsals had to happen as early in the day as the future wedding was planned? Where was that written? "Uh-huh," you deadpan, taking a breath to ready yourself for the adventure of standing and seeking out Anywhere But Here. "Next time I'm wearing combat boots."
"At the rehearsal dinner tonight?" Chris seems to be perking up, making you want to ask what his remedy for hangover cure was. It took delayed effect, but it clearly works better than what you tried. "Or are you saying you're up for round two: Battle of the Ballads?"
No. No more singing. No more karaoke and please no more heavy drinking. Your liver will start a coup. "No. That wasn't what—" Your denial comes too late to do much good. They're already plotting when and how another night out on the town can happen.
