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Richie never believed in fairy tales as a kid. His life seemed so different to the other kids that he assumed it must've been because he didn't deserve any kind of magic. Besides, the sight of his mom drinking all day every day kind of ruined the illusion early on, anyway.
Romance was another thing. As he grew older, it felt like everyone in school was falling in love with each other, but he couldn't land anyone. Not even Fat Angie.
That part didn't bother him though – it was the fact that he wasn't even into the girls he went for. For ages, he thought that people were dating just for the sake of it, and sure, it was highschool – half of those relationships were just for points in the social hierarchy – but it took him way too long to realise that he was meant to be feeling deep, emotional connections towards these people.
On a good day, he'd glance at a girl in the hallway and find himself thinking she was attractive, or sometimes on a bad day he'd catch himself thinking of his guy friends in ways he shouldn't have been and then he'd drink until it was nothing more than a thought that had never belonged to him in the first place. Maybe he wasn't good at the whole romance scene, but one thing he knew for sure was that guys were off limits.
No matter how hard he tried to drill that sentiment into himself, his efforts were rendered futile once Mikey came along. Mikey had always had something about him that was so alluring. He was so funny and charismatic and he could light up a room within the blink of an eye. Richie found himself obsessed, and it wasn't just a passing phase, as everyone else had been.
Mikey was this bright, indescribable, blinding presence. He gave Richie refuge after long days of trying to escape his memories. He welcome him into his family when Richie didn't have one to call his own. And it was love like Richie had never been granted the pleasure of experiencing before.
People often made jokes that they'd get married one day. That they bickered like a married couple. That they were as inseparable as a girl from her first real boyfriend.
Mikey laughed along, when he heard them. Richie chuckled awkwardly in an attempt to brush it off.
Kissing Tiff at the altar was truly magical.
When he introduced her to the family (the Berzattos) they all said that she was like if Richie had come out with a vagina instead. And that was perfect, because if there was one man Richie had wanted to be with his entire life other than Mikey, it was himself. They were made for each other.
He remembered holding her in his arms, her ear-to-ear smile mirrored on his own face, and thinking I used to pray for times like this. In middle school, liking a girl seemed like some kind of impossible endeavour. Something that just wasn't meant for him. The first time he touched a titty, senior year (late bloomer), he looked up to the heavens and sent up a silent prayer that God would guide him because he had no clue what he was doing. Now, he had the amalgamation of every good trait a woman could have bundled into one, and she was stood in his embrace, and she was showing no signs of running away. A better gift had never been bestowed upon him.
It was all white tablecloths and lush greenery and these beautiful arrangements of flowers Sugar had helped to pick out, pinks and purples and blues and yellows. The dress code wasn't too strict, so when everyone was gathered at the afterparty, from far away the crowd looked like a Jackson Pollock painting that he had decided to scrap.
Mikey gave this great, beautiful speech in prose that Richie had no clue Mikey could even come close to having. It opened with "People say weddings are the happiest days of the year. Not for me. It's a dark and stormy day in my mind, because me and Richie have been going around telling people we were in a relationship for the past twenty years.
As the sun set on the horizon, Richie and Tiff did their first dance to Someone Like You by Van Morrison, and with that, the party was underway. Richie felt like he danced with everyone under the sun that night. Michelle, Mikey, Cicero, Sugar, Donna, the majority of Tiff's guests, a quarter of the Faks' entire bloodline. Carmy couldn't make it because he was off doing whatever the fuck at wherever the fuck, making the big bucks while becoming a big time chef, but if he was there, he definitely would've gotten a turn.
"Where's Carmy?" Richie asked at one point, his words beginning to blend into each other at this point.
Donna let out an agonised moan and turned away, already on the brink of tears. "Off at some fancy restaurant," someone replied, though Richie couldn't decipher which one of the Berzattos it was, seeing as he was surrounded by them.
"Copenhagen," Mikey supplied helpfully, coming up behind Richie. It was clear who had said it this time, not only because Richie had been listening to that voice for years, but also because of the familiar weight of his hand landing on Richie's shoulder. "Come on, man, you know this. I show you the shit he sends me every fuckin' day!"
Eventually, he and Mikey snook off into the bathrooms to do a line or three, and in Richie's mind, things could only go uphill from there.
Until, of course, he was reminded that Donna was in attendance, and she had a special talent for making any event about herself. And she did, eventually, though even that couldn't dampen Richie's spirits. It did get kind of awkward for a while, and a few people had to go home (it wasn't very motivating to watch an alcoholic have an episode on the dancefloor and proceed to puke up everything she'd consumed in the last three days) but as soon as everything was cleared, everyone was okay to get back to partying.
He never wanted the night to end. It felt like retribution. It felt like he had finally achieved the salvation that his priest him promised him when he got baptised. It felt like God had finally delivered the guidance Richie had asked for that day behind the bleachers while feeling up Corinna Dabrowski. The answers to life had been dropped straight in his hands: Tiffany, coke with Mikey, and good music. Going to sleep that night (or morning, should he say, as he couldn't will his eyes to shut until way past sunrise) felt like a premature divorce. Not that he'd even caught an inkling that his future might hold any kind of divorce at all, at that point.
The point is that it was a night straight out of a fairytale. A Grimms Brothers' original, straight from the parchment and translated into life. Love finally made sense to Richie.
"I wish you were here, Carmy," Richie overheard Mikey saying at some point in the night, voice all hushed and aimed at his phone, "we all do. You being so far away feels wrong."
Richie was shocked to find that Carmy had actually showed up to Nat's wedding.
"Yo, Carm!" he called, "what's up? You're here!"
Carm turned, a small smile on his face. "Hey cousin."
He looked exhausted, and weird, stood in the corner of the room all by himself. He'd always looked weird, as a kid. It took him way too long to grow into his body.
"Why aren't you talking to anyone? I'm shocked Donna isn't clinging onto your leg," Richie joked, and Carm laughed, but it seemed more self-deprecating than anything else. Maybe it wasn't the right time to make that joke. After all, Richie wasn't sure when the last time Carm had seen Donna, and it very well could've been that especially traumatic Christmas dinner they'd shared just over half a year back.
"Oh, nothing," Carmen responded, oddly polite, too distant for Richie's liking, "just thinking. You know how it is."
"Come on, come say hi to everybody!" Richie said, tugging on Carmen's wrist already, "They've all been so excited to see you."
Although reluctantly, Carm followed along, dragging his feet behind Richie's long, confident strides. Richie was talking quickly, moving quickly, thinking quickly, and it all alerted Carmen a little, but he had never been good at knowing for sure whether Richie was high on coke or high on life.
(He eventually came to the verdict that life was the only substance Richie was on right now, because it was too early in the afternoon, and Richie was less likely to do drugs this early into someone's else's gathering.)
Richie's words must've had at least a little bit of truth to them, because once he managed to drag Carmen to the main group of family members – Mikey, Michelle, the Faks – their conversation ceased and immediately lit up with renewed vigour and excitement, and Carmy was swallowed into the circle without a hitch.
"Carmy, I haven't seen you in so long!" Neil grinned, pulling him into an impossibly tight hug.
"It's so good to see you!" he heard Michelle say from somewhere behind him.
"Carmy!"
Richie could only stand back and watch as Mikey practically jumped Carmen, one hand gripping the crown of his head, the other balled in the back of his brother's shirt.
As a heavy hand landed on his back, Richie turned to see Pete, who said "Looking good Richie!"
Despite his initial protests at wearing a navy-blue three piece suit, Richie couldn't help but feel inclined to agree. He did look sexy in it. Honestly, he didn't know why men had stopped wearing suits as casual wear in the first place.
"Pete, my man!" Richie returned, pulling the groom into a one-armed hug. Any other day, Richie would be caught dead before saying Pete was his man, but he let it slide considering the joyous occasion.
Their awkward small talk lasted around two excruciating minutes, if Richie had to guess. And then Pete revealed, "I'm so nervous, Richie."
"Why?" Richie asked, puzzled. This was the only part of their conversation that had actually managed to hook him in. Perhaps Pete should talk about his struggles more often. "You've got the actual marriage part over with, what is there to be nervous about?"
"I know," Pete replied with a smile caught somewhere between bashful and pained, "I just don't wanna mess this up. It feels too perfect right now. It's like things can only go downhill from this point onwards."
Richie chuckled, "Thinking like a Berzatto already, Pete."
As much as Richie wanted to, and as much as Pete needed it right now, Richie knew he was in no place to be giving marital advice and he prayed that Pete wouldn't ask for it. He and Tiff had managed to uphold their picture of having the perfect marriage, but cracks were beginning to form in their foundations. It hit Richie with a wave of nausea every time he thought about it, which was almost every second of the day at this rate.
"How do you do it?" Pete asked after a few moments of wringing his hands and biting his lip and looking like a bomb bound to explode if he didn't get that detrimental question off his chest.
"Do what?" Richie responded dumbly.
"You know, you and Tiff," a machete to Richie's side, "you just seem so happy all the time. I've never seen you fight, and, I'm sure you do, but it never affects you. With baby Eva, too, it seems even more impossible. What is the key?"
Pete looked desperate for some kind of advice or closure or reassurance. Richie was desperate for a way out of this line of questioning.
As he spoke, he scanned the room instead of looking Pete directly in the eyes. "I don't know, man," he shrugged noncommittally, "you just gotta... keep the spark alive. Good communication. You gotta shift the dynamics in bed every now and then – the media doesn't want you to know this, but there is only a very small percentage of women who actually enjoy being the submissive one day in, day out."
He thanked God vehemently for allowing him the strength not to let his voice falter throughout that spiel.
Pete laughed nervously. The speech did manage to soothe him a little, but he still looked jittery. There was nothing Richie could do about it anyway. He wasn't willing to lie through his teeth just to convince Pete the lawyer that his marriage wouldn't end in divorce.
Well, he supposed he didn't have to stand there watching him like an asshole. There were a few things he could say.
"Look," Richie sighed after a few moments of deliberation, "you and Nat have something special. I can tell how deeply in love you are with each other. I know you don't always understand this family, but you try your best, and that's all that matters. Just keep being true and keep being yourself, champ, because that's all she wants."
He sounded like his guidance counsellor from eighth grade telling him that, if he stayed true to himself, then Richie would find a girlfriend in no time. It didn't work. Hopefully Pete would get the message though. He was into all that corny shit anyway, right? Yeah, Richie was confident it'd get through to him.
It turned out he was right. The powers of his motivational speaking gave Pete a new look of clarity in his eyes, and seemingly the ability to enjoy the rest of his wedding night. He was dancing on tables in no time.
By that point, Tiff had turned up. She came later because Eva had no babysitter until the evening.
(That's what they told everyone else, anyway.)
The drinks were flowing, and Richie, stupid and a little tipsy and foolishly hopeful had thought that maybe Tiff would offer him a dance once she'd gotten a couple drinks down her. She didn't. She spent the majority of her night with Sugar and the bridal party whilst Richie spent his with Mikey, Stevie, and Michelle. Odd combination, he knew, but he loved it.
It didn't take long until Richie had to ask, "Where's Carm?"
"Dunno," Mikey replied, unceasing in his vibrant dance moves as he did so, "haven't seen him since the first drinks were served."
"Huh," Richie huffed pensively.
"I saw him in the bathroom about a half hour ago," Stevie said brightly and in the fashion only a sober man could, with a 'if that helps' sort of shrug of the shoulders.
For a few more minutes, Richie stayed dancing, and then gave into the urged and excused him to "take a piss, I won't be long, stay here."
But, as expected, the cubicles were barren apart from a face Richie surprisingly didn't recognise, hunched over the sink with a pocket mirror and a credit card. Richie was suddenly reminded of small packet of white powder Mikey had hinted at in his pocket earlier.
"You got ket?" Richie asked as soon as he found Mikey in the sea of limbs and bodies.
Mikey flashed him an answering smile.
And it was good. Weddings were where he excelled, really, Richie thought. It beat every single night out. Nothing got him higher than being around his family, everyone happy, briefly forgetting that Donna was prone to throwing a fit at any moment, mixed with whatever illegal substance Mikey had in his pocket on that day.
But these days, every good night ended in the mens' room, alone, clinging to slippery tiles because Richie's head was spinning so strongly it felt like he could fall off the earth at any second.
People walked in and out and straight past Richie like it was nothing – well, it was nothing. Pete's family was unconcerned, and the Berzattos barely blinked an eye. If anything, the only peculiar thing about Richie fading in and out of consciousness on the floor at a party was the fact that Mikey wasn't by his side pissing his pants at the sight.
"You okay cousin?" Carmen's voice cut through the fog, and once Richie's vision stopped rippling he could see Carmy too, squatting in front of him. A far cry from the little freak Richie had partially grown up alongside.
The blue and purple tinted bathroom lights worked to highlight the contours of Carmy – his face, his hair, his annoyingly defined arms where he had rolled his sleeves up. His waistcoat, clearly tailored, clung to his waist so perfectly.
Too much.
"Yeah," Richie replied slowly, fighting to keep his eyes open each and every time he allowed himself a chance to blink. "I'm okay, Carm, I just... need a little time."
"Let me drive you home," Carmen offered. His hand was on Richie's wrist now. It felt like a branding iron. "Yeah?"
"No," Richie shook his head weakly, "fuck that, it's too early. You think I'm leaving Sug's wedding so early?"
"Richie, you can barely form words. You're lucky I can even understand what the fuck you're saying. Come on, let's get you home."
No matter how hard Richie wanted to fight it, he couldn't really summon the power in his bones and in his mind to do so.
"What? You're back in your own apartment? Are you sure? Do you know you don't live there anymore? Why aren't you staying with your wife and kid?" Richie vaguely remembered Carmy interrogating him on the way home when Richie revealed that, temporarily, he was not sleeping in his own home, but rather the shabby studio apartment he owned before the wedding.
The next thing he could recall was stumbling and clinging onto Carmy's bicep like a lifeline as he climbed the stairs to his apartment. It felt like an eternity. Once they approached the door, Carmy had to take Richie's face in his hands and force the other man to face him because he genuinely couldn't listen otherwise, "Have you got your keys?"
After a bit of patting himself down and mumbling under his breath, Richie's findings came back negative. Carmy asked if he had a spare anywhere, but Richie was too out of it, so he ended up having to search himself. He looked under the doormat, turned out Richie's pockets, then after going through a million other possible places, found one under an empty plant pot sat sadly beside the door.
"Are you gonna be okay?" Richie was in bed now. Carmy must've taken his shoes and tie off and unbuttoned his shirt and slacks for him because that was the state he woke up in the next afternoon. "Do you need me to stay the night?"
Richie couldn't remember how he replied to that, but when he eventually woke up the next day, he found the following on his nightstand: two glasses of water, a packet of tylenol, and a hastily scrawled note which read "Left early this morning because I have to sort my shit out before I fly back tomorrow. Call me if you need anything, dinner, groceries, a therapist. You have my number."
I fuckin' love you.
The morning of Tiff and Frank's wedding, Richie threw up twice.
It wasn't like he was still hung up on Tiff, or anything. That ship sailed long ago. Still, there was this heavy feeling that sat on his diaphragm and pressed on his stomach and inhibited his ability to breathe all day long.
He supposed it felt a little bit like losing his daughter. Losing his wife. Enough of that pathetic shit though, because he knew that wasn't true. He was still gonna see Eva often, and Frank was fuckin' minted. Realistically, Richie had nothing to grieve.
After half an hour of standing outside the church and inadvertently forcing poor Sydney to become his therapist, he gathered up the courage and grew the pair of balls required to go inside and sit in the pews.
A part of him wanted to cover his ears and start screaming when Tiff and Frank read their vows to each other. A part of him wanted to bury his face in his hands when they kissed and it was met with the same applause he had heard at their wedding because the majority of the guest list was the exact same. Mentally, he began to map out the seating to figure out who would be caught in the crossfire if he started projectile vomiting.
(It ended up being that one of Tiff's highschool friends would've had her hair coated with puke. On Richie's left, Sydney could've ended up with some in her lap too, depending on the circumstances. The same could've been said for Carmy, who was meant to be on Richie's right, but interestingly enough was nowhere to be seen.)
Eva ran up to her mom and stepdad the second that she was allowed to leave her seat – Richie better be careful with that thought before his vomiting premonition comes true – and Frank picked her up in his arms, holding her between himself and his wife, who both looked into Eva's little face like she was the sun moon and stars. Richie averted his gaze.
As soon as he was allowed out of the venue, which had become incredibly stuffy incredibly fast, he bolted, and once they reached the party venue, he made a b-line for the bar.
The very few times he's recounted this story, he's tried to convince the person he was telling it to that he started off slowly with the drinks. No one has ever fell for that narrative. Then, he's tried to convince them that even if he did start off with three shots of baby Guinness immediately followed by a double vodka and coke, he took the rest of the night slow like any responsible adult would. That was equally as unbelievable, apparently.
Richie didn't even know why he'd felt such a need to get in such a state, because at some point, it registered in his mind that he wasn't that worked up about the wedding at all. The pain had numbed hours ago, and besides, the pain had never been so strong that drinking to this extent was necessary. Fuck, he was getting to my best friend just shot himself and now I constantly feel this sense of hopeless and gnawing emptiness in my stomach that can only be drowned out by copious amounts of liquor levels of inebriation.
And that was another thing. It was weird, losing his best friend in his forties. He was having so many new firsts. The first time he worked at the Beef without Mikey being out front with him, chatting to customers. The first time he went to a family gathering without the man who gave him entrance to the family being there. The first time going to a wedding without spending half the time clinging to Mikey's coattails.
Anyway, there was something else going on, but Richie couldn't put his finger on the problem, which was probably the worst part about the whole thing. Every extremity was wracked with nausea, his teeth were chattering, and his eyes hurt with the effort it took to attempt to keep them focused, yet he wouldn't stop downing every drink he was offered.
"Woah, Richie!" Stevie chuckled awkwardly when Richie bumped into him so hard he almost knocked himself off his own feet, "Don't you think you've maybe had enough to drink tonight?"
Before Richie could reply himself, someone else spoke his mind for him, "Oh come on Stevie, don't be such a buzzkill."
At the sound of those words, Richie looked over his shoulder with a renewed hope glimmering in his chest, but it was just Uncle Lee. Every smouldering ember of arousal, or fondness, or fear, or whatever that feeling was? Stamped out immediately.
For hours, Richie went around terrorising the guests. By terrorising, he meant spreading general love and cheer around and uplifting everyone's spirits. He danced with Tiff, and then Frank, and Eva, and anyone else who asked. Even those who didn't ask. It was slightly reminiscent of his own wedding night, just years later, and this time Tiff got half of the joy while Richie watched from the pews – this is a thought he had days after the reception. If it had occurred to him on the night, God knows what he would have done.
But once he tired of the hoards of people crowded on the dance floor, he wandered off to find Carmy. Why Carmy, he didn't know, but a part of him was all of a sudden hit by this urge to go find the guy. It was always Carmy. Richie hadn't seen him all night, and he was hoping he hadn't gone home yet. Everyone he asked hadn't seen him either.
So in the end, Richie ended up mindlessly wandering around the venue, stealing people's drinks, and miserably failing in his attempts at locating Carmen. Somewhere between that and the half hour following it, Richie found himself sat with his knees up to his chest in a sort of clean bathroom. Something Lady Di would be cool with, but the Queen? Less likely.
Utterly pathetic, his hands hung limply in front of his knees and his mouth lulled open. He couldn't stay conscious enough to hold his jaw closed. The only thing keeping him awake at all was the cold press of the bathroom tiles against his skin through his thin white shirt. Where he had discarded the rest of his suit, Richie had no clue, but he guessed it'd show up at some point.
Somewhere in another dimension, he heard the door swing open and then closed, and then the sound of footsteps reverberating around the walls. Head hanging between his knees, Richie's eyes were closed, so he wouldn't have seen who his new company was anyway. Blood pounded in his ears. The footsteps grew louder and the vibrations they sent throughout the floor felt stronger, and Richie just prayed the guy would remember that Richie was forty-five years old and didn't need telling off for being too intoxicated.
"Hey. Hey. Cousin, listen to me," and it was Carmy. It always was. Distant, fuzzy, but distinctly Carmy: Richie would recognise that voice, those hands on his shoulders, those hands pressed against his cheeks, any day.
"Carmy," Richie gasped, still seemingly unable to stop his shaking. He hadn't noticed the shaking until now. Or the fact that he had been practically close go hyperventilating himself into a full-blown panic attack.
"I'm here. Breathe, dude, breathe." Carmy's left hand, the cold skin of which felt heavenly against Richie's burning cheek, had now slipped down to the side of Richie's neck.
"I've been looking for you all night!" Richie exclaimed, looking up into his eyes and clapping his own hand down over Carmen's, "Where the fuck have you been, dude?"
"You know, catching up with people, shaking hands, this and that," Carm said noncommittally. He was lucky Richie was too out of his mind to notice that Carmy was talking out of his ass just to placate him.
A brief silence settled over them, one they both used to study the other's face. Carmen looked – well, Richie couldn't really decipher emotions in the state he was in, but he would never be too drunk to acknowledge Carmen's beauty.
He hated admitting it, even to himself, especially sober, because there was a time in his life where he remembered looking after this kid with Mikey on late nights after Donna had gotten too shitfaced to take care of her baby. For years, Carmen Berzatto was nothing more than Mikey's baby brother. At that point, Richie never even thought about what Carmen would be like when he grew up. Back then, it felt like Carmy would never grow up. He would stay an innocent, unspeaking, little baby with about ten blonde curls atop his head and blue eyes piercing enough to rival Richie's own. It was beyond comprehension that Carmy would ever get to this point, he'd develop into his fucked up little man with so many layers to his personality and his backstory and his career.
"Crossfaded?" Carmen's inquisitive voice cut into Richie's mini mental crisis.
"What? No," Richie scoffed, "obviously not."
"...Okay," Carmen nodded.
A beat.
Richie was freed from the assault of Carmen's all-seeing eyes as he broke eye contact for a second, rubbing his nose as he said, "You know, you've got a real talent for getting shitfaced at weddings, cousin."
Richie huffed a laugh, "I know how to party."
"Sure. What you don't know is your own limits. Come on, fuckface, I'm taking you home."
"Wow, Carmy, at least buy me dinner first."
In any other circumstances, Carmen would've swatted Richie's arm for that comment. He must've given him the benefit of the doubt this time.
This time, Richie didn't remember the journey home. The morning after, all he got was one glass of water, two tylenol, and a shorter, hastier note.
"Call me if you need me, and consider checking into AA."
Fucking smartass.
The morning of Carmy's wedding, Richie very nearly threw up again, but he was too old for that shit now. Besides, Carmy wasn't there to help him through it all, so it wouldn't be worth it anyway.
You fuckin' need me.
Carmy was already at the altar when the guests began filing in and filling up the pews on either side. Richie had been to far too many weddings in recent years for the sight to even remotely bring him excitement.
Hair partially styled, Carmen didn't look too different to what he did usually, apart from the three-piece suit he donned. All dark grey, accented with a blue tie and the blue carnation in his breast pocket. The styling really made his eyes pop.
As if they needed to pop any more than they already did, for Christ's sake.
Not long after, Carmy's fiancée, nervewrackingly soon to be wife, floated down the aisle in her sheath style dress. It wasn't Claire, as everyone had thought it would be when they were kids. As Mikey probably died thinking it would've been. It wasn't Sydney, as Tina had thought it would be, and no offense but thank God for that – Richie would probably kill himself with the despair he felt for the girl if such a tragedy happened to her.
"Sweetheart, if you get too nervous, I'm happy to kiss the groom for you," Richie nodded towards the bride from where he was standing behind Carmy's shoulder.
Carmy was cool and all, and he was a real catch in some aspects, but he was incredibly unstable. He had been getting better since he put himself into a less involved role at the company, one that meant he barely spent time in the building anymore, but underneath it all, Richie knew that Carmy was never gonna become a saint.
Although he felt bad about it, Richie kind of disassociated for the kiss and the officiation and stuff. He listened to the exchange of vows, and even began crying so hard during them that he had to fully turn his back to the audience, but mentally, he was mostly somewhere else.
A sigh of relief escaped him once the guests were asked to stand and depart the church.
As soon as they arrived at the venue, Richie ordered a round of shots for himself and the bridal party, and then sat in waiting until it was time for his speech.
"Alright, listen up everybody. It's my time to shine now, motherfuckers."
"If you don't know me... you don't deserve to be at this wedding, the door is over there." Richie began strongly, met with laughter which he let breathe before he continued.
"Alright, seriously now. My name's Richie. Back home at The Beef, they know me as a chef, entrepreneur, businessman, upcoming rapper, intelligent investor, a poet... the list goes on." The wedding was taking place at one of those trendy rooftop venues in the heart of Chicago, much to Richie's dismay when he caught wind of it. "What are you now, rich? You can blow a fuck ton of money on a nice view for one night, but you can't expand The Bear by even one store? I got mouths to feed! Stingy fuck."
"Now, I've known Carmy since he had to wear bibs while he ate—and, now I'm realising that doesn't mean shit since he only stopped doing that after he came back from the Copenhagen, but I'm talking about toddler years. Fuck, I was in the emergency room while Donna was on the maternity ward, pushing his big fuckin' head out," he smiled at Donna, who had surprisingly been invited, as he said this. He was only a few sentences in and she was already clutching at her pearl necklace, dabbing at her eyes with one of the napkins provided. Adorned in neon pink from fascinator to stiletto, she looked brighter than she had in years.
A brief pause. Minutely, Richie's jaw flexed. "For years, Carmy was my best friend's little brother. He was the baby of the family that I had barged into without warning, and it felt like he was gonna stay a bay forever. But as we all grew over the years, Carmy did too, and he became this shy, awkward little guy. Too many nerves packed into one little body."
For a second, Richie accidentally caught Carmy's wistful eye – something he'd been avoiding all night – and it all came crashing down on him at one. Through his nose, he sucked in a deep breath, and powered on.
"Fuck, I gotta get through this speech without crying, don't look at me like that Carmy," he said tearfully, blinking up at the ceiling, coaxing a laugh and a few 'aw's from the guests. "And... and after all that, you know, he went away to California, and then he worked at Ever, then Copenhagen, and it felt like every day you were at some new place far far away doing these amazing things. Mikey never stopped showing all the staff the photos you sent him of the food you made. We were all so proud of you."
"Then... when you came home to take over The Beef, I was sure you couldn't fuckin' stand me. And I didn't blame you. But you were so worked up and so easy to anger constantly, even worse than when you were fifteen and fuckin' screaming at the Xbox 360 every night, and I would hide shaking under Mikey's covers waiting for it to end. Thirty years old at that point, by the way. I was so confused though. I thought, has this guy been celibate for the last four years? fuck, I thought chefs get hella chicks, I better swap career paths STAT." A few jokes at Carmy's expense to ease the tension, distract from the vulnerability and kindness of the last couple of minutes.
"But... underneath all that anger, you had so much drive. I didn't fully see that for a while. I was so upset about everything that had gone on before, I was such a mess. I didn't even realise that we'd be nowhere without you, at that point, if I had stayed on the path that I was tumbling down. Carmy, you saw me, this funny, middle-aged, silver fox, divorcee, loser, and knew you could make something better out of me. You set me back on the right path." he allowed himself to glance at Carmy who was looking quite pensive. He had a hand pressed to his mouth, and his eyes were glazed over. "Fuckin' baby," Richie muttered into the mic. Carmy laughed, and wiped his eyes.
"You introduced Elaine to us right after one of the busiest nights in the restaurant of the year—Valentine's Day—so obviously, we were all in the mood to welcome her with open arms and hugs and kisses. Not. Seriously dude, work on your time. Elaine, sweetie, I'm sorry for how we acted towards you." He could see Sydney and Elaine laughing in his peripheral vision. "But even then, when all I wanted was to punch Carmy in his stupid fuckin' face for springing his girlfriend on us after such a stressful fourteen hour shift, I knew she was lovely. You're made for each other."
Looking into Elaine's eyes was so much easier. Warm, brown, completely the opposite of Carm's. Didn't hold so much baggage, or history, at least. "When Carmy first told me that he proposed to you, I said oh cousin, she's such a nice girl, why would you do that to her? No, no, I'm kidding. But I have said that about various of other people who'd been set up with him before. The difference with you, Ellie, is that I'm confident you can handle him. When he gets all in his head and tries to distance himself, I know I can trust you to hold him down. When he has a bad month and is too harsh on himself, I know I can trust you to force him into taking a break. I've been talking for way too long now, I can see Cicero falling asleep, I'm gonna start to wrap this shit up. Congratulations to Mr and Mrs Berzatto, I love you guys. Carmy, you're my best friend. Thank you all for listening, you can get back to your shit now."
As Richie stepped down from the stage and began the stroll back to his seat beside Carmy at the head table, the crowd awarded him with a warm round of applause and a few sporadic whistles. Carmy himself looked a little shell-shocked. Richie laughed at the sight. As he dropped back into his chair, Elaine gave him one of those gorgeous, heart-warming smiles that she was known for.
After a few contemplative seconds, Carmy muttered, "Hell of a speech, cousin."
"You know Carmy loves you very much?"
"You know what? I love him very much too, but please don't tell him."
Later on, Tiff found him at the bar, nursing a Negroni. He was only on his actual first drink of the night.
"Normally you get started sooner," she observed, sidling up beside him. In the distance, Richie could see Frank dancng with Eva, Eva's little sister and brother, and one of Elaine's nieces. It made him smile.
"Didn't feel the need," Richie responded simply.
"Thought you would've," Tiff replied. That's when Richie started to catch on that she was hinting at something. She was acting like she knew something, and Richie was failing miserably in his attempt to hide it from her.
Richie confronted the issue directly, "What are you getting at?"
"Come on, Rich, you're not dumb," Tiff sighed, her smile tired. She'd began to sprout crows' feet around her eyes now. That development came somewhere between her second child with Frank and the past year or so.
When Richie's brows stayed furrowed and his eyes searching, she said, glancing around before she did so, "Your speech? Where you confirmed your undying crush on Carmen?"
"What?" Richie spluttered. He was lucky he didn't have any liquids in his mouth, because they quickly would've been all over the front of Tiff's dress instead if he did.
"I always knew," Tiff said all quiet with a little smile on her face, "the way you talked about Carmen... fuck, Richie, did you even realise?"
Looking into her eyes, bittersweet and swimming with something unnamable, felt like a sword to Richie's gut.
"You spoke of him like he was this amazing, never-seen-before phenomenon, and he never got old. Not to you," she paused before opening her mouth to continue, "I remember that one Christmas, I kept throwing up, and I was lying on Donna's bed. You came upstairs and were like – we're out of sprite, but Carmy made this for you – and I just knew."
She laughed like it was funny, but the way she had mimicked Richie's tone as if he was some lovesick schoolboy made him feel sick, because he did remember. He had had a few drinks by then, but the night was still young. He remembered watching Carmy make that soda and thinking he was the fuckin' shit. It was like proof that Carmy had made it out of the house they grew up in, that he had become more than anyone imagined possible. He was making sprite from scratch! It held the same weight now.
"No way," he muttered still. Back then, he was so in love with Tiff. He was sick with it. Straight after that conversation, she held him like her baby and he had never felt so adored.
Even worse, he was still in love with Mikey, too. He felt less inclined to use that as his defence, though, and kept that card close to his chest.
"Yes way," she retorted, still smiling, and Richie hated it. "You didn't know it back then, but that's fine. A lot of people make these massive revelations about themselves mid-way through their forties."
Richie scoffed, blinking as he scrambled to get his thoughts together and into a series of words that made sense, "That can't– no. No, I didn't like Carmy back then, he was a fuckin'– he was a baby!"
"No he wasn't, Richie, don't try talk yourself out of this," she rolled her eyes, "he was an adult then, and he's still an adult now. You always loved him, no matter the connotations of that. It just so happened to... bloom into something more after, you know? Especially after he came back to The Beef."
Richie felt like himself back in highschool, when people would tell him rumours about himself, and it was like hearing about people going through wars on the other side of the globe. Like, fuck, do I have a crush on Mandy Milkovich? Did I fuck my physics teacher? Have I been deeply in love with Carmy for all these years and I'm only finding out now because my ex-wife is telling me all about how obvious it is?
"It's okay, babe," she patted his back when he put his head in his hands, Negroni sitting sadly on the bar's countertop. "Drink up. You're good at that."
Hours later, a stumbling Richie slinked over to the table Carmen was sitting alone at while his wife reigned over the dancefloor. His eyes were half-lidded, bleary. He reeked of alcohol. Every kind. Like, bad. He opened his mouth, spent a good two seconds of trying to form a coherent thought.
"You know, I…" he looked at Carmy, gaze soft and unfocused.
Every mole and freckle and pore on Carmy's skin was even more visible than usual, tonight. Not in a bad way. He was glowing. It made Richie feel all sorts of emotions, something he was too drunk for, so he tried to tear his eyes away for a minute and take a break.
"Cousin, you really piss me off sometimes."
Carmy huffed a laugh, "Yeah, and you're always a delight to be around."
"I know I am," Richie shot back without hesitation.
"A ray of sunshine," Carmen smirked. His eyes drifted back to the concentration of people all swaying and jumping and smiling, only a few feet in front of him. Elaine was wearing a shorter white dress now, and she was impossible to miss under the shifting lights.
After allowing himself a little longer to admire her, Carmen looked back at Richie with a mixture of amusement and concern, and asked, "What's this about, cousin? Everything okay?"
Richie eyes were also glued to the bride as she weaved in and out of sight, and for a second, something akin to jealousy flitted across his face. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine, it's just... I need to talk to you about something, man."
"Yeah, shoot," Carmy leaned in, big fuckin' eyes gazing up into Richie's own, "what's going on?"
"...I don't think I'm ever gonna marry again," Richie said.
Partially, he was bullshitting. Well, he wasn't lying, it's just that that wasn't what he was originally gonna say at all.
"What? Hey, don't say that shit man, of course you are. Don't be stupid," Carmen said with a sad smile, lightly hitting Richie's arm with the back of his hand. "What makes you think that?"
"Well, I'm not getting any younger," Richie chuckled, but it wasn't funny, "and 'm pretty hung up on other things, too, anyway."
"What? Like, what, Tiff?" Carmen said, latching onto the part of the sentence Richie didn't want him to acknowledge, as always.
"No, not Tiff," Richie scoffed.
"Then what? You got some secret girl on the side you're not telling me about?"
Richie barked a laugh. "Yeah, haven't you seen? Got girls lined up outside the restaurant for miles. They can't get enough."
Richie took another swig from the amber liquid in his glass, and Carmen followed the motion with a watchful eye. "No, it's... it's nothing. Something stupid."
A slower song began to play. Richie didn't know it – some British guy was on vocals, croning about his lover who he missed oh so dearly, something like that. Elaine loved that shit. Evidently, too, seeing as she almost collapsed in the middle of the floor as soon as she heard the first note.
"I'm sure it's not stupid. You know you can tell me anything, cousin," Carmen spoke smoother now. He took one of Richie's hands in both of his own and idly brushed a thumb over the back of it.
I fuckin' love you.
For a long while, Richie just took his time to look into Carmy's eyes and try to decipher what he was thinking at this current moment in time. He was the kind of drunk where he was convinced every single minute detail had a deeper meaning, everything had the potential to be threaded into a long, insightful poem, but his mind could barely conjure up basic sentences, let alone revolutionary rhymes.
Should he just get it out now? Would he regret it in the morning? It was a confession he'd never be able to retract. The question was whether he was more comfortable letting Carmen be living proof of the idea that ignorance is bliss and spend the rest of his life yearning for the guy, or lay it all out on the table now and potentially ruin Carm's wedding but at least know he got clarity on Carmen's feelings.
"I'm in love with you."
The words hung in the air like smoke after a gunshot did in those old movies centred around two homoerotic cowboys in the Wild West. If they were in one of those, a hay bale would've rolled by right about now.
Carmen stayed perfectly still, and the silence stretched on excruciatingly. He didn't even seem shocked, or appalled, or anything, which bothered Richie.
The music pulsed from the dancefloor. Richie glanced to see Elaine laughing as she spun Sydney around. Nothing had changed over there – everyone was still elated, Elaine's memory of her wedding night remained untainted, but over here? You'd think the world had shifted on its axis.
"...What?" Carmy whispered. Not angry. Not disgusted. Just stunned softness laced with confusion.
Richie let out a shaky, ugly, half laugh-half sob kind of exhale and finally managed to tear his eyes away from Carmy's frozen form.
"...Cousin, you're wasted," Carmy tried. He looked vaguely pained.
"Fuck off, Carm, this isn't anything to do with me being drunk, I've been so ashamed for feeling this way for so long." Richie spat.
Silence fell heavy around them. Richie sat feeling utterly naked under the leather-like sky of a summer's night in Chicago, and Carmy didn't move an inch despite the way he was incessantly trembling on the inside.
"I need a smoke," Richie muttered before getting up and melding into the throng of people behind him as swiftly and as seamlessly as he could manage. With shaking hands, he took his trusty pack out of his left breast pocket and lit up, frantically searching for the exit as he did so.
He barely managed to find his way home that night, and it took him half an hour to find his keys once he did so.
He woke up the next afternoon still donning a full suit, shoes, belt, the works. There was no water waiting on his bedside table, no note.
You fuckin' need me.