"C'mon, we're gonna be late," Peter called up the stairs to his wife. He sighed. Women, he thought, could be so..., well, so something. But mostly slow.
"I'm comin', " she replied. Peter rolled his eyes.
"That's what you said ten minutes ago," he reminded her with a sigh.
There was a knock on the door, and he sighed, leaving the bottom of the staircase to answer the door. Davy and Mike stood waiting on the front steps, both dressed and ready, in dark suits. Peter opened the door and let them in.
"What's takin' so long?" Mike asked. "We were supposed to leave ten minutes ago."
"We're waiting for Nicole," Peter replied. Just then there was a sound from the upstairs. A door slammed shut and a pair of feet ran down the stairs in a hurry.
"Hi. Hi," Thomas greeted both of his uncles with a smile. Peter looked him over to make sure he was alright.
"'Ello," Davy said. "My, you look sharp." Thomas grinned. He was wearing a small suit that almost matched his uncles' and his father's.
"Isn't your mom ready yet?" Peter asked. Thomas
shrugged, and Peter sighed. "Here guys, you take him out to the car and get him settled. I'll go see if I can speed up the process."
Davy and Mike agreed, and they both left out the front door with Thomas between them. Peter headed up the stairs.
The bedroom door was stubbornly locked, so he resorted to pounding on it with his fist. "Come on, hun, we're waiting," he called in.
The lock scraped and the door opened. "'Bout time," Peter mumbled grumpily. But his expression changed as he looked up to see his wife.
"How do I look?" she asked, modestly, a shy smile on her face. Peter didn't say anything for almost a full minute. Nicole snapped a finger in front of his face.
"G-Gorgeous," he stammered, and Nicole giggled. Some things about him were so predictable. But cute.
"You really think so?" she asked, delighting in the fact that she'd made him into a puddle of stammering goo. She smoothed the front of her dress and fussed with the back of her hair.
Nicole had bought the dress as soon as she'd discovered Micky was getting married, and it hadn't been hard to find the perfect one. It was a light green color, with a red trim. Not too formal, but not too casual, either. It was short, about knee-length, and low-cut, which she knew Peter was enjoying.
Peter finally managed to snap himself out of his trance and led her downstairs to the car, grumbling the whole time how she was going to make them late. But not really meaning it.
Just before they left the house, she stopped him and gave him a kiss he'd remember. That shut him up. Smiling to herself, she stepped out of the house and headed for the car.
Micky paced in front of the mirror. He was obviously not prepared. His hair was even messier than usual, his tie was hanging loosely from his neck, and his tuxedo jacket was limply hanging off a chair on the other side of the room. His shirt was unbuttoned, and his belt was not buckled.
He was worried.
He wasn't entirely certain what he was worried about. Maybe it was because Mike and the others weren't here yet. Maybe it was because he'd never before been married and he was having cold feet. Maybe it was because he was having second thoughts.
Maybe it was a combination of all of those. Who knew? But he was worried.
Micky paced back and forth in front of the full length mirror in the room. On the other side of the church, Maggie was probably getting dressed, having her sisters help her, and not being the least bit worried. But him? He was a wreck.
There was a knock on the side of the door, and he stopped pacing, staring at the door as if it was going to jump at him. The knock sounded again, and it snapped him out of his trance.
"Come in," he called, wondering who it was.
Mike stepped into the room, with Davy behind him carrying Thomas. He paused in the doorway and saw the state that both Micky and the room were in.
"You're a mess," he stated bluntly. Micky looked down at himself and shrugged.
"Sorry we're late," Davy apologized, stepping into the room and shutting the door behind him. "We had to wait..."
"For Nicole?" Micky asked.
Mike and Davy exchanged glances. "Yeah...'ow'd you know?" Davy asked.
"Who else?" he asked. "Women always make you wait," he explained.
Mike sighed and crossed the room. "One way or the other," he said," you are gettin' married. But not like that. You're a mess." He picked up Micky's jacket and helped him into it.
Davy released Thomas on to the ground and stepped in front of Micky. He tied his tie for him, and smoothed his shirt down. Micky buttoned his shirt and buckled his belt. He stood and looked into the mirror.
"Little bettah," Davy commented. "But you 'ave to do something about your 'air." He reached into his back pocket and produced a comb.
Mike took the comb, since Davy couldn't reach, and began to force it through Micky's uncooperative curls.
Thomas looked at himself in the mirror and adjusted his tie. Smiling at himself, he turned around and looked up at Micky, who was now wincing in pain as Mike forced the comb through his hair.
With a smile, Thomas stepped forward and hugged Micky around his legs. Micky looked down and smiled. But then winced again as the comb was forced again through his hair.
Another knock sounded on the door, and Peter stuck his head in. He chuckled slightly at the sight of Micky's unkempt hair being combed.
"Mick - they sent me to tell you," he began, but stopped when he started to laugh again.
"What?" Micky asked, with a grumble.
"They wanted to know if you're almost ready," he finished. "It's almost time to start."
