“A lot,” Matty agreed. “You’re welcome. Also, maybe if some just tried the green bean casserole, they would see that it was good and then brainwa—I mean, convince the others to eat it as well.”
“Not it,” Larry said.
“What charities is he doing this for?” Sherry asked.
“Casa de los Niños and Angel Wings,” Charlie said. Like a jerk.
“Aren’t those the same charities you’re having the drag bachelor auction for?” Corey asked me, scrunching up his face.
“What a coincidence,” I ground out.
“Should have let me watch football,” Charlie whispered with a grin.
“You have to try it,” Matty said. “You promised in your vows to eat whatever I made for you.”
“No,” Larry said. “I vowed that I’d consider eating whatever you made. It didn’t mean I would actually do it.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t have written our own vows,” Matty said, forehead scrunched up. “Or I should have written both of ours.”
“There’s no such thing as too much charity,” Darren said, and for some reason, he had an arm behind me on my chair, rubbing slow circles on my back. And for some reason, it was doing a lot to calm me down. So I leaned back into it, just a little. “It’s not like there’s a competition about it or anything.”
I barely restrained the look of horror that I was sure was about to burst on my face. Because that was exactly what it was. And if it was a thousand bucks a plate and he had two hundred attendees, then we were completely screwed, unless Mike was able to perform a miracle with the Super Gays. And, while amazing, there weren’t many of the Super Gays out there, especially those who were willing to part with their money. I should have known that Andrew Taylor would bring out the big heterosexual guns to the gay gunfight. Well, that was fine. Because we’d bring the motherfucking glitter cannons to the gunfight, and everyone knew that glitter cannons trumped heterosexual guns any day of the week. I’d figure something out. I always did. Especially since the future of Jack It was on the table.
I glared at Darren because he thought he was being funny, if that little smirk on his face meant anything. Like we had an inside joke about this. Any affection I might have been feeling for him was pretty much gone by the wayside. Mostly. There might have been a little bit left.
“Let’s talk about something else,” I said, trying hard not to grit my teeth.
“Like green bean casserole,” Matty said. “And how everyone loves it.”
“We decided on a venue,” Vince said. “For the wedding.”
“So no one is going to talk about the green bean casserole.” Matty frowned. “Awkward.”
“Uh-oh,” Paul said.
“Why uh-oh?” I asked.
Paul sighed. “Because I agreed to have it at the horse farm. We already booked the date and put down the deposit.”
“It’s not a horse farm.” Vince rolled his eyes. “It’s a ranch.”
“Is there a difference?” Corey asked.
“No,” I said. “Not even in the slightest. And I thought you said you didn’t want that!”
“I didn’t at first,” Paul said. “But Vince was able to change my mind.”
“How did you do that?” Nana asked him.
Vince grinned. It was sli
ghtly evil. “I promised him we’d do that one thing we always wanted to do.”
“Ew,” said most everyone at the table.
“Jesus Christ,” Paul muttered. “He’s talking about dressing up in costume for when the next Star Wars movie comes out.”
“That’s why you caved on the horse farm?” I demanded. “Why are you so damn easy? Paul, you can’t wear white and ride a horse.”