"Ugh! This is SO uncomfortable! Do we HAVE to wear tuxs?"
"Zac, stop whining! It's Taylor's wedding. Of course we're wearing tuxs you schmuck!"
"Ike, I HATE these! You know that. And these friggin' bow ties always choke me. And... OUCH!" I felt something sharp pinch the skin at my ankles.
The tailor looked smug. "Now, hold still."
"Serves you right," Ike muttered under his breath.
"Up yours!" I yelled at my older brother, chucking a pair of socks at him.
"Will you two quit it already?" Taylor materialized from somewhere sporting his tux. "Well, how do I look?"
"Great."
"Like a penguin."
Taylor rolled his eyes. "Get over it, Zac. You're wearing a tux, and that's all there is to it. Think you'd be used to them by now."
"Never. I opt for comfort any day. No need to dress up to impress someone. If she can't appreciate you at your worst, she can't appreciate you at all."
"Oh, really? Are we referring to anyone in particular?" Ike prompted me.
"Forget it," Taylor said. "You won't get anything out of him."
"Excuse me, but they call it a PERSONAL life for a reason." Sometimes I don't know who's worse, Mom or my older brothers.
"If you don't hold still..." the tailor warned.
"All right. All right. No need to get testy," I said to him.
"No need to get testy? Zac, you've been giving us a hard time since we got here," Ike said in this tone of voice that has mysteriously developed since his daughter's birth.
"You know, I liked you much better when you weren't a father. I mean, the older, protective brother gig was bad enough. Now you've gone all parental on me."
"We're just looking out for you. You don't have to get so hot under the collar," said Tay in a parental tone similar to that of Ike's.
I rolled my eyes. 'Hot under the collar?' The 25-year-old Tay standing in front of me was replaced with an image of him as a 40-year-old man. I sincerely believe that it's some unwritten law that once you become a parent, no matter how, you must use dorky, out-of-date phrases. And my brothers, being the law-abiding citizens that they are, fell into this habit. There was Ike, responsible Ike, raising a baby girl, Kaitlyn, with his wife, Rebecca. Taylor was marrying his college sweetheart, Laura, and adopting her five-year-old daughter, Madeline. Then there was me, single as of three weeks ago.
"Done! Go get changed," the tailor instructed me.
"Glad to," I replied, heading for the dressing room.
"So, Zac, who are you bringing? I need to know so I can give the caterer a final headcount," older brother number two shouted at me.
"No one," I shouted back.
"No one?" The tone told me that older brother number one was standing on the other side of the door with one eyebrow raised.
"No one," I repeated. I left the dressing room and tossed the tailor the tux.
"You're not just gonna ask Susan anyway?" asked the husband-to-be.
"Nope. We're through. The tour did us in."
"Sorry to hear that," Ike said, emerging from the dressing room and tossing the tux to the tailor.
"Yeah, well, I guess it was for the best. Better now than later anyway." I tried to sound optimistic and profound, but to no avail. The prospect of being a free agent didn't exactly thrill me. I sighed. Fame made relationships so hard.