The Best Friend's Guide to Surviving Matrimony (and All That Other Happy Shit)

A week had passed, and nothing changed. The engagement was still on, despite local talk of it being a fluke (“It's Satchel. Monogamy? It's not in his vocabulary,” said Carrie); moreover, Stix still hated me, and I still hated Stix.

The morning after the big eruption at The Gopher, when Evie called up and asked for the run down on what she'd missed while she and Lexxi were devouring each other's faces, she found it shocking that I could still hold malice for the guy.

“He, a male, spilled his heart all over the pool table for you,” she'd cried exasperatedly over the line, probably choking her coffee mug so tight it was cracking, “And you still can't feel an ounce of pity for the guy? Seriously?”

It wasn't as easy as that, though. This wasn't some gooey Hollywood chick flick where the coincidentally attractive best-friend-turned-archenemy spills out his guts in some beautiful, heartwarming speech, and all of a sudden we're all over each other and confessing our love and promising to never part again. No, this was reality, where Stix happened to get drunk enough to feel the necessity to recite an entry from the hormonal teenage diary of his mind, and I was drunk enough to feel the slightest bit of remorse for him for a couple of seconds. Now that I was sober again, however, I couldn't give less of a shit. That whiny spiel of his? That wasn't Stix talking; it was his inebriated thirteen-year-old alter ego that liked to peep out eery so often when he had a titch too much to drink. Like I said, this wasn't a fairytale – my resentment couldn't be erased with one drunken ramble. Besides, I didn't have any undying love to profess to him, anyway. And he wasn't even attractive. He wasn't even semi-attractive. There was zero possibility of a romantic resolution to this falling out.

Fortunately, things were sailing a bit smoother on Carrie's side of the water. While internally she was still hurt at Satchel's decision, she appeared to be very level-headed on the outside. Carrie was known for being the salty-mouthed wild child who, God given you even so much as glanced at her the wrong way, would unleash so much wrath that she'd lay you out on your ass with her words alone. The fact that she could remain calm and collected during the most trying time of her life was certainly an accomplishment. Of course, this milestone wasn't reached without the assistance of her friends Jim and Jack and her new found ardor for showing Penthouse just what they were missing out on. She was scheduling so many photoshoots and banging out so many new product designs that she couldn't possibly have time to mope over a dumb little wedding.

That doesn't mean she was mature about the matter, though. When Saturday rolled around, her grown-up exterior flew out the window and she suddenly became the cynical, pessimistic bitch I’d been expecting her to be all week long.

“Why am I even going to this thing? I hate wedding-y shit, she groaned to me over the phone during her self-declared lunch hour at work. “Nobody's supposed to outdo the bride, so you're all expected to wear your ugly church clothes and half-ass your makeup, and...ugh, it makes me shudder. Disgusting.”

I rolled my eyes, picking at the edge of my notebook. “You don't have to wear ugly church clothes.”

“I don't even own church clothes.”

“Exactly. So you can't wear them.” I shifted in my seat and began toying with an earring now instead. “Why are you even worrying about this, anyways? I thought you were 'putting yourself on display' for him.”

She gave a deep, sinister cackle. “Oh, don't you worry. There will definitely be a display...”

The thought made my stomach turn. In truth, I felt bad about encouraging her to try and get Satchel back. It was a spur of the moment thing, something I said simply to say rather than a thought out plan. I’d been trying to console her. I hadn't figured she would actually smell the bait and grab on for dear life. Now, I just felt like a jerk. Satchel wasn't just tying the knot with some girl – he loved her. He'd been with her longer than he'd been with anyone, and for him to want to settle down and start a life with this woman really said something about the way he felt. Satchel wasn't that kind of guy. Me telling Carrie it was possible to win him over was like leading a lamb to the slaughter. He obviously wasn't attracted to her like he once was – her attempts would fly right over his head and she'd be crushed in the end. I didn't want to see her go through that kind of humiliation. She'd had enough heartbreak in her life to deal with as it was.

Needless to say, it'd be interesting to see what she arrived to the party in that night.



“Hey, hot thing!”

I grinned at Mike's greeting as I strolled up the walk to Satchel's house. He was standing on the porch with beer bottle and Blackberry in hand, seemingly having just gotten off the phone. His skin appeared a luminous orange in the lantern light that ensconced the large porch.

“How ya doin', Papa Ganoosh?” I teased as I came in for a teddy bear hug. “You're lookin' good, mister.”

He glanced down at his uncharacteristic button-up before shaking his head. “Damn, I hate dressing up. But look at you – where'd you think you were going, a Steel Panther gig?”

I chuckled. “Thanks, big boy. Who was that on the phone?”

“Carrie. She's gonna be running a few minutes late.”

Not surprising. “Did she say why?”

“Said she had 'business to tend to' or some shit.”

My brows rose. “Uh-oh.”

“That's what I said,” he laughed. “She's up to something.”

“That's for sure. C'mon,” I said, grabbing his arm and steering him toward the door, “Let's go inside before she gets here. We don't wanna be there when she shows up.” Mike laughed again as he followed me in.

Inside the house, the volume level increased considerably. Dozens of chatting voices brambled on over top of some sort of jazz song playing on the stereo. All around the white-furnished den were a myriad of guests, strewn across the furniture, huddling into corners, talking and laughing. Even more milled in and out of the dining area. Some faces I recognized from outings with Satchel, while other didn't register in my mind at all. Vivian's guests, probably. Either way, I found myself feeling rather awkward standing among the amalgamation of people.

I glanced over at Michael. “Uh...This is gonna be, erm, weird.”

Without any more pretense, he already understood my dilemma and was quick to reassure me. “We aren't gonna sit around with these tight-ass bozos; are you kidding me? Lex and Evie and Stix are out back waiting for us. Let's go.”

My body went tense. Not Stix. But I let myself be led through the cluster of people nonetheless. It wasn't like anything was going to be different after the blow-up, anyways. We'd just go back to doing what we did best: ignoring each other and sending the other dirty looks and snide remarks here and there.

When we got back to Satchel's “study” (A.K.A., a room with a wrap-around couch, a desk and a mini bar, decorated wall-to-wall with Steel Panther paraphernalia), I was pleased to see that my party of people were seated on the opposite side of the room of The Thing. Lexxi and Evie were on the couch, chatting with a tag along that I recognized as Satchel's sister Morgan, and Stix was deep in conversation with Steve, the band's tour manager, across the room at the bar. As he should have been.

Upon spotting me, Evie gave a big smile. “Hey there!”

I smiled back wandering over to take a spot on the couch. “Hey, Eve, Lex. And hi, Morgan! Long time no see!”

The brunette laughed, the customary Parrish family chuckle. “Hey there, kiddo. How's the schooling been going?”

I shrugged. “Good enough.”

We chatted about my cosmetology classes and whatnot, somehow eventually moving on to the topic of lipstick and the cherry red lipstick marks that had been discovered coating Michael's sheets one morning after a Vegas gig. The five of us were laughing hard enough to cry when the head of an unknown party guest popped in the door, asking loudly over the chatter, “Is there a Stix or a Joanna in here?”

It was amazing how fast the noise died down. Conversation ceased all at once and we were left with only the clatter of the celebrations taking place elsewhere in the house to fill its space.

I suddenly felt like all eyes were on me. Awkwardly glancing at the drummer, I found him to be leaning against the bar with his drink, looking right back at me in the same alienated, befuddled fashion. My eyes were quick to disengage contact.

“Uh, yeah,” Stix replied. Thank God. He must've sensed that I wasn't going to speak up; the twinge of agitation in his voice only proved that theory. “We're both here.”

That poor guy looked between us, confused and nervous and not having a damn clue as to what was going on. “Um, the bride and groom would like to see you two in the kitchen.” He made to duck out again, clearly uncomfortable, but then added as an afterthought, “Together.” And then he vanished.

My stomach did a little gymnast flip in my abdomen. What the hell did that mean? Together? Fuck, we were so in trouble. Were we going to get reprimanded for our hatred toward each other or something? Told not to fuck up the wedding? I could only hope that was all. Spending an instant longer than necessary with The Thing was like forcing down Mom's tuna noodle casserole at Christmastime. Torturous and miserable.

“Who the fuck was that dude?” Michael harped, looking almost disgusted. “Fucking 'bride and groom.' Like he's their fucking messenger or something.”

“He's probably one of Vivian's guests.” Evie rolled her eyes. “I wonder what they want, though. Especially with you two together.”

“So do I.”

“Well don't just sit here,” Lexxi said, shooing me off. “Go find out so you can report back with some juicy drama!”

I pushed myself up with sigh and an eye roll. “Shut up.” Sometimes, I swore Lexxi was the woman in the relationship.

Stix was already waiting at the door for me, looking cranky and belligerent, as if waiting for me to catch up was gnawing away at his soul. I quickly slid past him before he could beat me to it, knowing he probably wouldn't have held the door for me if I hadn't, then quickly glanced back for reassurance. Michael grinned at me, twiddling his fingers and mouthing ”Have fun” before the door shut.

We walked to the kitchen like two toddlers trudging to a time out. Not a single word passed between us. I could feel his temped glare burning a hole in my skull the whole way there.

When we arrived, we were lucky enough to catch Satchel leaning back against the cupboards, a familiar looking female pressed against him with her hands wrapped in his hair and her tongue in his mouth. The tension between the drummer and I increased by tenfold as we stood unnoticed in the doorway for a few painful moments.

“You wanted to see us?” Stix finally snapped.

The two broke apart and swiveled their heads around in surprise. A couple of deer in headlights. As if they hadn't been expecting us.

Satchel's face lit up. “Hey, guys!” He came rushing over to bear hug me. I was lifted off my feet and squeezed against his solid chest, a pain both familiar and missed. “Jo! I've missed ya, baby!”

I couldn't help but smile, closing my eyes against his shoulder. “I've missed you too, Satch.” It felt strange calling him that. But it felt great to have my bones crushed by my best friend again.

He returned me to my feet but kept me close. “You look great,” he said, beaming down at me. “I'm so glad you came.”

I smiled. “Wouldn't miss it for the world. Congratulations, bud!”

“Thanks.”

Spotting Stix then, he moved over to hug him too. The drummer sent me a dirty look from over Satchel's shoulder, one without any precedent whatsoever, so I glared right back, hoping that if I stared long enough, his head would explode right off his shoulders.

When the guitarist stepped back, he introduced us to his fiancee who had been sitting idly by, smiling as she watched us reunite. “You guys remember Vivian, right?”

The woman came forward and we shook hands. “Good to see you again,” she said with a genuinely blinding smile. She hugged and kissed Stix. “You both look fabulous.”

Unknowingly, I sent a glower Stix's way. Simply being clumped into the same sentence as him made me seeth.

“So, guys,” Satchel said, collecting my attention again. He was smiling, taking Vivian's hand, looking as if he had something important to announce. “We've got something to ask of you two.”

I blinked, taken aback. A favor? Oh God.

“Go on,” Stix said, trying to seem encouraging. But it was plain to see that he wasn't getting the best feeling about this, either.

“Well, me and Viv have been talking, and...We have no clue what we're doing here. Neither of us have been married before. We don't even know where to start with planning a wedding.”

My gut sank and my eyes widened. Oh no.

“We just figured that, y'know, since you, Stix, have done the whole marriage thing before, and Jo, you know me better than anyone...We just thought that you two would be able to throw the best wedding for us possible. We want you two to be our honorary wedding planners.”

In that moment, I had the urge to feed Satchel's head down the garbage disposal.

Was he joking? He of all people knew how I felt about Stix – knew how many months I spent distraught over our failed friendship – and yet he found it fitting to throw me into a situation like this? It wasn't that I wasn't honored that I was invited to oversee his wedding. I was overjoyed he could trust me with such a responsibility. But in no way, shape or form would I be willing to collaborate with that slobbering, blubbery oaf of a drummer – not even for the sake of Satchel's eternal happiness. It wasn't worth the grief.

A quick sidelong glance at The Thing told me he was feeling the same way about me.

“Um, Satchel...” I gave an airy laugh, devoid of humor. “You must be mistaken. You must've meant to send Evie in instead or something, because you surely couldn't have thought that me and Stix would be able to plan out your wedding together.”

“For once, she actually has a good point,” said Stix, earning himself another dirty look. “Not sure if you noticed or not, but she isn't exactly fond of me.”

My jaw fell open. I turned to face him with an incredulous look. “Are you joking me?”

His face was like stone. “Am I laughing?”

Rage bubbled up inside of me. I clenched my fists to keep from punching him. “You don't have room to point fingers, considering it was you who started this whole thing in the first place!”

“I'm not the one who decided to stab their friend in the back!”

I threw my hands up in the air. “Here we go again! You can never fucking let it lie, can you? I have apologized so many damn times, and you still could give less of a shit about it. All that matters to you is getting back at me. You don't even seem to remember that before all of this stupid shit started, we were friends!”

“I don't want to hear your bullshit about friendship!” he growled, blue eyes smoldering hot. “If you really gave a fuck about us being friends, you wouldn't have ruined our friendship in the first place!”

My head was on fire. I was madder than I ever remembered being in my life. Every ounce of me wanted to hurt Stix at that moment, hurt his feelings and cause him so much pain that he'd regret every callous, undeserving thing he'd ever said to me. “You stupid, idiotic, fat piece of – ”

“Jo, stop!” Satchel came between us, shoving us apart, and it was then that I realized we'd been snarling at each other nose-to-nose. The guitar whipped around, giving us unbelieving looks of disgust. Like he was ashamed of us.”Both of you, just quit already! You are ridiculous! It's been three damn years, for Christ's sake; just get over it. You both made some poor decision, but they're done now. You can't undo them. Fucking grow up and realize that you might as well make up, because you two are stuck together. You aren't the only two who suffer from this, alright?”

I stared at him, bewildered and slightly hurt. Hurt by myself, by the selfish havoc I’d caused. Our constant arguing went further than a simple juvenile grudge – it made everybody else miserable, too. But I was still angry beyond belief. How could Stix just so easily accuse me of being the criminal? He acted like I hadn't even tried to fix things. He was the one prolonging the agony, not me. If it were up to me, we would be making up right now. Unfortunately, it seemed that would never happen.

Satchel looked upset, though. And this was my doing. So I had to feel bad.

“All I ask if that you two put your differences aside for three months to help me make this day special. It's a simple request. I'm not asking you to kiss as make up – this isn't about you.” His almond brown eyes were shimmery and full of anguish, tugging at my heartstrings. “It's about me. Can you do this? For me? Or did I make a mistake about trusting you both?”

The last line hit home. Tears were threatening to form. I’d never done any of this to hurt Satchel – it was the last of my intentions. God knew I’d do anything to make his wedding the greatest day of his life. And now, I’d do anything to make it up to him. Maybe even if it meant being cordial with Stix.

I sent the drummer a glance, hoping to read what he was thinking. He looked bitter, but in his narrowed eyes I saw something I hadn't before: compliance. Consent. He was willing to do this; we were ready to do this.

Taking a deep breath, I stared at the tile as I said, “I'll...I'll do it. For you.”

Looking anywhere but Satchel or I, Stix nodded. “Me too.”

Satchel let out a sigh, distraught but pleased. “Thank you.” He came in to hug me, reeling Stix with the the other arm. We were rigid in his grasp. “Thank you both. It means so much to me. We're putting our faith in you.”

I squeezed my eyes shut against his collar bone, letting him squeeze me tight in hopes of receiving some sort of consolation. But all I felt was foreboding.

I wasn't sure if I’d be able to do this. Not peacefully, anyway.