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doesn’t turn around, so he can’t see the growing terror on my face. “Good one, best man! No, this is my gig. You already had your chance with Heidi.”
    I laugh nervously and try to stay conscious as I remember with relief that the bride- and groom-to-be are the ones who talk at the engagement party. “Yep. Blew it,” I mutter, barely getting the words out before he comes to a stop, pulls me forward to stand next to him, and puts his arm around my shoulders in a jovial squeeze.
    “Hey, guys! Look who decided to finally show up!” he practically yells into the crowded open-plan living/dining/kitchen area of the Plotzler home.
    The entire assemblage quiets. “My brother and best man!” Nick announces, squeezing me harder.
    Mom tilts her head, squints her eyes, smiles, and mouths an, “Oh!” as in, “Look at my darling boys, such good friends!” when I know she’s really thinking, “Oh, poor Nate. As soon as things settle down, I need to corner him and interrogate him about his mental state.”
    My other head-shrink parent is… strangely absent, I note, searching the room for Dad. Before I can get too far into my survey, though, Heidi almost tackles me with a hug of her own.
    “Hey, Nate! Thanks so much for coming and for agreeing to be Nicky’s best man!”
    Please, make it stop. The public Nate sandwich is unbearable. And it’s going on forever.
    Finally, I wiggle my way loose and give what I hope is a bemused chuckle. “You may not be thanking me after you hear what I have in mind for the bachelor party.”
    Heidi’s megawatt smile freezes, and her eyes deaden. Uh-oh. I know that look all too well.
    “Just kidding,” I say unconvincingly, pulling her back toward me and giving her a fierce noogie.
    She ducks from my reach, trying to smooth her long, blonde, shiny locks. “Nate!”
    Nick shoots me a dirty look and lets go of my arm, raising his voice to be heard over the guests who have returned to their conversation and plates of food during our threesome. “Now that everyone’s here…”
    He launches into a long, sappy speech, including the entire story of his and Heidi’s relationship, to-date, starting at The Cheesehead over a year ago (What the fuh…..?!) and ending at Lake Wenskaug, where he proposed to her during a romantic picnic. The women are lapping it up, complete with goo-goo eyes and “ooh”s and “aah”s. Heidi looks like she could probably have an orgasm right now in the middle of her parents’ living room.
    The men, on the other hand, look longingly toward the door to the den, where they’ll be watching the football game after Nick shuts up. Or they focus on the food on their plates. Or employ their best poker faces to hide their “Can-you-effing-believe-this-guy?” reactions to Nick’s smooth delivery. I hope my poker face is working better than Uncle Mort’s. I also hope it’s better than the face I used when I lost all that money to Uncle Mort in an actual poker match at my parents’ Fourth of July barbecue.
    Finally, Nick stops talking, and he and Heidi kiss like they’re alone in the room. After about ten seconds, my psychological discomfort manifests itself into physical fidgeting. I avert my eyes and scratch my ear, willing the two lovebirds to stop making out. Much longer, and I’m not going to be able to silence the annoying voice in my head that wants me to acknowledge that I know exactly what it’s like to kiss those lips (Heidi’s, not Nick’s). And other things.
    “Oh, shit, I need a beer,” I hiss, wishing I hadn’t said it out loud but figuring the resultant end to the makeout session is worth it.
    While I’m cracking open a beer and chugging it with my back turned to the rest of the guests (as if that means they can’t see me), Heidi begins her speech. I’m congratulating myself on how well I’m not listening to what she has to say when some of her words filter through.
    “…and I thought I’d never find a man who would measure up to the