//------------------------------// // The Best Man // Story: A Slice of Cheese // by MrNumbers //------------------------------// Sometimes L’il Cheese had thoughts that were too big for his head. It felt like trying to push a big lump of playdough through the mould.  He’d sort of been having them ever since aunty Rarity had asked him if he wanted to wear a dress or not. Because he had to think about why he didn’t. It seemed like most of the answer came down to “because he felt like he wasn’t supposed to”.  Not that he didn’t love his poofy silk shirt. His poofy shirt was the most perfect thing he’d ever had. But it was the first time somebody had ever told him it was a choice he could make before.  It still felt like the right choice. But he was sitting at the Apple family kitchen table, watching Big Sugar paint his miniatures – now that Cheese Pie knew about them, it was safe to take them down from their hiding place – thinking that his friend wouldn’t even have to think about it. Big Sugar wouldn’t have even thought there was a choice. So what did it mean that Cheese did, even if he chose the same thing in the end? Then Big Sugar’s Dad popped his head in. “I’m going to do some work on the lathe. You boys want to help?” Big Sugar’s ear flicked. “Sorry, pa, but I only got so long to do this before the paint dries, and the paint ain’t cheap.” Bigger Macintosh looked at his son’s work, and Cheese thought he looked just the tiniest bit proud. “Eeyup.” L’il Cheese pushed his chair out. “Can I help?” Bigger Macintosh tried to hide his surprise. “You sure?” Big Sugar snorted. “He thinks ponies who can do things are wizards. He thinks woodwork is basically magic.”  “Your Dad! Is going to turn! A tree! Into furniture!” Cheese made a sharp pointing gesture with each pause. “That is basically magic!” “See?” Bigger Macintosh scratched the back of his head as he thought about it for a second. “I guess so. Do you think you can pass me my tools, when I ask?” Cheese nodded so hard he got dizzy. “Well. Can’t fault you for enthusiasm.” Bigger Macintosh chuckled. “We’ll be in the barn, then, if’n you need us.” “I won’t,” Sugar reassured him. Because Sugar was independent. Bigger Mac’s eyes twinkled when he said that, but his son was too busy painting to notice.  Big Mac took a lazy lead, and even though he wasn’t going fast at all Cheese still had to skip to keep up with his long strides.  “You really think carpentry’s magic, huh?” Cheese nodded emphatically, nearly tripping over his hooves trying to coordinate it with his awkward skips. “I think it’s the coolest, stuff like that.” Macintosh mulled it over. Then, finally, “I guess. Mostly, it’s just work that needs doing.” It was the coolest possible way to answer that. Big Macintosh took a long stump of applewood and stuck it on what looked like a big apple corer. It had a pedal connected to bike parts that made the stump spin, and he pressed it a few times to make sure it was close enough to the centere. “Tools are hanging on the wall over there. Try to remember where you get everything from.” Big Macintosh took a leather apron off a rack on the wall and two pairs of safety goggles. He tossed one to Cheese. “Don’t care how you think they look. Not letting you go home with a splinter in your eye.” Cheese snapped the elastic and wriggled them onto his head, trying to find a shiny enough piece of metal to see his reflection in. “Are you kidding? I look like a mad scientist.” Big Mac looked at him, mulled it over, and finally nodded. “Mad chemist maybe. You got the hair for it.” “Do you know chemistry, too?” Cheese whispered in awe. Macintosh shook his head. “Nope. Just wood.” “Wood’s still cool.” “Wood still needs doing.” Macintosh pointed out. “Pass me the big chisel with the red handle, for starters.” Cheese took it off the wall, and it was about as heavy as a baseball bat. “Whoa. This thing’s big.” “Eeyup. Gotta get all this,” Big Mac pointed to the log, “to be a bit smaller.” he took the chisel and levered it against the stump on a sliding rest. His hoof started pumping the pedal, and flakes of wood like gigantic pencil shavings came off the stump.  Big Mac was silent as he worked, and Cheese watched him closely. “Why do you hold the chisel like that?” “So it doesn’t catch in the wood. Just smoothing it down.” “Oh.” He looked at the weird stump. It was lumpy. “Did you take the bark off with an axe?” “Eeyup. Much easier.” “Cool.” Either Big Mac really didn’t mind the questions like most grownups did, or he was just really patient. Cheese wanted to take advantage of that, but he really couldn’t think of any more to ask. Big Mac was just making it look too easy, even though Cheese knew in his gut he’d never be able to do anything like that. After a few minutes of quiet work, the log had become a long, smooth cylinder. It was hard to remember it was ever a log. Big Mac passed the chisel back to Cheese. “Blue handle this time.” Cheese scrambled up to the tool wall and put the red chisel back exactly how he found it, and took the blue chisel back over to the lathe. Big Mac gave him a short nod, and got back into it.  He pressed down on the top of the chisel with one hoof as he worked the pedals, making a steady slope as the cylinder got narrower, like a vase or a chair leg did.  “What’s this for?” “One of the legs on my bed’s getting old. I’m not a light pony, either. Bed’s antique, so I’d rather replace the leg than the whole bed.” Cheese nodded. “What’s the difference between something that’s old, and something that’s antique?” Big Mac thought about that. “How much you still like it, I guess. Something’s old, you get rid of it. Something’s antique, you look after it. Think that’s all there is to it.”  “You’re so wise,” Cheese breathed. Big Mac smirked. “You want to try?” Cheese shook his head, even though Big Mac was too focused on the wood to see. “I think I’d just mess it up.” “It’s good to know your limits,” he agreed, just in time for his chisel to catch on the wood. Mac flinched fast, but the chisel still flicked up and sliced into the side of his foreleg. He didn’t cry out, he just hissed and put the cut to his mouth, sucking on it. From what Cheese could see of it, it looked pretty deep.  Big Mac didn’t even swear a little. “Big gnarl,” he said, and that was as much of an explanation as Cheese was going to get. “You see that drawer over there?” he asked between suckles, “There’s a flask in it. Unscrew the lid for me, bring it over, would you?” Cheese ran over, and did exactly that. The flask had Macintosh’s cutie mark on it, and it smelled like paint thinner. He ran it back, careful not to breathe too much of it in. Big Mac took it off him, hissed as he poured some of it into the cut, and then took three deep swigs from it, wiping his lips with the back of his good foreleg. “Thanks.” “What is that?” Big Mac winced. “Whiskey. Aged in apple barrels. Stronger than most folks care for, so I just make it for myself.” Mac glanced down at the wound. Cheese could see that it was definitely going to scar. “Could you go tell Sugar to get me the first aid kit? He knows where it is.” Cheese ran the entire way to the farmhouse. When he got there, Sugar was standing back from the table, admiring his drying handiwork. He waved to Cheese as the door burst open with a paint-spattered leg. “Have fun?” “Your dad asked for the first aid kit.” Sugar got worried, the miniatures immediately forgotten. “Pa hurt himself? Ah, lemme grab it.” He took a nervous jog to a cupboard, and trotted back with a sewing kit box. Cheese took it off him and started running back to barn, Big Sugar just a few paces behind him the whole way. “Ain’t much,” Big Mac said the second he saw his son turn the corner, “so don’t get too worried.” “Cheese doesn’t do things half-measures. I got worried.” “Eeyup,” Big Mac nodded, “I can see that. How good are you with stitches?” Big Sugar’s face went white. “Me? Helped Ma sew, but I don’t think that’s the same thing.” “Well,” Big Mac gestured with a flick of his head, “Now’s as good a time to learn as any. Needle and thread’s in the box.” Big Sugar grabbed the needle and thread, and gulped as he threaded it. His Dad tipped his head to the flask. “Have a little bit to steady your hooves. No more than that though.” He paused, “Probably don’t tell your mother, either.” Sugar nodded, screwed his eyes shut, tipped his head back and took a deep gulp. Cheese’s eyes bulged — he had to hold his breath around it! Sugar was keeping the whole thing down. He wiped his lips the same way his Dad had, and took a rasping, ragged breath. Big Mac silently nursed the cut, not saying a word as he waited. “Give it a few seconds.” Sugar bobbed his head, swaying just a bit on his hooves. He shook himself, and steadied. The nervousness was gone, and he took a firm grip of the needle and thread. “Not that special is it?” his Dad asked.  “No sir.” Sugar got stuck between a laugh and a frown. “Feel a little sick, actually.” Big Mac nodded, holding his cut out for Sugar to start working on it. “Not too long now, you can have some cider with dinner. But don’t think you’re missing out on anything.” Sugar nodded. Then he got to work with the stiches. Big Mac closed his eyes and grit his teeth, but didn’t say a word as Sugar carefully made his way up the cut. Cheese watched, hypnotized, as Sugar made the last stitch. “Scissors?” Cheese made the cut. Sugar wrapped a linen bandage around it tight. Big Macintosh looked at the work and rubbed Sugar’s hair with his good leg. “Proud of you.” Sugar tried to play it off, even though he was absolutely glowing. “What happened?” “Tangle in the wood caught the chisel.” Big Mac grunted, getting up to wipe his blood off the lathe. He grimaced — some had soaked into the porous wood. “Didn’t notice it.” “You’re a wizard.” Cheese breathed. Both of them turned to stare at him. Cheese gestured at the bandage with both hooves. “I cry when I get a splinter!” Big Mac thought very hard about how to answer that. “You’re just sensitive. Ain’t nothing wrong with that. You’re tough in other ways.” Sugar looked surprised. “He is?” Then he got ashamed and stared down at his hooves. “Sorry. Didn’t mean it like that.” “Drink will do that.” Big Mac reassured him, and apologized for him at the same time. Cheese guessed the stuff that made you not think about messing up stitches also made you not worry about messing up saying stuff when you should. So he wasn’t upset at Sugar, but he had to admit he was still bummed out about what he said.  “Listen. Some ponies can keep a brave face. Other ponies aren’t too scared to say they like stickers. Or give compliments.” Bigger Macintosh gave Sugar a Look, and Sugar obviously got something that Cheese didn’t yet. “Other ponies can be brave when they have to do stitches for the first time. You did good, Sugar.” Sugar kept staring down at the ground, but he blushed more than Cheese was used to seeing him. “Thanks, Pa.” “Takes all sorts.” Big Mac thought about it a bit more, gingerly rubbing the bandaged hoof. “Just have the right friends, and the rest will sort itself out.” “You’re my best friend,” Sugar insisted, “and you think I’m cool. So that should count for something.” It did. But Macintosh squinted at his son. “You eaten today?” “Haven’t had lunch yet.” He sighed, and tossed his son up onto his back, keeping his weight off his bad hoof as much as possible. “Sorry, L’il Cheese, you best head on home now. We need to get some bread and water into this one.” Then, over his shoulder, “You keep your head over the side now, you here?” “Sure, pop. Why?” “Hope you don’t find out.” Big Mac shook his head. “Did you drink more’n I said just to be a grownup?” “Mebbe, Pa.” Big Mac snorted. “Hope you remember this when you’re a teenager.” Then, back to Cheese. “Sorry for chasing you off. Time’s a factor for Doctor Sugar.” “Bye, best friend!” Sugar waved wobbly at him from his Dad’s back. Cheese waved back as Big Mac trotted towards the barn. He kept expecting to hear Sugar hurl the whole time he was leaving, but he never did. Probably because Sugar was tougher than he was. When Cheese got home, the house smelled amazing. His Dad cooked dinner on the nights he was home, and tonight— “Hey! You’re just in time to be my taste tester!” L’il Cheese ran to the kitchen. His Dad was wearing a pink apron and a silly chef’s hat, and was pulling a casserole out of the oven. He put a bit on a tablespoon and passed it to L’il Cheese, who blew on it a ton before taking a bite. “This is so good! What is it?” “Cinnamon maple squash. I think. I got the recipe while I was in Whinnieapolis.” His Dad hung his apron up, and leaned down low for a whisper. “Just between you and me, I think your mother has a bit of a sweet tooth.” L’il Cheese giggled. “Is she home yet?” “Just me and my favourite son, right now.” His Dad looked at the cupboards. “Do you know where the lightbulbs are?” “I’m your only son!” “You’re still my favourite,” Sandwich insisted.   “They’re above the microwave.” “Ah! So they are.” His Dad hooked a dining room chair over to climb up and grab it, then started shuffling it into the living room. “Better do this before it gets dark.” He paused. “Hey, favourite son?” “Yes, favourite Dad?” “You still got that chocolate chess set your aunt Twilight got you for your birthday?” “Hey yeah!” Cheese ran to get it from the cupboard. “It’s supposed to be really nice chocolate, but I’m not really into chess.” “Neither am I,” his Dad admitted, climbing back up onto the chair, “but you eat the pieces when you lose them, right?” “You eat the ones you take.” “Huh! That makes more sense.” His Dad nodded, finding his balance as he reached up to the ceiling. The chair wobbled. “It’ll be more fun if we play by my rules though. So we’ll eat the pieces that get taken.” “Your rules?” “Grab the board and I’ll show you,” he said, unscrewing the dead bulb from the ceiling. He looked for a place to put it down, then tossed it under arm onto a couch cushion. “Light switch is definitely off, right?” L’il Cheese checked. “It is. I got the board.” “You know how to set up the pieces?” “Yeah!” L’il Cheese tore through the plastic clingfilm on the box with his teeth, and checked the expiry date. Still good! “I dibs playing milk chocolate, by the way.” “Is the other side white or dark chocolate?” “White.” “Darn it.” His Dad sighed. “I have to respect the sanctity of the dibs.” “I can play white instead?” L’il Cheese offered. “This is why you’re my favourite son.” His Dad took a quick look at the board being set up. “Queen goes on the left.” “I always get that mixed up.” His Dad started screwing the light bulb as the front door opened. “I’m home with groceries!” his Mum shouted. Cheese Sandwich overbalanced on the chair. It went down one way and he went down on the other. He managed to land on the sofa, but the hoof that went down to brace him went right down on the burnt bulb he’d tossed onto the couch. “Ow,” his Dad said, “Ow, ow, ow ow. Ow ow ow ow ow. Ow. Ow, ow. Ow. Ouch.” The glass had cracked in the cushion. His Dad held his hoof up and it had three little cuts in it, no glass that L’il Cheese could see.  His Mum dropped the groceries in the kitchen and hurried in. “Gosh, that looks like it stings.” “Yuh huh.” His Dad nodded. “Kiss it better?” His Mum gave it a kiss, and then went to the kitchen and came right back. “Hold still. You want bunnies or rainbows?” “Bunny sticker, please.” His Dad pouted, holding out his sore hoof. His Mum kissed it one last time before carefully putting the bunny bandaid on it. Then she gave him a big hug. “Thank you, Mum. I feel a lot better.” “L’il Cheese, could you go grab some paper towels and pick up the glass before anyone sits on it?” L’il Cheese ran to the kitchen and ripped off some big chunks of paper towel. When he came back, his parents were looking at the chair that fell over. His Dad hadn’t just overbalanced — one of the legs had made a clean snap at the base. He looked to the Big Cheese. “Can you fix it?” His Dad shook his head. “Last time I messed with the wood glue, I had a hammer stuck to my leg for three days. Your Mum’s way better at that stuff than me.” She shook her head. “I think it’s just old. We should probably just get some nicer chairs tomorrow, or I’m just going to get worried whenever somepony sits on them.” L’il Cheese nodded. That made sense.  His Mum went to flick the light on, and it flicked on. His Dad beamed with pride. Then his Mum saw the board set up. “Were the Cheeses going to play chess?” “Sort of!” His Dad answered first, taking his side with the ‘black’ pieces, “Different rules though.” “I’ll just put the groceries away myself, then. You two have fun.” His Mum paused to kiss his Dad on the cheek one last time before heading back to the kitchen. “Thanks, Mum.” His Dad always smiled when he called her that, even when he was cut up. “Dinner’s keeping warm in the oven!” Then his Dad pointed to the pieces. “I call this ‘must take’. If you can take their piece, you have to. Then, they get to eat it. Winner is the first person to eat all their pieces.” Cheese looked at his board. “Wait. First person to lose all their pieces? So it’s like... opposite chess?” “You got it! The best part is, it’s the fastest way to eat ‘em all.” His Dad pointed to Cheese’s side of the board. “You still go first.” There was actually still a fair amount of strategy involved, and Cheese had way more fun than he would have if it was regular chess. Every time he lost a pawn, his Dad would lob it up high and try to catch it in his mouth. Most of the time he even got it in.  L’il Cheese’s eyes kept going to the bunny bandaids on his Dad’s hoof, though, and comparing it to Big Mac’s bandage. And he couldn’t help but start to ask himself if his Dad wasn’t really... manly? Was that okay? Was that normal? Did normal even matter? He didn’t want to ask, and he wasn’t sure if it was because he was worried about hurting his Dad’s feelings, or because the answer would make him sad. Probably a little of both. One thing was for sure; his Dad could still whoop him at opposite-chess, and it had been really fun, and they split the remaining pieces between them as his prize. No matter what, he still loved his Dad more than anything. But it was the first time L’il Cheese ever had to wonder who his role model should be. They didn’t have dessert because the Cheeses were both too full up on chocolate for it. So his Mum just made a bowl of ice cream with sprinkles for herself. She was reading on the couch when there was a knock at the door. So it was his Dad that called out; “I’ll get it!” L’il Cheese was close behind him when he answered it. It was Big Mac, hat crushed against his chest. “Hey. Ah. Cheese. Can I come in a bit?” “Sure! Sure, Big Mac. Can I get you anything? A drink?” Big Mac flinched for just a second, then straightened himself up again. “Just some water would be great, thanks.” Cheese turned to grab it, but stopped when he saw L’il Cheese hanging on the stairs watching. “Can you get Sugar’s Dad here a glass of water? Nothing for me.” L’il Cheese ran to get it as fast as he could, so he didn’t miss anything, then walked back slow so he could overhear as much as he could while he still had a good reason to be there to hear it. Whatever it was he missed while running the tap, when he came back it’d made his Dad wrap Big Mac in a big squeezing hug, and pump his hoof in a hoofshake. Big Mac didn’t look as excited. “Congratulations! That’s so exciting. I know Pinkie’s going to want to plan the bachelorette parties. But you must be so excited!” “Ain’t excited at all.” Big Mac grumbled. “Proud, eeyup. Excited? Nope.” Big Mac saw L’il Cheese with his water at this point. Cheese gave it to him, and he downed it in a single gulp and gave the glass back. “Really hoping you could help.” “What do you need my Dad’s help for?” Cheese asked, trying to keep his awe out of his voice. His Dad beamed, even as Big Mac stared at his balled-up cap. “Sugar’s Dad just got asked to be the best man at your Aunt Applejack’s wedding!” “Did Aunt Applejack ask, or Aunt Rainbow Dash?” Cheese Sandwich was about to answer that, but paused and looked at Big Mac. “Actually, that is a good question.” “I think it came up in a fight, actually. One of them said something like, ‘You can’t keep doing stuff like this when we’re married’, and the other said ‘Well, marry me then!’.” Big Mac paused. “Saying it like that, I think it was Rainbow that proposed.” “Huh.” Cheese Sandwich blew a curl of hair out of his eyes. “Sounds about right, actually.” “Eeyup.”  “Well, come in, come in.” Cheese Sandwich pushed Big Mac down the hallway, prodding him down to the family room with the big space and the standing piano in the corner. “Tell me everything.” L’il Cheese shadowed them, trying not to draw attention to himself again. When they went into the family room, he just stayed outside by the doorway, listening carefully.  “When I got married to Sugar Belle, she took care of everything. What she didn’t cover, Braeburn did.” Big Mac rubbed the back of his neck. “I just had to show up. Doing this for Applejack though... I gotta do the plannin’ this time. I gotta make a speech.” He shook his head and gulped. “I don’t do speeches, Sandwich. I just don’t think I got it in me.” That’s when it clicked, for L’il Cheese. It took him a while because he’d never seen it before, but. Sugar’s Dad was scared. “Come on, Big Mac.” Sandwich patted Big Mac on the back hard enough to shake him. “I’ve heard you sing, you’ve got a wonderful voice.” “Singing ain’t speeching,” Big Mac reminded him. “Not the same thing.” His Dad looked him up and down with a tailor’s eye. “I can see that. And you’re in charge of Applejack’s bachelorette party?” Big Mac nodded, pale as a sheet.  His Dad wrapped a leg around Big Mac’s shoulders. “You want me to do all the work on that one, and let you take all the credit?” Big Mac sighed in extreme relief. “Eeyup.” “The speech is going to be easy. Just start on one good joke, get a laugh, and then speak from the heart for the rest of it,” Big Cheese gave Big Mac a playful punch in the shoulder, “and I’ll help you with the jokes, too.” “Thanks.” “Don’t sweat it, big guy. Hey! While I’m thinking of it, have you got a suit that fits, still? You remember how to dance? ” Big Mac’s eyes widened, and he started sweating again. “Aaaah?” But Cheese Sandwich waved it off. “Don’t worry about it, we’ll talk to Snips and Snails about getting you a tux tomorrow. They’re good kids. And you already know how to dance, you’re just a bit rusty. So that’ll be super easy.” Cheese Sandwich grabbed a notepad from the piano and began scribbling notes on it. “There’s a lot of little stuff we need to sort out. But the speech is the big one, right?” Big Mac nodded, silently. He still froze up whenever the topic came back around to it. “You love your sister, right? And you’re proud of her?” Big Mac nodded again. “Well, just say that, but be specific about it. It’s just that easy!” Cheese Sandwich clapped him again. “Can’t go wrong saying nice things.” “I’m just not that good talking about feelings like that.” “But you have feelings, don’t you?” his Dad asked, and he was teasing, but it was the same teasing tone of voice he used when Cheese was thinking about cutting school on test days. It always made you feel like he believed in you more than you believe in yourself, and he was just pointing out how silly that was.  “Yeah,” Big Mac grumbled, “I got feelings.” “Let’s just work on that then.” His Dad gestured to one of the sofa seats in the family room, and he dragged the piano stool in front of it so he was close to Big Mac. Big Mac had to be more than twice his Dad’s size, but right now with his Dad leaning forward and Big Mac sagging in his seat like he was, his Dad seemed like he was the size of the whole world right now. “So you’re scared of talking to crowds. You love your family. What else is going on in that big, red, head of yours?” Big Mac chuckled, but it wasn’t a happy one. “You don’t want to hear it.” “Who cares if I want to hear it? Right now, you need to say it, and that’s what’s important. But, just so you know,” and his Dad dropped down to a stage whisper, still loud enough that Cheese could hear it from where he was hiding in the doorway, “I do want to hear it.” Big Mac gulped. “I shouldn’t.” “Just between us. Mac and Cheese — name a better pair.” His Dad gave a huge wink, “Bet you can’t.” Big Mac snorted, but he just kept staring at his hooves. “Sometimes I’m scared I don’t know what I’m doing. Being a Dad, I mean.” L’il Cheese pulled back behind the doorway a bit more, just as his Dad leaned forward to touch Big Mac’s shoulder again. He felt like he really shouldn’t be hearing this bit, but that just made him want to stay even more. “I’ve seen how you are with Sugar, and the boy loves you to bits,” Sandwich reassured him. “You’re doing something right.” “I don’t know.” Big Mac paused. It was taking him a while to find the words – he’d probably never looked for them before. “I never really got to be a kid, so I don’t know how you’re supposed to be with them. So I just try to treat him like an adult, and most of the time that works out alright but...” He wiped his eyes. “Sometimes that ain’t the right thing to do. I don’t know how to do anything else.” “You’ve raised a very responsible young man, and he loves you,” Sandwich said gently. “What’s made you worry?” Big Mac held up his bandaged hoof. “Cut myself bad earlier, asked him to do the stitches.” He buoyed up at that memory, sat up straighter. “He did a heck of a good job, too.” “But?” Sandwich rubbed his shoulder, and Big Mac sank right back down again. “Let him have a sip of my whiskey, to steady his hooves.” Mac pulled his hat over his head and pulled it low over his eyes. “Just a little, the boy was shaking. Forget he’s still a kid sometimes.” Cheese chuckled. “Let me guess? He drank too much, probably trying to impress his tough old Dad, and got a bit sick? And his Mum chewed you out over it?” Big Mac took a shuddering breath in. His jaw shivered when he did. “Eeyup.” “You tell him to remember that when he’s a teenager?” Big Mac coughed up a laugh, but immediately looked guilty about it. “Eeyup.” Cheese Sandwich nodded. “It’s easy to forget he’s still a kid when he’s growing up so fast, isn’t it?” “Your boy’s got it figured out.” Big Mac pointed out to him. “Knows how good he’s got it.” “Well. Yeah.” Cheese Sandwich rolled his eyes. “But have you met his parents? Basically born for this. It’s just not fair to everyone else!” “You got that right.” Big Mac grumbled, but there was a quiet laugh about it. And L’il Cheese realized, Sugar’s Dad was jealous of his Dad.  Whoa. “Just remember,” his Dad said, “tomorrow morning, your son’s going to wake up just a bit sick. And the first thing he’s going to worry about is that he disappointed you.” Cheese Sandwich snickered. “I’ve smelled what you brew, and believe me, it’s no appletini. There’s no way he would take a second mouthful of that stuff unless it was to impress you.” Big Mac was sitting up again, a bit straighter. “You would know about appletinis, wouldn’t you?” “Yeah.” His Dad didn’t back down from the goad. “Because I like to be able to taste what I’m drinking. But if I ever need to clean any windows, believe me, you’ll be the first to know.” L’il Cheese bit down on his hoof so he didn’t laugh and give himself away. Any doubts he had about not being able to handle the flask disappeared when he realized his Dad didn’t get it either. Which was great, because he’d been having a lot of them. “Thanks.” Big Mac said. “For hearing me out.” “Any time,” his Dad said, and really meant it. “It always helps to talk to a friend.” Big Mac thought about it, then shook his head. “Still don’t know much about the talking. Not that good at it.” “Can’t get good at anything unless you practice.” His Dad stood up, putting the piano stool back behind the piano. Big Mac started getting up too. “And it’s never too late to learn.” “... Thanks.” “Hey, now, if you’re really wanting to thank me, we’ve got some chairs that need looking at. And you know how I am with the handy stuff. Would really appreciate it if you could help out with that.” His Dad paused, and quieter, so they could both pretend it wasn’t the real point of him asking, “And you know, if you ever want to talk. Sound good?” “Deal.” Big Mac said simply, offering a hoof for a hoofshake. Cheese Sandwich gave him a big, reassuring hug instead. Big Mac looked caught in it but, after a few seconds of panic, returned it.  “Let’s get you going, though. I’m sure you got plenty of ponies you want to share the good news with!”  “Right. Right!” Big Mac jumped up, cricked his neck. “I’m the best man... I’m the best man... I’m my sister’s best man...” Cheese Sandwich walked him to the front door as he repeated it to himself, first as a reminder and increasingly in excitement as they got closer. By the time Sandwich was closing the door behind him, Macintosh had pumped himself up and was grinning ear to ear. His Dad turned around and raised an eyebrow at L’il Cheese, standing in the corridor. “You know, it’s rude to eavesdrop.” L’il Cheese ran up to him, because he needed the running start to jump high enough to hug him around the neck. “Oof. You’re getting a bit big for that, kiddo.” L’il Cheese didn’t stop, though, because his Dad was perfect.  And that meant there was nothing wrong with wanting bunny bandaids, either.