❝Money never made a man happy yet, nor will it. There is nothing in its nature to produce happiness. The more a man has, the more he wants. Instead of filling a vacuum, it makes one.❞
— Benjamin Franklin

11 || money is only a tool

The wedding was beautiful.

The reception is taking place right inside the house.

Who knew I'd be able to get away with crashing a wedding? It isn't hard to blend in when it seems as if every person in the world is here. I'm not surprised that there are a lot of people here—the wedding party as huge as it was, it felt like an hour before the bride walked down the aisle.

The shrimp I'm eating is tasty. And I somehow was able to snatch a glass of wine from one of the waiters. I've only taken a few small sips , so I'm no where near tipsy.

I then managed to find a table where me and Brolin could dine at with just the two of us. The room, the reception is taking place in, isn't cramped as you'd expect it to be. There's a lot of available space, but there's still a lot of people in here to the point where you'd think that this was something more than a wedding.

"What did you get?" Brolin asks as he sets his plate on the table, and slides into the chair next to me.

I point to the heaping pile of food on my plate.

He shakes his head. "And I thought I was greedy," he mumbles, which makes me hit him on the shoulder. His plate doesn't look much different from mine. Sure part of it has to do with me and him not having ate anything since... forever. But the other part, I guess stems from the fact that we both love to eat.

"You and you!" I'm halfway through my plate, when an old man with an obvious toupee and his face red as a tomato comes and demands for me and Brolin to get up and follow him. I blanch. And here I thought I was gonna get away with wedding crashing.

I look at Brolin, who has his eyebrows slanted at the man.

The man leads us to the front of the room, where there are instruments and a mic. I have a feeling this man wants us to do something.

"What's your band name?"

Confused, I glance at Brolin who picks up one of the instruments (the ukulele).

I shrug. "I'm Karen... he's Brolin."

The old man grunts. "Sounds YouTube sensational enough for me." He then walks away, and I find myself having do something in order to get through this. I think, he thinks we're here to perform at the wedding—a live band.

My hands start to tremble (nervous tick). What am I supposed to do? You'd think with a little wine in my system, I'd be feeling easy. Nope. Apparently Brolin can play the ukulele, while I can't do much of anything.

"Can you sing?" Brolin asks me.

I shrug. I take choir, but that doesn't particularly mean I can sing. Mr Hampton, the choir teacher, always told me I had a nice voice. And that's the only time I've heard anyone mention anything about my singing being up to par.

Even if I was going to sing, what song would I sing?

"What songs do you know on that?" I point at the ukulele.

Brolin shrugs, and cocks his head a little to the side. "I can play by ear," he says.

I trust him. What song would a person sing at a wedding? I try to think, but when I see that the room's gone quiet, and people are looking at us expectantly.

My mind blanks.

So, I bust out with the first song that comes to mind.

"First the tide..."

:: :: ::

Everybody's clapping.

I remained on key. I didn't sound like a dying animal. I didn't freeze, not once. Brolin played the Hell out of the ukulele.

However amongst the warm reception we're receiving. I see a familiar looking middle-aged woman with blond hair, in the crowd. Her eyes cast a hint of recognition as she's staring back at me.

That's the moment I run.

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