"Close! It's the Los Angeles Country Club!" Phil announced, his voice filled with deep, profound reverence. He looked like a kid talking about Disneyland. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to get in there? The grass is like walking on woven silk! And tonight? Today's rehearsal dinner is going to be at the penthouse restaurant at The Huntley in Santa Monica! Ocean views, buddy! Three-course meals!"
Phil leaned back, lacing his fingers behind his head, a dreamy look in his eyes. "Ahh... just think about it. After a long time of eating basic suburban dinners, we are going to dive into pure luxury. Filet mignon. Shrimp cocktails. Valet parking."
I smiled, fully understanding his excitement. I had been poor in my past life. I appreciated luxury more than anyone.
"Well, Dad, I say we eat our weight in shrimp," I commented casually, brushing an invisible piece of lint off my blazer. "If Grandpa Jay is paying the bill to appease his new bride, we might as well do our part to enjoy his hard-earned success."
Before Phil could agree to my highly opportunistic food strategy, the double doors leading to the dining hall swung open.
Uncle Mitchell and Uncle Cam walked into the living room.
They were both dressed to the nines. Mitchell was wearing a sharp, well-tailored navy blue suit with a conservative, pale blue tie. He looked tense, already stressing about the social dynamics of the evening.
Cam, on the other hand, was entirely in his element. He was wearing a stunning, custom-fitted maroon suit with a patterned silk shirt underneath, completely forgoing the traditional tie for a more flamboyant, stylish look.
As they walked past the coffee table, Cam's eyes instantly snapped toward me sitting in the single sofa chair.
Cam literally gasped, bringing both of his hands up to his cheeks in a gesture of pure, theatrical astonishment.
"Oh! My stars and garters!" Cam exaggerated loudly, his voice filling the room. He grabbed Mitchell by the sleeve of his navy suit and violently pulled him to a halt. "Mitchell, stop walking immediately and look at our little Luke! Just look at him!"
Mitchell blinked, adjusting his posture, and looked over at me. His usual stressed expression melted into genuine surprise. "Wow. Okay, wow. He actually looks like a miniature corporate CEO."
"Miniature?! He looks like he belongs on the cover of a teenage GQ magazine!" Cam practically squealed, walking over to me and inspecting my suit from a few feet away. "The tailoring! The charcoal gray! Oh, honey, the new suit is an absolute triumph! You look so mature!"
I smiled, standing up from the sofa chair and giving my blazer a smooth tug to keep it straight. I fully utilized my mature charisma.
"Thanks, Uncle Cam. That means a lot coming from the most fashionable guy in the family," I smoothly flattered him, hitting his absolute favorite ego button. I gestured toward his outfit. "That maroon suit is incredible, by the way. Very bold. You both look exceptionally sharp tonight."
Cam let out a delighted, high-pitched giggle, placing a hand over his heart. "Oh, listen to him, Mitchell! He has manners now! And taste! I have been telling Claire for years that maroon is a power color for evening events!"
Cam stepped a little closer, his eyes narrowing slightly as he observed me up and down. His dramatic flair faded slightly into genuine curiosity.
"Hmm... wait a minute," Cam said, tilting his head. He placed a flat hand in the air near my head, then leveled it toward the doorframe where Claire usually stood. "Mitchell, look at his height. Is it just the dress shoes, or is he exactly Claire's height now?"
Mitchell squinted, nodding slowly. "I think you're right. When did that happen? I swear he was at my chest a month ago."
"It's the sports," I lied effortlessly, leaning into the convenient cover story. "I've been doing a lot of intensive stretching and running for the football club. The coach said it forces your bones to expand. Just trying to build an athletic frame, you know?"
"Well, the sports are certainly making you grow, honey," Cam beamed, completely buying the ridiculous pseudoscience. "You keep that up, and you'll be taller than Phil by Christmas!"
Hearing his name, Phil sat up from the sofa, a wide grin on his face. He looked incredibly proud.
"Oh yes! I know my little man is looking good," Phil patted his own bare thigh enthusiastically. "He's got the Dunphy charm and the Pritchett jawline. The ultimate combination!"
Suddenly, the unmistakable, terrifying sound of high heels aggressively clicking against the hardwood floor upstairs echoed down the staircase. It was the sound of an incredibly stressed Claire Dunphy making her final descent.
Phil's wide grin vanished instantly. The blood drained from his face.
He looked down at his bare legs, then looked at the grandfather clock in the corner of the room. The thirty-minute deadline had somehow completely evaporated while we were gossiping.
"Oh, sweet merciful heavens," Phil whispered in pure panic. He jumped off the sofa like it was on fire. "Gents, I think I need to get ready right this exact second, or I am going to get a slipper thrown at my head!"
Without another word, Phil grabbed his suit jacket off the couch and frantically sprinted behind the decorative living room screen. I could hear the desperate rustling of fabric, the metallic zipping of a zipper, and the chaotic hopping of a man trying to put his trousers on without taking his dress shoes off first.
Mitchell and Cam just exchanged a highly amused, exhausted look.
"Well," Mitchell sighed dryly, walking over and taking a seat on the sofa Phil had just vacated. "The evening is officially beginning."
Cam gracefully sat down next to him, smoothing out his maroon trousers.
I took my seat back in the single chair, crossing my legs once again. The "Young Master" was fully prepared. Let the rehearsal dinner commence.