As colorful pegasi moved the clouds away, Celestia’s light shone down upon a vast orchard. The trees reflected the sun’s rays in brilliant greens speckled by dew-kissed apples. A cool breeze introduced the world to the coming autumn, waving Joe’s unadorned mane.
Ponies were hard at work. In the clearing a pavilion was being set up by industrious construction folk. Near Joe’s position was a plain dirt path leading to the farmhouse, with a familiar orange earth pony busily building what appeared to be a temporary wall of wood panels. Three young mares, each bearing flower-themed cutie marks, spoke animatedly while putting down red and pink roses throughout the area. Over at the farmhouse itself, Joe witnessed from a distance the arrival of a white mare levitating along a conspicuous box. Her grin could have made the sun jealous, were it inclined to such moods. She was met at the door and ushered inside quickly by the old green matron of the place.
Everywhere Joe looked, ponies were smiling. More were coming in by the minute. The mayor alongside Twilight – sorry, Princess Twilight – discussing a scroll between them, weatherponies conferring with the purple-pinkish pony managing the soiree, a band from Canterlot practicing under the shade of some trees. A few familiar faces lacking names greeted him warmly. Joe shifted in place and adjusted his bowtie, a worn thing he’d bought cheap by Canterlot standards. He checked his black suit for wrinkles, found none.
“Hey, Joe!” A pink explosion fell from the sky to land before him, decorated in a frilly red dress and sapphire blue eyes that sparkled with presumably endless mirth.
He smiled at the young mare and inclined his head. “Mornin’, Pinkie. Here to set up the dessert table?”
She grinned and bounced in place, her dress shifting about like the feathers of some magnificent crimson bird. “Actually, I’m here to attend a wedding, just like you! But I’m also here to help Mr. and Mrs. Cake cater, which is the same thing.” She paused in midair – literally – and gasped. “Wait, did you bring any doughnuts? That would be a super awesome addition to the dessert table! And everypony could eat your doughnuts and our cakes and think that the Cakes and Pony Joe are collaborating again and it would be awesome and everypony would want in on the delicious deliciousness!”
Joe smiled for her, the effort required making his cheeks ache. “That sounds good for business, but not this time. I’m just a guest.”
Pinkie studied him, or perhaps his smile. “Hey, are you okay, Joe? You’re not upset because the Cakes got to cater the wedding and you didn’t, are you?”
He opened his mouth, closed it, flicked his tail. “No, Pinkie. I’m not mad at the Cakes, or you. So don’t worry.”
“I didn’t say ‘mad’, I said ‘upset’.” She squinted at him, moving close enough that their muzzles almost touched.
He stepped back, glancing around at the many other ponies. None were watching their little exchange. “I’m fine, honest. Business in Canterlot’s been good. I needed the break. And the Cakes would make a better wedding cake than me any day.” He eyed the cake in question, a five-layered giant glistening with white frosting and apple slices.
“Hmm, yeah, they did a great job, didn’t they?” Pinkie let her tongue loll out as she let the confectionery masterpiece distract her. The yellow baker nearby called out, and Pinkie promptly rolled her tongue back in. “Sorry, Joe, gotta get to work. Coming, Mr. Cake!”
The Pinkie storm abated, and Joe found himself back in that peaceful, public seclusion. He cast his gaze around the orchard once more, taking in the scene and scenery. He didn’t look at the big apple tree just behind the platform. Much like he didn’t observe the barn with its open door, or the ponies working to transform it for the reception. He did stare at the apples, taking in their lovely red color. He began counting them, one at a time, from tree to tree. The harvest this year would be bountiful.
He was on his third tree when he noticed the pony beside him. Big. Stuffed in an immaculate black suit. His boutonniere was a pink rose. Big Mac grinned when Joe turned to him. “Didn’t know if you’d make it.”
Joe smiled, and this time it was easy. He took in that massive physique that felt so good underhoof, the soft eyes that spoke more than any mouth ever could, the mane that looked like straw but felt like silk. Joe raised his hoof, caught himself, lowered it again. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Big Mac’s eyes bored into him. Not invasive, but knowing, understanding. Appreciating. Those eyes burned and soothed in equal measure. Joe locked his knees and didn’t look away.
“Glad you came, Joe.” A big, soft hoof landed on his shoulder. “Means a lot to me.”
A swallow. The smile wavered. “I know.” He reached up to grasp Mac’s fetlock, his grip tight. “She’ll be good for you. You could always pick ‘em.”
Big Mac was like the sun at dusk: brilliant and bright, just on the edge of dangerous but still safe to look at. “Eeyup.”
They shared a companionable silence, watching the events unfold before them. The pavilion was coming along nicely. An arch had been assembled over it, and the flower ponies were applying their products to it. Red and pink. Not red and yellow, or red and orange. Red and pink.
“You okay?”
Joe forced his ears straight and nodded. “I’m fine.”
Big Mac’s eyes were hot on his cheeks. “You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
A second of staring. Big Mac relented, going back to watching the flower ponies work. Joe stole a glance. The ever-so familiar set in the jaw, slight furrow of the brow. Mac’s left ear twitched.
“You okay?”
“Eeyup.”
Joe’s glance became a stare. Big Mac’s eyes danced around like a pair of fruit bats among the trees.
“You sure?”
A long, deep breath fled Big Mac’s suit-entrapped chest. “Nope.”
Wielding his grin like a sword with a barbed hilt, Joe engaged the problem. “Don’t get cold hooves now, farm boy. Applejack would never let you hear the end of it.”
“Ain’t cold hooves,” Big Mac replied, his voice soft like pegasus down. “Just nerves. Nerves and a big bushel of ‘what the hay am I doin’?”
Even with his substantial size, Joe had to raise himself up a little to bring his foreleg around Big Mac’s shoulder. He gave the stallion a squeeze and made like he was brushing dust off the giant’s fashionable outer coat. “You’re making a mare happy. Isn’t that what true gentleponies do?”
Mac’s ears folded back. He bombarded Joe with an expression of painful neutrality. “You really think that?”
Very slowly, Joe removed his foreleg. His eyes tried to move away, to focus on the mayor and Princess Twilight near the podium, but Big Mac’s gaze trapped them. Fruit bats on the green apples. He swallowed, brought back that protective smile. “I think you’re a true gentlepony.”
Quiet. Long, tense, dragged out. Big Mac showed mercy and looked away. He watched his sister setting up the last of the bride's wall. Joe took the opportunity to breathe again.
The giant stallion’s voice rumbled, as sound as soothing in reality as it was in dreams. “You didn’t have to come.”
“Yes, I did.” Joe poked Mac’s leg. “She invited me.”
Big Mac looked to the pavilion, then back to the farmhouse. His lips quirked into a smile. “I suppose she did.”
The quiet came again, not so aggressive this time. It was stirred up by the air and the chatter of ponies. There was an excitement in the air. It buzzed about with the sway of conversation and the sway of leaves in the breeze. Fillies laughed as the showed off their flower filly dresses. Twilight complained at the head weather pony for flying by too fast and scattering her notecards. The band played a few notes together. The Cakes fended Pinkie Pie off the cupcake display.
“Good day for a weddin’,” Mac declared.
Joe eyed him, taking in his physique. “Aren’t you supposed to be in the barn getting ready?”
“Can’t sit still.” To Joe’s heavy stare he only sighed. “Eyup.”
Their attention turned to the barn. The barn, with its dark corners and prickly hay. The barn, that had so many places two ponies could hide. Memories danced across Joe’s vision, but he banished them as quickly as they’d come. “Want me to wait inside with you?”
Big Mac looked to him with eyes of concern and appreciation. He reached up to adjust his tie. “Nope.”
“I could. It’s no bother.”
The giant smiled. Smiled like a stallion in the know. “Nope.”
Joe felt his legs and shoulders lose tension he hadn’t noticed. He nodded, turned from the barn. “Suit yourself.”
“Eyup.” Big Mac left him there. For the second time, Joe looked over his shoulder to see him walking off. For the second time, Big Mac didn’t look back.
In a couple hours, that pony would stand at the podium. His mare would leave the farmhouse, hiding behind the wall until her time came to be revealed. She’d be dressed like a goddess, and walk past Joe with her father at her side. Joe would watch the scene, peeling away his memories one at a time like so many overused bandages. He’d hear their vows and fantasize. He’d see their kiss and recall a moment of intimacy.
I do. Such innocent little words. It was the innocent ones that cut the deepest.
The reception would come, and Joe would tolerate it. Tolerate the barn his memories refreshed on a nightly basis. Only for a few hours, waiting and talking and listening and longing for the lucky pair to jump into their carriage and make for a honeymoon Joe wouldn’t get for himself. All that, and then he could go home. Back to Canterlot. Back to his shop. Back to his public solitude and regular faces and memories nursed by the bottom of a shot glass.
Just a little longer, he told himself.
“Hey, Joe?” He turned to find Pinkie walking up to him. Her smile was wan for once. Not as endless as presumed, it seems. “I was thinking, we could really use some help over here at the buffet table. You’re a super duper confection connoisseur! Wanna help us out?”
He looked to the buffet table. Cupcakes, breads, salads, soups, cookies, punch upside down on an unfortunate baby dragon’s head. Everything in order, punch excepted. Pinkie did a little dance from hoof to hoof, a perfect partner for her little smile.
A smile which Joe returned with similar mood. “Sure, Pinkie. I’d be happy to help.”
She bounced into the air. “Great! Come on, we’ll work on our smiles together.”
So he followed, and let her play the role of distraction for a day. One day wouldn’t kill him.
It was the days after that might do the job.
Author's Note
