I Invited Tom Cruise to My Wedding

I really shouldn’t have.

Except we had an extra invitation.

And I love the Mission: Impossible movies.

And I assumed he wouldn’t show and might send something expensive I could return for something cooler.

But he came.

Tailored suit. Sunglasses. I watched from the front of the church as he slipped in a side entrance and took the back row. He was joined by my creepy uncle Rick. Ponytail. Teva sandals. “Gutentag,” Rick said as he took a sip of Irish coffee from a plastic travel mug.

Rick was oblivious. Everyone was. Unfortunately that wouldn’t last long. Because when the crowd stood and turned around for Jessica’s big entrance, they noticed Tom first, and began snapping photos of him while the bride walked past, largely ignored.

When Jessica reached the front of the church, she was already upset. “Why is Tom Cruise here?”

“I sort of invited him.”

“You invited Tom Cruise to our wedding?!”

“I didn’t think he would come!”

Yet there he was. And the thoughtful ceremony meticulously scripted by my type-A fiancée was quickly tossed aside by our minister, a part time community theater actor, who took the arrival of our surprise guest as a green light to wedge as many Tom Cruise movie quotes as possible into the next forty-five minutes.

“Your mission, if you choose to accept it, is to take this woman to be your lawfully married wife.”

“Normally this is where I’d talk about the importance of honesty in marriage, but now I’m worried… that you can’t handle the truth!”

Even at the end, when he gave me permission to kiss the bride, he tacked on a “SHOW ME THE MONEY!” (This made no sense whatsoever but received a big laugh.)

After the ceremony, Tom found us to say hello and apologize. “I was scheduled to be in town already and even though my agent thought I was nuts, I thought this might be a fun surprise but… if you want me to go, I’m pretty good at disappearing.”

He was a true gentleman. But I couldn’t kick him out any more than Renée Zellwegger could in Jerry Maguire. Dare I say, he had me at hello. “No. You’re our guest. I’m sure things will get less weird.”

They didn’t.

Half an hour into the reception, my mother-in-law Denise was three mimosas deep and threw herself at Tom—whom she repeatedly called “Maverick”—saying quite loudly that she was in a “loveless marriage with a troll” and that “I’m yours for the taking, flyboy.”

Tom gently excused himself to the men’s room.

When he emerged a few minutes later, my cousin Felix cornered him by the bar and tried to rescue him from Scientology. “I can keep you safe, Tom. I have guns.”

I ordered the DJ to turn up the music and get people dancing. This was a happy distraction until my best man tried to pull Tom onto the floor to serenade my new wife with “You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feeling.”

But when Tom begged off with a friendly wave, my scorned mother-in-law grabbed the mic. “You are no American treasure,” she began. “You are nothing but a pampered Hollywood phony-baloney!”

That was when Jessica ran to a nearby storage closet and barricaded herself inside.

I pressed my face against the slit in the door. “Jessica. Sweetheart. Please come out,” I said.

“No,” she answered.

I forced the door open an inch and saw her sitting on a dirty step stool next to a dirtier mop. Her eyes were red and puffy.

“You invite the biggest movie star in the world to our wedding without even telling me. And then after you see how he is ruining things and he kindly offers to leave, you let him stay!”

“I know. You’re right. It’s just… he’s Tom Cruise.”

Then she screamed and kicked the door closed with her heel.

I slumped away and found Tom nursing a drink near the chocolate fountain.

“Wife’s mad, isn’t she?”

“Yes,” I said.

“And now she wants me to leave.”

“She does. I’m really sorry.”

Tom nodded but didn’t move. “Well… you should have taken me up on my offer when you had the chance.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Tom put down his drink and smiled. It was a knowing smile. The same smile he gave every villain in Mission: Impossible right before he stabbed them in the neck or threw them off a roof. Except I wasn’t a villain. I was just a groom who had an extra wedding invitation.

Tom took a step closer. His cologne smelled expensive. “Tell me if I have this straight,” he began. “First you invite me to your wedding. Even though we’re not friends. Even though we’ve never even met. You were probably hoping my agent would just send a gift. A gift you’d promptly exchange for something sad and meaningless. Like a Nintendo Switch. Or some limited edition Funko Pop.”

How did he know I had my eye on a Funko Pop?

He continued. “You think you’re the first stranger to invite me to something? Do you know how many weddings I get invited to? Random birthday parties? Bar Mitzvahs? Except—plot twist—this time I show up. Thought it’d be fun. Except now you have a problem. Because your wife doesn’t want me here. Fair enough. But then comes our Act 2 complication. I refuse to leave. Which shines a light on the bigger issue. The thing I picked up on pretty quickly after observing you the last few hours. The thing everyone in this room has been worried about since the day they heard Jessica agreed to marry you. Oh shit, she’s settling for a wuss.”

Creepy Uncle Rick leaned in next to Tom and nodded, “God damn truthteller right there.”

“Me? I am not a wuss,” I said.

Then I looked beyond Tom and Uncle Rick. And I saw similar faces with similar expressions. Unspoken concerns that Jessica had settled. Sure, my creepy uncle could be wrong. And maybe even Tom Cruise. But everyone?

If I couldn’t be strong for Jessica on our wedding day, how could she expect me to defend her every day after that?

I lifted my chin and stared Tom down. “Please leave,” I said.

He laughed. “Was that you trying to be tough?”

“Now,” I added.

“Not very convincing,” he replied. “Tell you what. I’ll leave just as soon as I cut the cake.” Over on the dessert table, Tom eyed the long silver cake knife.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Would I?”

We locked eyes. Tom clenched his teeth and his jawbones pulsed. And then, in a flash, we both lunged for it. I got my hands on the knife but so did Tom and we began to wrestle.

Family members who later analyzed the footage from their iPhones said Tom employed a combination of jiu-jitsu and Krav Maga whereas my strategy was simply to hold onto the knife with my hands and curl up in a ball like an armadillo.

Tom whipped me around, taking out tables and chairs as I spun. He unknowingly edged closer and closer to a puddle underneath our ice sculpture. When his Italian loafers reached it, he slipped and, for a brief second, lost his grip. That was all the time I needed. I took control of the dull pastry weapon and hurled it as far across the hotel ballroom as I could. It landed with a clank against Jessica’s great aunt Moira’s oxygen tank.

Tom tried to sprint after it but I grabbed his pant leg and held on. It wasn’t cinematic but it was effective.

“You’re not a real man!” he yelled.

“Yes… I… AM!” I yelled back.

And with that, I grabbed the husband and wife figurine from on top of our wedding cake and jabbed the happy couple’s plastic heads into Tom Cruise’s left hamstring.

He screamed and collapsed in pain.

Acting on some ancient, long forgotten heroic instinct, I leapt on top of him and used my knees to pin his chiseled shoulders to the ground. I couldn’t believe it. I did it. I had bested Tom Cruise in hand to hand combat.

From from my position of glory, I spotted Jessica across the ballroom. She wasn’t horrified. She was smiling. Proud. Next to her, Creepy Uncle Rick raised his Corona and mouthed a silent, “Atta boy.”

Back on the ground, Tom stopped resisting. He didn’t look defeated. He looked…happy. As if by failing, he had accomplished exactly what he wanted.

“That’s my cue” he said.

I helped him up and we walked him to his tinted black rental car. We didn’t speak another word. But he did shake my hand. And before he drove away, he handed me an envelope.

Inside was a handwritten note.

To the Happy Couple —

Marriage is hard. Dare I say… almost impossible. But it’s worth it. So don’t ever give up. Remember to laugh at the funny parts. Cry during the sad parts. And, whenever possible, perform your own stunts.

Best wishes.

Tom

P.S. This message will self-destruct in five seconds.

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