Always the Bridesmaid

by Whitney Lyles

  She noticed that her celery-green strapless dress had begun to creep down her chest again. She hadn’t been blessed with the bust needed to hold up anything strapless and had been readjusting it all day. She set her bouquet on the sink before firmly pulling the dress up to cover the top of her chest.

  “Why don’t you clean your knee and put this on?” She offered him the Band-Aid.

  “Thanks,” he grumbled. “But where’s Sarah?”

  Footsteps approached the men’s room. Her heart pounded so heavily that her nerves shook. She thought she was experiencing stage one of a heart attack.

  Claude seemed disappointed when the footsteps passed. “I thought that would be her.”

  “I’m going to get her right now.” She could always just leave him waiting for Sarah and hope that the ceremony was speedy. Then she remembered it was a long Catholic wedding. He’d be wrecking the whole event before Sarah and Miles even said their vows. She had to come up with a better plan.

  Claude had broken Sarah’s heart and sent her into the kind of depression that entailed drastic weight loss and excessive sleep. It had taken her months to get over him. After she had met her future husband, Miles, Cate had never seen her happier. Now Claude was about to destroy her happiness again. This was the most important day of Sarah’s life, and Cate couldn’t let him ruin it.

  “You wait here,” she said.

  Outside the bathroom, her eyes caught on something shiny. It rested like a little treasure on the tiled floor. She leaned over the object. Perhaps someone had lost an earring or a key. It was a quarter. An idea popped into her head. It was evil, and she was disturbed that her mind was capable of producing such a scheme, but she was desperate.

  Skillfully, she positioned the coin between the door and the doorframe. She inserted the quarter into the little gap like a coin going into a gumball machine, only this quarter stayed tightly wedged in the slot. The door was deadlocked.

  It was a trick she had learned in high school when a little boy she baby-sat locked her in the bathroom for five hours. His parents had spent two hours trying to pry the quarters out of the door before they gave up and helped her escape through the window.

  There was one window in the men’s bathroom, and Claude would never fit through it. He was trapped. It was early summer, so the campus halls were like a ghost town. No one would hear him banging or yelling. He was virtually stranded. Guilt consumed her as she left him. She’d have to figure out a way to get him out after the wedding. That was going to be a whole other obstacle. She’d have to secretly slip him out of the bathroom before the wedding party left for the reception at the Mission Bay Hilton. It was all too much for her to think about now. She still had a toast to prepare for, and she’d been missing for God only knew how long.

  She ran the rest of the way back to the bridal room. Both of her small boobs nearly popped from her dress by the time she arrived.

  “Cate!” Sarah exclaimed. “Where have you been?”

  Sarah’s parents, the wedding coordinator, and four other bridesmaids waited for an explanation.

  “The bathroom,” she said, pulling her dress up.

  “Well, are you . . . all right?” Sarah asked.

  “Just some last-minute anxiety.”

  “I have some antacid in my first aid kit,” the coordinator said, already rummaging through her supplies.

  “It’s okay. I’m fine.”

  “All right,” the coordinator said before she began giving last-minute instructions. “Since you’re the maid of honor, you’re going to walk down right before Sarah, so get in line behind the other girls.” Cate stood behind one of her closest friends, Leslie, who was also getting married this summer.

  The romantic notes of “Canon in D” filled the chapel.

  “Bridesmaids, grab your bouquets,” the coordinator said.

  Bouquets? Bouquets! The men’s bathroom! Shit! A striking memory of leaving her bouquet on the sink when she’d adjusted her dress struck her like a bowling ball. The other girls were moving. Frantically, she searched for something. Anything! Any bunch of flowers resembling the bouquet would do. Fake flowers, live flowers, grass. It didn’t matter.

  She ripped a handful of red bougainvillea from a bush just outside the chapel, a thorn scratching the side of her index finger. The sharp pain made her wince, and for a moment she considered this to be a bridesmaid battle wound.

  The last thing she saw before heading toward the altar was the wedding coordinator’s confused face when she looked at her bouquet.

  2 • Completely Candid

  Immediately following the ceremony, Cate was thrust into another relentless series of photos, this time with the groom and groomsmen.

  After plastering a dozen more fake smiles to her face, she hurried off to the bathroom, where she helped Sarah go pee. Stuffing Sarah and her giant hoop skirt into a stall was only half the battle. Two bridesmaids had to hold up her mountain of tulle to prevent any urine from spraying on the gown.

  Crunched in a stall, Cate and Leslie each held up a side of the dress while Sarah took care of business. The three girls had been roommates in college. As Sarah hovered over the bowl, Cate couldn’t recall ever feeling closer to them.

  “Thanks,” Sarah said. “I’ll try to hold it for as long as I can next time.”

  “No worries.” Cate prayed Sarah wasn’t urinating all over her section of the dress.

  “Get used to this, girls,” Leslie said. “Because you’ll both be holding up my dress in just a few short months.”

  It occurred to Cate that she was the only one in the stall who wouldn’t be having her dress held up anytime soon. In many ways this was a relief. She didn’t want anyone helping her use the bathroom, and she made a mental note that if her day as a bride ever did come, she would wear a formfitting dress. However, she felt a pang of sadness that two of her closest friends were moving into another realm of life. She was happy for them, but she knew the late nights of barhopping were over. No more crashing on each other’s couches and recapping the events of their crazy evenings over breakfast burritos in the morning. Over the past year their fun times together had been numbered anyway. Leslie and Sarah had devoted most of their time to their fiancés. But now their girls’ nights had really ended—for good.

  While Cate cooked dinner for one or planned an evening at a new bar, Leslie and Sarah would be planning their pregnancies and trying to figure out which side of the family they were going to spend the holidays with. They wouldn’t be able to relate to Cate anymore, and it made her feel a little lonely. Their futures were laid out for them, planned and stable.

  “We’re on a tight schedule,” Sarah reminded them. “We still have to do my back.” Cate noticed that a stray ringlet from Sarah’s curly hair had fallen loose from her French twist. They’d have to fix her hair later, too.

  They were barely finished readjusting Sarah’s dress when they had to race back to the bridal room to touch up her makeup.

  In the bridal room, Cate reapplied a thick layer of foundation on Sarah’s left shoulder blade, covering all traces of her sunflower tattoo. She wondered why Sarah would permanently mark her body with something that she was too ashamed to show Miles’s parents and the elderly. Outside the door, Leslie stood guard for future in-laws and grandparents.

  “Did you think of what you’re going to say in your toast?” Sarah asked as Cate brushed powder over her back.

  “I’ll figure it out in the limo,” she said. A blanket of nervy pain spread over her stomach.

  Cate desperately needed a gin and tonic—or five. That freaking toast.

  Cate had been inside the reception hall at the Mission Bay Hilton for less than fifteen minutes when Sarah’s Aunt Sue cornered her. She was a rotund woman wearing a long dress with a loud floral print. She threw an arm around Cate’s shoulder. She could see Aunt Sue’s fuchsia acrylic nails from the corner of her eye. “I can’t believe how much you girls have grown up over the years. Sarah getting married. Lesli
e in August. It really makes me feel like an old fart. Ha!” Aunt Sue’s laughter always came out in one giant croak. “So, hey. You’re twenty-six now, Cate. When are you going to tie the knot?”

  She wanted to say, Since I discovered my psychic ability, I’ve been able to predict things such as these. She shrugged and released a nervous laugh. “I don’t know.”

  “Well, a little mouse told me you have a cute boyfriend. Don’t you?” Red lipstick covered her front teeth.

  “Yes. He’s on a business trip in Nashville right now. He couldn’t make it.” She missed him deeply, but didn’t add that.

  “What does he do?”

  She always wanted to tell people he was something exciting like a spy or a rock star. He was young, stunningly handsome, traveled all the time, and drove a hot luxury car.

  “His company sells software for resorts and theme parks. He sells the software, then teaches the employees how to use it. Some of his trips end up being pretty long.”

  “Well, what’s the problem? It sounds like he can definitely afford a ring for ya!”

  “We’re not quite there yet,” she said, praying this conversation would soon come to a close. “But he’s definitely a keeper.”

  Paul had all the qualities that Cate wanted in a husband. He was focused, sophisticated, and ambitious. He loved children and had even visited her kindergarten class when school was in session. He voted and had insightful opinions about current events. These were all qualities that she rarely found in men her age. Most of the guys she met were too busy surfing and getting drunk to register to vote or read stories to kindergartners.

  Deep down she wondered if they would have their day at the altar. But they had never discussed marriage. In fact, neither of them had even come close to mentioning it. This was partly because their relationship had progressed at such a slow rate. His demanding job and constant traveling had put more than miles between them. It had presented a roadblock that had prevented them from bonding the way Sarah and Miles had. It wasn’t as if Cate was in a hurry to get married, but with all of her friends settling down, she couldn’t help but consider where her relationship with Paul was headed.

  Aunt Sue’s elbow jabbed her ribs. “Anyway, honey, it’s very important to find the right man,” she said. “Belieeeeeeve me. You don’t want to go through a divorce. Mine was a nightmare,” she advised before heading off to the bar.

  There were two things that Cate could always count on at any wedding reception: a wedding drunk and a freaky relative. Occasionally, these two were combined. Usually they were two entirely different entities.

  The wedding drunk was usually a middle-aged woman, going through some kind of midlife crisis, typically a sticky divorce. They usually surfaced after the meal, making a scene to remember on the dance floor. Videographers lived for these types. Cate suspected it might be Aunt Sue.

  As for the bizarre relative, that was easy. Uncle Dan, Sarah’s uncle who had been Catholic up until ten years ago when he moved into the Pacific Beach Hare Krishna temple. He was wearing his full regalia, ponytail and all.

  “So, any marriage plans?” he asked while sipping on water.

  “Not yet,” Cate said. She wished Paul was standing next to her.

  “Good. That’s good. One should devote him or herself spiritually.” He tapped her arm. “Since you live in Pacific Beach, you should stop by the temple sometime. I have some books and literature that might interest you. You should just see if you like them.” Uncle Dan’s attempts to recruit her into his cult were slightly insulting. Cultists had a profile for people they tried to lure. Self-conscious loners looking for some kind of acceptance. Her feelings were a little stung.

  Thankfully, they were interrupted. “Cate? Cate Padgett? Wow!”

  “Ethan! Ethan Blakely! Oh my God! What are you doing here?”

  “I’m catering this wedding.” A wide smile covered his face, and his round eyes were still the bluest she had ever seen. He opened his arms wide, and she slipped into his embrace, catching a whiff of something clean and fresh.

  “It’s so good to see you, Cate,” he said after they pulled out of the embrace. “How long has it been?”

  “Well, since gosh . . . my freshman year of college? Six? Seven years maybe.”

  “You look great,” he said.

  “You do, too.” She looked at his baggy white chef’s clothes. He had always been on the shorter side but had grown a few inches since she had last seen him. He looked older, too, but maybe that was because of the five o’clock shadow that darkened his chin and upper lip. She didn’t remember him ever having facial hair or sideburns. However, he still had the kind of hair that made Cate want to rub her fingers through it. His uneven crop was thick and soft and stood on end like a dark, cozy shag carpet.

  “What have you been up to?” he asked.

  “I teach kindergarten, and I live in Pacific Beach. What about you?”

  “I live in Pacific Beach, too. I run a catering business with a friend of mine.”

  “I had no idea that you moved back from San Francisco.”

  “Yeah, a couple years ago. I was thinking about calling you, actually, but wasn’t sure how to get in touch with you. My mom mentioned that your parents moved.”

  “Yeah. They’re still in La Jolla, but they don’t live across the street from your parents anymore.”

  “Listen, I’ve gotta get back to the kitchen, but I’ll catch up with you later. For sure.”

  Running into Ethan was unexpected. As children they had been like brother and sister, sharing their Big Wheels and pulling each other’s hair when one wouldn’t share a pack of bubble gum or access to Super Mario Brothers. Then in high school, before they had their driver’s licenses, they spent lazy summer days prank-calling every pizza place in La Jolla, ordering pizzas with everything on them that they never intended to pick up.

  They used to go joyriding in his mother’s Oldsmobile and put rocks in Mr. Kramer’s mailbox. Ethan was the first person she ever got stoned with. He had been almost as close to her as her best friend, Beth. After high school, Ethan had moved to San Francisco, and Cate had moved into the dorms at USD. They kept in touch for nearly a year, sending each other letters and sharing late-night long distance phone calls.

  He had been the closest thing she had ever had to a brother. They would spend hours talking about what kind of major Cate should pick and the fact that Ethan’s parents were disappointed that he had chosen culinary school over college. She would send him pictures of her new friends and her minute dorm room. But as soon as Cate met her first real college boyfriend, Ethan’s letters and phone calls became less frequent. Their lapse in communication had been mostly Cate’s fault though. When she became serious with her boyfriend, her record of returning Ethan’s calls wasn’t exactly stellar. Eventually they had lost touch. Over the years Cate had wondered about him. She never drove past the Pizza Cove without thinking about their prank calls. Whenever she heard Guns n’ Roses or The Cure, she was reminded of Ethan and how they used to play those CDs to death.

  She noticed everyone taking their seats and unfolding their linen napkins. It was time to eat.

  At dinner Cate barely touched her portobello-stuffed chicken. Thoughts of her toast had stolen her appetite. She envied the rest of the bridal party, sipping their drinks, laughing, and relaxing, while she was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

  Toasts were the things that people talked about on the car ride home. They would comment on Sarah’s dress and discuss the wedding drunk and Uncle Dan at great length, and then it would be the toast. They would say, “And can you believe the maid of honor’s toast?”

  The Tijuana border was just a cab ride away. There was still time to flee. She imagined what everyone would say later, the scandal she would create if she vanished.

  All plans to escape were aborted when Sarah’s dad approached the microphone. The toast process reminded her of the first day of school when teachers made everyone go around the room and s
ay their name, what they did over the summer, and what their favorite hobby was. Sarah’s dad and the best man had to go before it was her turn.

  Mr. Cross’s toast had been quick. “I’m very proud of Sarah and Miles. I have three beautiful daughters, and now . . .” Tears sprang to his eyes. “I have a great son, too.” Then he’d gotten too choked up to continue.

  Mark was next. When he took the mike from Mr. Cross’s hand, some of his cocktail spilled over the side of the glass and onto Mr. Cross’s tux.

  “Hellooo, Wedding Party!” Mark was an aspiring musician, and the way he greeted the wedding reception sounded as if he were greeting a sold-out stadium. He may as well have yelled, Hello, San Diego! “I decided to do my toast a little bit differently than the typical toast. I did what I’m best at, and I wrote Sarah and Miles a song.” Oohs and ahhhs filled the room as the audience eagerly awaited the entertainment. Cate wondered how she would ever live up to this.

  “It’s called ‘Whipped,’ and it goes a little something like this.”

  “ ‘Whipped’?” Leslie whispered gruffly in Cate’s ear.

  B. J. handed Mark his guitar. Soft, lilting melodies flowed from the acoustic instrument. “It starts with one kiss and it leads to pure bliss. The next thing you know you’re in love and it shows.” He continued strumming away, holding the audience captive. The strumming grew faster. Mark’s voice turned rough. “It leads to more. It’s ownership and the next thing you knooooow. The next thing you know is that you are whipped!”

  Leslie and Cate glanced at one another.

  “You’re whiiiiiiiiiipped!” He did a little jump in the air, missing the cake by inches. Cate could actually hear Sarah’s mom gasp. When he landed, the melody grew soft again. “And it’s love,” he bellowed calmly before concluding the song.

  A moment of dead silence followed. Slowly, people began to clap. Mark took a bow before leaving the spotlight.