Always the Bridesmaid

by Whitney Lyles

  “A cocktail will be waiting when you return. Hey, I was thinking we should see what Ethan and his friends are doing.”

  “All right,” Cate said. “Call him. His number is on the fridge.”

  While she was hanging up the suit, she remembered that she hadn’t checked her E-mail since yesterday morning. There was a possibility that Paul had written instead of calling.

  She shoved the belt into a corner of her desk next to a half-empty glass of water and a pair of toenail clippers.

  While drinking a Tanqueray and tonic, she checked her E-mail.

  FROM: Leslie Lyons

  SUBJECT: Outfits and shoes

  Hi Girls. By now you should’ve all received your suits. I hope they fit well. You’re all going to where the belt, so make sure you put it in a safe place. It’s probably best to just keep it with the suit. I’ve ordered shoes for everyone. You can just make the check out to me for one hundred and eighty dollars. I had to pay in advance so I would appreciate if you could send the checks soon. Thank you. I am so happy to share my special day with each one of you.

  Love,

  Leslie

  She had another message from her mother wanting to know if Leslie had been raised with any manners.

  Cate turned off the computer. Matching shoes? She was going to have to take out a loan for Leslie’s special day. Had Leslie forgotten that most of her friends fell into the lowest tax bracket in the country? She was a teacher, not a pitcher for the San Diego Padres. She thought of all the things she could spend one hundred eighty dollars on. Her car problems. Supplies for her class. Three weeks’ worth of groceries. A pair of shoes she would wear more than once—two pairs for that matter. And who was going to notice their shoes anyway? Weren’t their friends attending the wedding to see the marriage of Leslie and Russ?

  She shut off her computer and returned to the living room. Jill had taken control of the remote control and was flipping through stations.

  “I’ll mix us another drink,” Cate said, taking Jill’s empty glass from the coffee table.

  A few minutes later, Ethan arrived with another bottle of Tanqueray and a spinach salad covered with bits of meaty bacon. “I thought you guys might be hungry,” he said as he handed Cate the salad bowl. “I just whipped this up.”

  Cate thanked him for the food.

  “I’m starving,” Jill yelled from the couch.

  They ate the salad on the coffee table, their laughter and voices growing louder with each drink. After doing a significant amount of damage to the first Tanqueray bottle, Jill teamed up with Ethan and convinced Cate to model her hideous bridesmaid’s outfit.

  “All right. All right,” Cate said. “But I can’t wear it for long. Leslie will have my head on a platter if something happens to it.”

  While Cate dressed, she could hear her friends rummaging around her cabinets in the living room, occasionally laughing then lowering their voices into hushed whispers. She wondered what kind of mischief they were up to.

  After changing into the pantsuit, she found a pair of old white pumps and a bright pink headband in her closet. She put them on for an added touch. She took one step into the living room when her Culture Club CD came blaring from the speakers of her stereo. She’d purchased the CD when CDs were first invented, back in the eighties. Her friends had been rummaging through her CDs and had chosen to play “Karma Chameleon,” a song entirely fitting for Cate’s attire.

  They all burst into laughter as Cate busted into a series of dance moves similar to something out of a Cyndi Lauper video. Ethan grabbed her by the hand and spun her across the room. Then he grabbed Jill by the other arm and the three of them locked elbows.

  “We’re Three’s Company!” Jill yelled.

  “I have to get out of this thing,” Cate said as the song ended. Even in her buzzed state, she had rational visions of gin and tonic spilling down the front of her bridesmaid attire.

  “You mean you don’t want to wear that to the Silver Fox?” Ethan asked.

  “I’d like to show my face in the Silver Fox after tonight.”

  Cate hung the outfit in the closet and set the belt in a loose pile on top of her dresser. When she returned to her friends, they relocked elbows, feeling comfortable and warm with one another. On her way to the bar, Cate realized that Paul had been home for three hours and still hadn’t called.

  21 • End of the Rope

  Paul called the next day at three. Any reservations Cate had about talking to him were eliminated. He’d been home for nearly twenty-four hours and hadn’t bothered to pick up the phone.

  She was curt when she took his call.

  “I was thinking we could go down to the cove and have a bottle of wine around sunset,” he said.

  He lived to confuse her.

  “All right,” she said.

  “Good. I’ll pick you up around five.”

  “Sounds good,” she replied, already thinking about how she was going to break up with him.

  “Well, if it isn’t the elusive Paul Strobel,” Cate said as he entered her apartment.

  He released a nervous laugh and pressed a dry and awkward kiss to her forehead. “Shall we go to the cove?” he asked.

  “Yeah, let me just grab my sweater.”

  “Do you have any wine?” he yelled as she headed to her bedroom.

  “I think there’s a bottle of red on the counter.”

  When she returned, he was putting the bottle of wine and two coffee mugs into a brown paper bag. “Ready?”

  They spoke mostly of Paul’s trip on the car ride over, the weather in New York City, and the shitty chicken he ate on his return flight.

  Cate glanced at him. “You got a haircut,” she said.

  “Sí.”

  “And highlights? Did you color your hair?” She reached out to touch a piece of his hair, and he jerked his head slightly to the side. Then, as if he had noticed his spastic reaction, he moved his head closer to her again.

  “Yeah, I put some color in it.”

  “Oh.” He’d never highlighted his hair before. “It looks nice.”

  He fiddled with the radio dial. “I like this song.” He stopped on a song Cate had never heard.

  Her stomach ached when she thought about what she was going to say. She’d never broken up with someone. Most of her other relationships had amicably fizzled out. She went over it in her mind. It seems like you don’t really want a relationship with someone right now. It’s probably best for both of us if I move on.

  Deep down there was a slight flicker of hope that Paul’s response would be: What do you mean? I love you. Of course I want a relationship. I’ve just been busy, and I had no idea how much this was bothering you. Let’s get married! Cate had a feeling it would be more like: I’m sorry, Cate. I am too busy to be in a committed relationship. Maybe it’s better if we’re just friends.

  The cove was crowded when they arrived. Tourists tossed Frisbees on the grass over the La Jolla shores, and other couples sat on blankets, waiting for the sunset over picnics and wine. Paul and Cate were lucky to find a parking spot within walking distance of the grassy cliff. He grabbed the wine and mugs before they headed for the cove.

  A Suburban pulled up next to them. “Hey, Paul.” It was an older couple that Cate had never met before.

  “Well, hello,” Paul said.

  “Just here for the sunset?” they asked, glancing at Cate.

  “Yeah.” He looked at Cate from the corner of his eye, and she noticed that he was holding the paper bag with the wine and mugs behind his back. “This is my friend, Cate,” he said. “Cate, this is John and Nicole Ducheck. I work with John.”

  Cate was too shocked that he called her his “friend” to give them a warm greeting. She politely waved. Paul said good-bye to the Duchecks. Then they headed down to the cove, her nerves on edge.

  Friends! She was fuming. Friends don’t drink wine in front of a sunset. Friends don’t date for a year.

  They found a spot on the grass
with a good view of the horizon. The sun had already begun to inch its way toward the ocean and had cast brilliant golden rays off the sea-green water.

  Paul pulled the wine and a corkscrew from the bag. He poured the Merlot into the mugs. They talked about things that Paul had done while he was on his trip, and his upcoming plans to go to London. The whole time, Cate waited for an opportunity to bring up their relationship. After two glasses of wine, she noticed that the sun had begun to hit the horizon. It looked as if it were melting into the water, bleeding orange and red all over the choppy sea.

  “Paul, we need to talk about our relationship.” She hadn’t planned on blurting it out, but the wine had made it easy.

  He looked down at the grass, ripped a healthy chunk of green blades from the earth, and spilled them in a little pile between them. His gaze turned to the sunset. “You must not be very happy with me right now,” he said.

  He knew? “No, Paul. I’m not. I’m not happy at all.” In a way, it was a relief that he knew. She wouldn’t have to explain. On the other hand, irritation consumed her when she realized that he’d known he’d been treating her badly all week and had continued to do so.

  He looked at her. “Cate, I think you are a great person, and everyone I talk to loves you. You’re a phenomenal girl, but I can’t do this anymore.” He shook his head. “I just can’t do it.” He continued to pick at the grass, creating a substantial heap in between them. “I wanted it to work. When we got together, I wanted it to work out so bad. I had been thinking about you so much, and I had to find out if you were the one. I had to know if I could marry you. I prayed about it.” He pressed on the mound of blades with his palms, then looked up at her. “I realized you’re not the one. I’m not in love with you, Cate. I never was.”

  Being hit by a car and landing in a giant pile of dog shit would’ve been better. He didn’t love her. He had prayed about it? She was incapable of forming sentences. He should’ve just slapped her; it would’ve been less shocking. And in public! Over a bottle of wine and a sunset! What the fuck was wrong with him?

  She had a burning desire to grab the bottle of Merlot and break it over his stupid fucking highlights. A fleeting vision of wine and glass spilling over his head popped into her mind. It wasn’t like there was much to damage.

  She glanced at the bottle, then at him. He was actually smirking, waiting for her to say something.

  “Cate, I wish it could work. I think you’re a great person. The best. You’re pretty. You’re—”

  She held up a hand. “Enough.” He’d humiliated her to the lowest level in the middle of La Jolla. She didn’t need his pity on top of it. “Paul, I don’t need to hear how great I am. In the future, if you have these feelings, break up with the person right away. Don’t try to send them messages and blow them off until they get frustrated, and for God’s sake, do it in private.”

  “Well, I talked to all my friends, and they told me to just stop calling.”

  Icing on the fucking cake. “You talked to all your friends about this?” Her voice was loud. People stopped throwing Frisbees and tossed her a look.

  “Well?” He turned his palms out. “I needed some advice.”

  “You told all your friends! We know all the same people, and I have to see them at Leslie’s wedding next week. These are people I know, Paul! And they all knew before I did that you were going to dump me!”

  He squeezed her arm. “Cate, they all love you. They couldn’t understand why I wanted to break up with you. Everyone thinks I’m crazy.”

  “Does Leslie know?”

  “No. I swear. She has no idea.”

  She stood up. “All right. I just want to go home.”

  He grabbed the paper bag, the mugs, and the rest of the wine. “Cate, please don’t be mad. I think you’re a great girl, and I still want to hang out with you. Promise me that we can do brunches at the Brockton and go see those foreign films you like.”

  She turned away from him. “Not now, Paul. Not now.”

  The car ride home seemed like a five-hour drive through the desert. When they reached her complex, Paul leaned over the center console and hugged her. She would’ve rather hugged a bum who had recently pissed on himself. He handed her the paper bag with her mugs and the rest of the wine. “You take care,” he said.

  “You . . . drive safe, Paul.”

  She didn’t look over her shoulder as she walked to her building. She could hear the engine idling behind her all the way to the gated entrance of her complex. Everything had happened so fast. Overwhelmed, she turned right and headed to Jill’s. Thank God she was home. Cate needed to tell someone. She needed to hear the words come out of her mouth. She couldn’t quite comprehend what had just happened.

  Jill’s head was covered in Saran Wrap. Fushia strands of hair peeked out from beneath the plastic. A stick of magnolia incense burned on the coffee table.

  “Come on in,” she said. “I’m dying my hair pink. I’m so glad you came over. I need your . . .” Her voice trailed off when she looked at Cate. “What happened? You look terrible.”

  “Paul just dumped me.” She sat on the couch and buried her face in her hands.

  “What? I thought you were dumping him.”

  “He beat me to it.”

  “Asshole.” She pulled a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of her bathrobe. “You’re going to need a smoke while you tell me this.”

  Cate grabbed a cigarette. She took heavy drags while telling the La Jolla Cove Dumping Story.

  “Cate, he is an idiot! I mean it! What a fucking moron.” Jill’s voice became a goofy drawl. “Hi, my name is Paul. Or, no, excuse me: Hola. I’m Paul, and I’m a fuckin’ idiot. I had to break up with Cate because I’m stupid. I asked my friends, and they said to just stop callin’, but I had to take her to a public place and get drunk on wine before I could do it because I’m a big fat coward!”

  Cate laughed. She looked down at Jill’s feet. “Did you stay at the Ritz Carlton?” Her white slippers had the Ritz Carlton monogram on them.

  “No. But it looks like I stayed there. I bought them at a thrift store. Aren’t they a find?”

  Cate smiled. “Yes.”

  “Anyway, Cate, you can do so much better than Paul. So much better!” She lit another cigarette and offered Cate one as well. Cate smoked a second cigarette. “I’m going to set you up with that guy I was telling you about, Nick.”

  “Isn’t he a tattoo artist?”

  “Yes, I’m telling you he’s so cute and sooooo nice. He’s perfect. In fact, I’ll call him right now.”

  She hopped up from the couch. Cate wished she wouldn’t. She really had no interest in dating a man who made people bleed every day.

  Cate paid no attention to Jill’s conversation with Nick. She smoked a third cigarette and poured the remaining wine into a mug. When Jill returned, she was holding a photo album. “I just talked to Nick,” she said. “We’re going out with him and this other guy, Ted—that guy I like—tomorrow night. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Cate mumbled. She didn’t care.

  “You’re going to love him.” She glanced at the album in her hand. “Oh! I have a picture of him!”

  Cate looked at the picture of Nick. He was actually pretty cute. She stayed there until Jill was finished dying her hair a blinding shade of bright pink.

  “See you tomorrow around eight,” Jill called as Cate left.

  “All right.”

  Darkness filled her apartment. She reached for a light switch before she threw her purse on the couch. She kicked off each shoe and headed to her bedroom. Moonlight spilled through her bedroom window. She could see Grease’s outline on the floor near the end of the bed. He was chewing on something.

  “What do you have there, Grease?” she asked as she crouched down near him. He bolted, his toy trailing from his mouth. It was long and thin.

  Cate flicked on a light. “Grease, come here,” she said. She found him in the living room, perched on the coffee table, a royal b
lue satin strap dangling from his mouth.

  22 • Rearranged

  Cate woke up at six in the morning. Before she opened her eyes, she remembered that Paul had dumped her. Her chest felt painfully empty. She wished she could sleep all day, but she was too emotional.

  There would be no future with Paul. No wedding. No mutual real estate investments. No shared holidays. It was over. Deep down, she’d sensed that they weren’t meant for each other, but part of her had always longed for him to change. She had wanted him to see how much she appreciated him. She’d been waiting for him to realize what a devoted girlfriend she was, and then he wouldn’t be able to live without her.

  Now she was going to have to start from scratch. For a moment she felt a flash of relief. Paul was gone. Everything would be new, and she would no longer have to worry about No Call Paul. There would be no more analyzing and guessing where he was and what he thought about her. He was out of her life. But then she realized that nothing would ever be new. She’d just have to find someone else to play the game with. It wasn’t the loss of Paul that necessarily made her sad. Most of her sadness stemmed from her wounded ego combined with the bitter reality that the world was filled with Pauls. All the nice guys were either taken or not her type. She would never find anyone and was destined to be alone. Someone had to be the old maid. There was one in every group. It had to be Cate. Jill didn’t count. She wasn’t normal.

  She wanted to call Beth and tell her what had happened. She knew Beth wouldn’t be up this early on a Saturday. Leslie and Sarah? No way. She needed to talk to someone. Her mother. She was always up by six.

  Connie answered on the second ring. Her voice sounded confident and bright.

  Cate came right out with the news. “Paul dumped me, Mom.”

  “He did?”

  “Yes, it was terrible.” Cate briefed her on the wine, the sunset, and the brutal words that made her ache just repeating them.

  “I knew he wasn’t right for you anyway. And your dad never liked him.”