Always the Bridesmaid

by Whitney Lyles

  “I’m sorry, Cate.” He shook his head. “If you don’t mind, I just have to tell you that he is an idiot. You can do so much better. What guy wouldn’t appreciate you?”

  “I’m starting to wonder. I mean, if I’m so great, why did he want to dump me?”

  “Because he’s a guy.”

  Cate laughed. “Are all guys idiots?”

  “It means he can’t handle you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m saying he’s just another stupid guy, Cate. You are a catch. It takes somebody a little more mature to realize that.”

  “You’re just being sweet to make me feel better.” Cate wrapped lo mein noodles around her fork.

  “No, I’m not. I’m serious. Believe me, I can’t imagine being a woman.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, it’s hard enough to find a good girl in this world. And knowing how my friends are, and how most men are, I imagine it has to be even worse for women. It must be harder for them to find a decent guy.”

  “You have a hard time finding nice girls?”

  “Yeah, it’s hard to find a girl that I can actually hold a conversation with.”

  “I just want to find someone who is mature, focused, spontaneous, and down to earth,” Cate said. “It’s not like I’m asking for an heir to the royal throne or something.” She didn’t want to talk about her hard luck in love. “Anyway, I need your help with something.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “I need you to help me decide what to wear to Beth’s wedding.”

  “Oh, that’s right. It’s on Halloween.” He thought about it. “Hmmm. It’s gotta be good. Original.”

  At this point she was actually glad that she could create a costume instead of spend another small fortune on a dress she’d only wear once. She had no idea what she was going to be. She’d been a black cat two years in a row. She had enough vintage clothes to go as any decade.

  She also had a closet full of bridesmaid’s dresses. She could wear one of her dresses and go as the bridesmaid from hell. She could rip it and put fake tattoos all over her body and smudge black eyeliner around her eyes and let her bra strap show, and wear ugly shoes that didn’t go with the dress. Then she realized Beth probably wouldn’t think that was funny.

  “I was thinking maybe Cleopatra.”

  “That would be cool. What about Marilyn Monroe? You’ve got that little blonde bob of yours. I think you’d make a good Marilyn.”

  “Me? Marilyn Monroe?”

  “Yeah, why not? I’ll help you find the costume.”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, I have no boobs.”

  “So? Stuff your bra.”

  She thought about it. “That’s a good idea. I could go to PB Thrift. I bet they have lots of fifties stuff, and Jill could do my hair. It’s settled. Marilyn Monroe.”

  When they were finished eating, the waitress brought the bill and a little plate with two fortune cookies.

  Ethan handed Cate the plate. “You pick first.”

  She had to get a feel for which one she wanted. She looked at both cookies and let intuition guide her to the one to her left. Ethan snatched the other cookie. They cracked the cookies open and pulled the little white fortunes from the crusty shell.

  “What does yours say?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “It is better to shine than to reflect.”

  “No way. That’s what mine says, too.”

  She reached across the table and pulled the fortune from his hand. “Let me see.” She read his fortune. “It does. We have the same fortune.”

  “That’s kinda cool,” he said.

  “No, it’s not. It means there aren’t enough fortunes to go around.”

  “No. I think it says something about our friendship.”

  “I think it means that not many people have a unique or special future. What the hell does ‘shine rather than reflect’ mean, anyway?”

  “It means you’re supposed to put forth your best effort and shine instead of pulling inward and reflecting. Just do it, is what it means.”

  “Hmmm. I was thinking that it meant like a window when it’s clean is better shiny than reflective.”

  “Yeah, it could be that, too.”

  She was disappointed. She wanted something different for the future. She was destined to turn out like all the other single people roaming the streets of Pacific Beach, getting drunk and taking cabs home alone. While the rest of her girlfriends had children and socialized with other families, she’d simply be weird Aunt Cate with a neurotic cat. And Paul—he would probably end up happily married to supermodel Heidi Klum and own homes in La Jolla and the Caribbean.

  24 • Out of Line

  She wanted to sleep until noon and eat Mexican food three meals a day. She wanted to lie on the couch with Grease curled up next to her feet and the remote control settled next to her hand. She wanted to make bracelets and take pictures at her own free will. But she couldn’t do these things. She was forced from bed by the rude sound of her alarm clock.

  On the first day of school, she took the kids to the playground for recess. They were giddy with the excitement of school starting. They needed to run around the playground for a while, burn off some steam.

  The kids had been racing around like dirty little hooligans for ten minutes when Timothy Sickle tapped her on the leg. She looked down at him.

  “Teacher?” he asked. “I need to go poopy.”

  “What’s my name, Timothy?” She asked in her singsong kindergarten teacher voice when she really wanted to grumble, It’s Miss Padgett, you little farter, and didn’t your mother ever teach you any manners? God, she’d been in a foul mood ever since Paul had dumped her.

  “Teacher,” he said, genuinely convinced that Cate had been given the name Teacher at birth.

  “No, Timothy. My name is Miss Padgett, and the polite way to say you need to go potty is to ask if you may please use the bathroom.”

  He stared at her as if she were explaining foreign stock trade.

  “Can you try asking again?”

  He shook his head.

  “Timothy, this is how you ask: ‘Miss Padgett, may I please use the bathroom?’ Okay? Now I want you to try.”

  “I need to go potty.”

  She gave up when she noticed Mackenzie Hurwitz throwing sand at Caitlin Miller. “All right, Timothy. The bathroom is right around the corner. You may go. But when you return, we’re going to have a talk about manners.”

  She ended the sand war and made Mackenzie sit in time-out for the rest of recess. By the time recess was over, she’d been pegged by a cherry ball, removed gum from Parker Carson’s hair, and sent one child to the nurse’s office for a skinned knee.

  She blew her whistle. “All right, class! Recess is over. I need each of you to please quietly line up in a straight row next to the wall.” Obediently, the children lined up, single file. “We’re going to have a quiet contest on the way back to the room,” Cate said. “Those of you who remain quiet the whole way back to the room will get a star on your progress report. When you have ten stars on your progress report, you get a smelly sticker.”

  She was just about to head back to the classroom when she noticed that Timothy Sickle was not in line. “Has anyone seen Timothy?”

  They all shook their heads.

  “I want you guys to stand really still, just like little statues for a minute. Do you guys know what statues do?”

  “They’re quiet!” Mackenzie yelled.

  “They’re quiet, and they don’t move. They’re just like a rock. Those of you who can be little statues for me will get two stars on your progress reports.”

  She entered the boys’ bathroom. It smelled stale and dank. Dots of petrified bubble gum covered the tiled floor. “Timothy?” she called. There was no answer. “Timothy!” She peeked under the stalls. Beneath the third stall she could see his small pants bunched up around his sneakers. “Timothy, I can see you in there. Why aren’t you answering me?”
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  A long silence followed. “Timo—”

  “Teacher, will you wipe me?”

  In all her years as a teacher, she’d never been asked to wipe a child.

  “No, Timothy. You are a big boy. You are in kindergarten now, and big boys don’t need help going potty. I am not your mommy or your baby-sitter, and I’m not going to wipe you. Now hurry up. The other kids are waiting.”

  Five minutes later, Timothy came out of the bathroom. Cate told him to go to the end of the line.

  When Cate got home that evening, she had two new messages.

  “Hi, Cate. It’s Nick. ’Member? I met you the other night with Jill. Anyway, I just wanted to see what you were up to.”

  Thank God she hadn’t been home. He’d already called four times since they’d gone to the West End, and she hadn’t returned any of his calls. She kind of felt bad. His only downfall had been not being Paul. It had been too soon to try dating someone else, and she made a mental note not to get involved with the rebound game again.

  The next message was from Beth. “Just wanted to tell you that I just saw Paul at Sav-On. I think he might be gay. Call me back.”

  Cate snatched up the phone. Paul! Sav-On! Gay! She needed the whole story—pronto!

  The line was busy. None of her friends had run into Paul since they’d broken up. She wondered if he looked sad, or if he had said anything about her. The curiosity was killing her!

  Again, she pounded Beth’s number into the phone, praying that it wasn’t busy. Still busy.

  She played Jill’s CD and sang along with Pink’s “There You Go.” She listened to the disc at least three times a day. The compilation of songs made her feel as if she were not only better off without No Call Paul but also thrilled about losing his flaky ass. Cate sang it with attitude, loud and unashamed.

  She turned up the stereo and began to move her shoulders from side to side the same way that Pink would. She danced toward the mirror and tossed her head back, singing at the top of her lungs. She was nearing the chorus when she heard a loud bang coming from beneath her. Startled, she stopped dancing and spun away from the mirror.

  “Turn that shit off!” her downstairs male neighbor yelled. He’d been banging the ceiling with something, probably a broom.

  She rolled her eyes and turned the music down, annoyed that her little concert was over and slightly embarrassed that she’d been performing for the apartment complex.

  While she waited for Beth to call, she checked her E-mails.

  FROM: Leslie Lyons

  SUBJECT: Bridesmaid Itinerary

  Hello girls. We’re getting down to the final days now! As most of you know I am extremely busy, so I don’t have time to take phone calls. I have all of your shoes and will distribute them to each of you at the rehearsal dinner. Cate and Sarah, I still need your checks.

  Oops. The check for one hundred eighty dollars was sitting in a stamped and sealed envelope somewhere beneath the free Humane Society calendar she had received in the mail and a pile of clothes on her wicker chair.

  I have attached the itinerary for the weekend. My wedding coordinator says that it is impairetive that you read it and follow it. Please follow ALL instructions. If one of you is late it will mess up the schedule and push everything back for the entire wedding party and all the guests. I am so happy and honored to have each one of you in my wedding. Can’t wait to see you this weekend!

  Love,

  Leslie

  Cate opened the five-page itinerary. As she glanced over the itinerary she realized she was no longer a bridesmaid, but instead a bride’s slave.

  Rehearsal Dinner:

  Rehearsal will begin at 5:30 p.m. at the Laguna Cliffs Marriott. Please dress appropriately. This is the most important day of my life. No flip flops, etc. Dinner will follow at Café Marseilles. Dates and significant others are welcome. Just tell me ahead of time if you are bringing someone. If you tell me the night of the rehearsal dinner I will not be able to accommodate them.

  Wedding Day:

  Hair begins promptly at 9:00 a.m. Again, if one of you is late it will ruin it for everyone. Please get a bight to eat before arriving at the salon. We will not be eating again until that evening.

  Bight? Cate had read enough. She was too anxious and absorbed with hearing Beth’s Paul info that she didn’t bother to read the following four pages. She closed the computer screen and dialed Beth’s number for the third time. “Beth! I just got your message. What happened?”

  “Well, I was in line at Sav-On when all of a sudden I see this impeccably dressed man two carts in front of me wearing Prada loafers and, you know that whole look. He was putting Kleenex on the conveyer and he turned around and it was Paul. He popped out of line for a minute and gave me a hug and asked how I was doing and then he asked how you were doing—”

  “He did! He asked about me?”

  “Yes. He seemed nervous. He was like, ‘So how’s Cate’ and kind of turned his head to an angle as if you’d just been through some kind of trauma.”

  “Ugh! He thinks I’m depressed about him. That egotistical jerk!”

  “Don’t worry. Listen to what I said.” She started to laugh. “I told him you were doing fabulous.” She had to stop because she was laughing so hard. “And then I told him you were dating a stockbroker.”

  Cate screeched. “But I’m not!”

  “So? He doesn’t need to know that.”

  They were both laughing now.

  “What did he say?” Cate asked.

  “He seemed kind of surprised and then he was like, ‘Good. That’s great because she seemed kind of mad about everything.’ I was like, ‘Mad? Cate mad? No. I’ve never seen her happier.’ ”

  The thought of Paul being burned in the middle of Sav-On by Beth’s harsh news was delightful. Then something occurred to her. “What am I going to do? He’ll be at Leslie’s wedding, and now he’s going to tell everyone I’m dating a stockbroker.”

  “Just say you went out with someone a couple of times. No one has to know. Besides, why aren’t you dating anyone? What’s going on with Ethan?”

  “Ethan? He’s fine.”

  “No, I mean, why haven’t you dated him?”

  “Dated him?” Cate was mortified. “He’s just a friend. I told you that already. Why does everyone keep saying these silly things?”

  “He’s so cool and cute, and I just think you guys would be perfect.”

  “You think he’s cute?”

  “Yes.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. And he would treat you so well.”

  “I know. I just . . . No. It would never work. He washes his hair with bar soap!”

  “I know. That’s great!”

  “No. It’s not like that with him. I can’t see him romantically. It’s too weird.”

  “You’ve just made up your mind that you’re not attracted to him. I think you should give him a fair chance. Just give the guy a chance.”

  “I’ve known him forever. Do you know how bad I would feel if I hurt him?”

  “What makes you so sure you’re going to hurt him? What if he ends up hurting you?”

  That was a good point, and this conversation was treading into deeper waters than Cate was prepared to swim in. She changed the subject.

  They talked for a while about the Halloween wedding before they said good-bye. After Cate hung up, she couldn’t help but imagine herself with a stockbroker.

  25 • Grand Exit

  Cate picked up her suit the day before Leslie’s wedding. The belt had been repaired. She was prepared to sign over her savings account to the seamstress and was elated to learn that the miracle was only going to set her back five dollars. It was the alterations in the bust that cost a small fortune.

  The following day went by quickly, and she left for Laguna Beach straight from school.

  When Cate arrived at the hotel, she noticed that the chuppah, a wedding canopy for the bride and groom to stand beneath during the ceremony, had a
lready been set up on the lawn outside the hotel. Rows of white folding chairs had been situated in front of the chuppah. Near the chairs stood a giant white tent for the reception.

  She checked in to the hotel, found her room, then changed into something appropriate for the occasion. Rebellion nagged her, and for a fleeting second she considered wearing a thong bikini and her reading glasses just to spite Leslie. She remembered that she didn’t even own a thong bikini as she headed to the chuppah.

  Luckily, Paul had not been invited to the rehearsal dinner. That was one less night that she was going to have to see his face.

  Leslie was waiting near the chuppah with a cell phone next to her ear. She grabbed Cate’s arm, took the phone away from her face, and let her voice drop to a whisper. “Don’t mention my stepmom in front of my mother, okay? Don’t ask where she is or anything. Don’t even mention her name.”

  “Okay.”

  It would probably be best to avoid Leslie’s mom altogether. Simply steer clear of any STD stories. Cate was en route to the chuppah when Ms. Van der Berke rushed toward her, waving her hands in giant circles. As if Cate would miss her in her flaming red and gold St. John suit.

  “Cate! So glad to see you!” Leslie had mentioned that she had Botox injections, and Cate could definitely see a change. Her face didn’t move when she spoke. Her boobs seemed much stiffer as well. She wore a number of jewels, including a giant ruby on her French-manicured hands.

  “It’s good to see you, Ms. Van der Berke,” Cate said. “How have you been?”

  Her eyes darted over the street each time someone new arrived. “Thank God my asshole ex-husband isn’t coming with his bastard child and that whore of a wife he took.”

  “Oh.”

  Cate noticed a man at least ten years Ms. Van der Berke’s junior standing behind her. Cate wanted to shout, “More power to ya, mama! Rob the cradle!” but didn’t think she was at that level with Leslie’s mom yet. Her gentleman friend was wearing a navy blue suit and had a boring haircut. His hands hung stiffly at each side. She waited for an introduction, but Ms. Van der Berke ignored him. Cate felt bad for him. She remembered the way she had felt when Paul took her out with all his friends and they ignored her.