by Amy Teegan
“Hey hey hey,” he calls after her. She’s leaving without even saying good-bye? “You leaving? You want to go get a drink or something?”
She stops and watches him as he jogs toward her. “Um. No, thank you. I just want to go home.”
“You want a ride?” He grins.
“No, Ian. Please, just … I’m really tired. I’ll see you some other time. Good-bye.”
“Wait wait. I thought last night was fun?” He lowers his voice to his ‘just us’ level and tries to put his hand on her waist to pull her closer but she side steps his touch.
“Well, for a while it was fun. But … Ian.” She looks at him with the same pity he saw in Karen’s face. “That was a one-time thing, okay?”
“What? C’mon, Amber. We’re great together. Why are you blowing me off?”
She heaves a big sigh and stands quietly for a few moments.
“What?”
“Ian. I don’t really know how to say this without making it sound rude. So, I guess I’ll just say it?”
He narrows his eyes, but doesn’t respond.
“You’re …” She rolls her eyes, but makes herself continue. “You’re very handsome. And very charming. And you are a really great kisser.”
He grins. “Yeah?”
“Don’t interrupt.”
They eye each other.
“But, Ian … I mean. I’m sorry, but there’s not much more to you.” She winces a little as she says it.
“What?” He tries hard not to come off offended. To sound nonchalant. An uninterested bystander. He can’t overreact. He knows she’ll stop telling him what he needs to hear if she thinks he’s going to flip out.
“Ian, I have known you more than half your life, right? Since you were… what? Seven or eight? You used to be this adorably sweet kid who liked basketball and LEGOs, remember? And then somewhere along the line you hit puberty and got obnoxious. You discovered girls and you have never been the same.”
“So? I’m a guy. I grew up. What’s the problem?”
Amber sighs and looks around. They’re still on the dance floor. “I don’t really think that now is the time or place to get into all of it, Ian.”
“What the fuck, then? You just blow me off and don’t tell me why? Except that I don’t like LEGOs anymore?” He grabs her elbow and pulls her around to the far side of the dance floor as he says this, in the shadows of the house.
“Okay okay.” Amber covers her face with her hands, rubbing her eyes. “Ian, you know that I care about you. As Lindsay’s brother. I’m not trying to hurt you, but … “
“But, what, Amber? Fuck, just spit it out.”
She sighs, finally looking him directly in the eyes. “Since you discovered girls… you haven’t really been interested in anything else.”
“So?” Why was she making this so difficult? She wasn’t making any sense.
“So … I’m not interested in girls. Karen isn’t interested in girls. But you are interested in nothing else. Which means you and I have nothing in common. You see?”
He frowns, trying to follow.
“You’re not the kind of guy who is good for more than a couple dates. There is literally nothing for us to talk about. You’re just not meant to be a boyfriend. And there are very few girls who are going to hook up with you more than once or twice since there is clearly no future with you.”
Ian is stunned.
Amber continues, talking a little faster now that the worst is over. “But, Ian, you’re young. This is probably just a phase, right? And then you’ll mature a little and live the rest of your life happy in a longer-than-two-nights relationship.”
This is too much. “Fuck you. I’m twenty-two.”
“Oh. Well, excuse me,” she says. “Yes, my mistake. The wisdom of all your many years has surely solved this problem.”
“Fuck you,” he mutters.
She throws up her hands. “Fine. Nevermind. You’ve got it all under control.” Amber rubs her temple again. “I’ll see ya.”
She reaches for his hand, squeezing it just once before dropping it and walking away.
Ian wants nothing more than to punch something or someone. But, as there is nothing nearby but the wall of the house he forces himself to calm down.
I should just go home, he thinks. I can’t drink any more here or I won’t be able to drive. I’ll go home and drink there.
He looks up in time to see Karen and Sophie walking down the dark driveway a little bit ahead of Amber.
Damn it, he thinks. Damn it, damn it.
10:02pm Kristy
Kristy leans against the side of the house, trying to take some of the weight off her feet. She’s standing directly under the porch lamp. Lit from above, she can picture exactly how she looks with the harsh shadows cutting across her face. Her eyes must look hollow and her cheekbones dominating. She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly as she rolls her shoulders back. The bruise she predicted has made its appearance where her camera bag has been hanging all day.
She pulls her phone out of the side pocket of the camera bag. 10:02pm. Thank God. She can pack up and leave. Go home. Kick her shoes off and crawl into bed. She has officially fulfilled her contract and no longer has to stand around watching slightly tipsy people dance atrociously.
A quick glance around tells her most of the guests have left. Lindsay, Ryan and a couple of the bridesmaids are still on the dance floor, but Amber is already almost to the end of the driveway. The flower girl has been taken home. The groomsman with the baby — what is his name — has left an hour ago. The wedding is definitely winding down, and Kristy won’t miss anything.
Hell, even the bar has been packed up. Everyone has been cut off. The evening is done.
Marta is still on her feet — half-dancing, half-photographing the gorgeous twenty-something girls still dancing. All three of them have lost their shoes sometime in the last couple hours and are holding up their long gowns with one hand. The bottom hems of are probably ruined. At least dirty, maybe ripped.
Not that anyone ever really wears their bridesmaid dresses again.
“Last song for the lovebirds,” the DJ croons. The first two iconic notes in Etta James’s voice come through the speakers.
“My loooooove has come along …” Marta has made her way over to Kristy and sings right next to her.
Kristy smiles. “It’s a great song. You ready?”
“Sure thing. Let me just grab my bag from the dining room.”
“Cool. I’m going to go say good-bye. Meet me back here.”
Kristy hoists the camera bag back on to her shoulder — balanced perfectly on the bruise, of course. She’ll take some Advil before she goes to bed tonight — and moves off to find the boss.
“Leah? Hey, I just wanted to let you know we’re out of here. Great wedding.”
Leah is sitting down for maybe the first time all day. The first time Kristy has seen her do it at least. The reception tables are all cleared of dishes, most of centerpieces and straggling party favors, and Leah is seated way back in the dark corner of the backyard where she will not be seen. But still, she is seated.
She stands when she hears Kristy call for her.
“Thank you so much for all your hard work today, Kristy.”
“Of course. No problem. Just doing my job.”
“I hope I see you again soon,” Leah says, shaking her hand.
“Sure.” Kristy smiles. “Maybe.”
She makes her way back to where Marta is waiting. Everything is packed up. Everything ready to be taken home, away from this wedding. From any wedding.
“Ok. I’m ready. Let’s go home!” Marta has her wide camera bag slung over her shoulder, water bottle in hand.
“At last.” Kristy can’t help but grin. The final notes peter out as they walk down the dark driveway.
10:09pm Dylan
Dylan is taking one last moment alone before heading home. The strings of bistro lights criss-crossing over the backyard lend a war
m glow to the entire event. But the driveway where he stands now is dark in contrast. Dark enough that he feels hidden, but not dark enough that he can see more than a small handful of stars. That would be unheard of this close to the city.
The grandpa from earlier comes to the end of the walkway, staring down the mostly dark driveway. He hasn’t seemed like he has dementia when Dylan talked to him earlier, but maybe he does.
Dylan moves a couple steps closer — just enough into the light that he can be seen. He doesn’t want to poor man to think he’s being spied on.
“Oh, hello, my boy. I’m sorry. Can you tell me what time it is?”
“It’s, uh, ten after or so.”
“I see. And did you happen to see the woman I came with. Or her lovely daughter, the flower girl?”
Dylan thinks about who is left back on the dance floor. “No. I don’t think so. Would you like me to check?”
“No, that’s alright.”
He is quiet for so long, Dylan almost walks away. But the man is … old. At least in his eighties. And apparently his family has forgotten him. Again. Dylan doesn’t feel right just leaving him alone, in the dark without any way home.
“Can, uh… Can I help you with something, Mr. Page?”
He lets go a long, deep breath. “No, I don’t think so. Unless you can call me a cab? I don’t carry a cell phone, you see.”
“Sure, of course.” Dylan pulls out his phone and starts looking up a number.
“How much do you think a cab would be?”
“Oh…. Um. I’m sorry, sir. I have no idea. This is Los Angeles. I don’t know if I’ve ever taken a cab in my life.” He half laughs apologetically.
“Of course. You’re right. Thank you.” He turns back to look down the dark driveway.
Dylan thinks for a minute. About what his mother has always taught him about work ethic and about how this man doesn’t seem to have any family interested in him. “Just one moment, Mr. Page. I’ll be right back.”
Dylan turns and runs, dodging the couple of guests still milling around and slipping passed the DJ’s table to find his mom. She is in the back of the yard, staring at her phone while her team piles up folding chairs around her.
“Mom. Hey, mom!”
10:29pm Sophie
Sophie and her mom are almost home. There is always some traffic in Los Angeles, even on a Saturday night, but they are mostly lucky tonight. The clock on the dashboard reads 10:29pm. Way past Sophie’s bed time.
“Did you have a good time, baby?”
“Yes, mom.”
“I’m glad.” She reaches over and squeezes Sophie’s knee. “Did you make any new friends? I know I didn’t see you a lot of the night.”
“Kinda. Um … the photographer lady was nice to me. And that boy that wore the sunglasses during the wedding?” She giggles. “He danced with me. We danced to “Welcome to New York.” He’s not as good as you though, mom.”
“Hey, that’s our song.”
Sophie grins. It has been so long since her mom had teased her. Or remembered their song.
“Let’s listen to it, ‘kay? Find my phone cord for me?”
Sophie pulls her mom’s purse onto her lap from where it had been resting at her feet. The gray Corolla is already ten years old, so it takes a bit of tweaking and customizing to get to play any music from the phone to the stereo. But Sophie is an expert. She has done this many times before.
Sophie feels her body lean slightly to the right as her mom swerves the car unexpectedly. But she is focused on finding the right cord to plug in the phone so they can listen to the song.
Bright blue and red lights bounce into Sophie’s eyes from the mirrors.
“Oh fuck,” her mom says. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck. Oh shit. Ok. Here’s what we’re going to do.”
Sophie freezes. What’s happening? Mom pulls the car over to the side of the road. Before the car is even in park, she snatches her purse from Sophie’s lap and begins frantically pawing through it.
“Okay, Sophie. I don’t know what is going to happen, but I need you to make sure you grab your jacket. Got it? Good.” She pops an Altoid into her mouth and continues to talk around it. “And take my phone so you can call your dad. Looks like it needs to be charged, so don’t use it until you have to. If you can’t reach Dad call Uncle Tory, ok?”
Sophie nods, crying. Why would she need to call Dad? She feels like she might be sick.
A tall, stern man — is that a policeman’s uniform? — walks up to her mom’s side of the car and taps on the window.
10:35pm Amber
Once again alone, Amber fishes her apartment keys out of her purse. The security light by her door had burned out a couple days earlier, but it has been replaced sometime since she had left. Even with the bright new bulb, she has to stab at the handle three times before she can find the hole and slip the key in. She carries only her purse and her shoes. Her overnight bag, with two days worth of clothes, her make-up, even her toothbrush is still in the car. All of that can wait until tomorrow.
The straps of her black heels are hooked just barely in her pinky while she tries to hang on to her keys and turn the door handle at the same time. She drops all of it on the floor just inside the door as soon as she takes a step in. Her purse gets tossed onto the entry way table, right by where her keys are supposed to go. She closes the door behind her with just her foot. She will lock it up in a second.
Amber drags her feet the final six or seven steps and collapses into her wide armchair.
She has not been home since Friday morning — almost forty-eight hours — and is so glad she had the forethought to clean a bit before she left. There is nothing better than coming home to a cleared off table, soap-smelling bathroom, and clean carpet under her feet.
Her head aches from the bobby pins, and she feels like she has a fine layer of dirt all over her. She probably does. A whole day’s worth of dirt and sweating.
What a day.
Amber thinks back to the shower she had had that morning. Such a lovely quiet time before having to spend an entire day pretending to be happy and not miserably lonely.
She grabs the arms of the chair and hoists herself back to standing. With one hand she locks her front door, turns out the living room lamp and with the other hand continues to pull out bobby pins, collecting quite the pile as she makes her way to the bathroom.
Amber roots around in the bottom drawer of the vanity while the shower water heats up. There — found it. A new bar of luxury soap from Lush. Sandstone. She had bought this for herself for her last birthday and had been saving this for a special occasion. No day like today.
The mirror is already beginning to fog up when she steps into the tub. Amber begins immediately to massage her scalp, wetting her hair and scratching her nails across the more tender areas where bobby pins had been lodged for ten hours. She closes her eyes, feeling the hot water massage her neck and back, washing away the grime from the day. Calming her anxiety, even, and giving her yet another fresh start.
Amber takes a deep breath as she rubs the sweet, slightly citrus soap against her skin, exfoliating and helping her lose the layer of wedding day covering her surface and have a fresh clean start.
10:39pm Ian
The clock on the dashboard says 10:39 when Ian parks his car. His parents aren’t home yet; they hadn’t looked like they were even close to leaving when Ian said good-bye at the wedding.
Well, at least someone enjoyed it, he thinks.
The house is dark, but Ian leaves the lights off as he walks through the entryway. The dark feels friendlier somehow, like he can better think through this whole mess without the glare of light to push away his thoughts. In the kitchen, the bright light from the refrigerator is overwhelming. He has to stand there, letting his eyes adjust, for a moment before he grabs a beer.
Fuck. He is fucking alone on a Saturday night after spending all evening with tipsy bridesmaids. How is that even possible? What the fuck is wrong with him?
Ian finishes his beer standing right there in the kitchen, and grabs a second before heading back to his bedroom.
Ian realizes he could probably call Karen, or send a message to her through Ryan. If he wants to. But first, he needs to figure out what his problem is. How did he fuck up this weekend already after such a promising start?
Is Amber right? He keeps coming back to this thought. Is he really not worth more than a night or two? Do girls really see him like that? What is he interested in other than chasing pussy?
He wanders almost aimlessly through the door to his bedroom. It is full of dirty clothes all over the floor. He has a desk in the corner under the window where he used to do homework, but now it is just piled with dirty dishes and empty Red Bull cans. Ian stands in the middle of the room and does a full 360-degree rotation, looking all around him.
He keeps the light off, and uses the glow from his cell phone to step around the clothes on the floor.
He remembers when he used to have L.A. Lakers bed sheets. He remembers the Kobe Bryant posters and the little Nerf hoop that used to be hanging up. Even further back, he remembers spending entire Sundays in here building elaborate castles or space stations with LEGOs. But now?
Fuck, he thinks as he sinks onto the bed. He’s not careful, and the beer in his hand sloshes out of the can onto his tux pants.
Oh well. He doesn’t have anything else to do tomorrow except return the tux. They could get the beer out then.
He sits up straight, realizing: He doesn’t have anything to do tomorrow. Because he doesn’t have a girlfriend and doesn’t have any hobbies. What the fuck?
Is Amber right?
He does another look around, but more slowly. There is nothing in this room that is interesting. He can finally see it through Amber’s eyes. The guy who lives here is a tool. He has spent so long trying to be the cool guy who got girls that he has forgotten what it is that actually interests him.