Catch of the Day

by Whitney Lyles

The Wedding Party

  WHITNEY LYLES

  CHAPTER ONE

  Meg was standing by the chip and dip platter when she received the bad news.

  “I don’t think he’s coming,” Claire said.

  She held a tortilla chip midair. “What? Why?”

  “Ben said he missed his flight out of San Francisco, and the next one to San Diego is full.”

  She could feel the edges of her mouth falling, and she tried to hide her disappointment from Claire. The purpose of the party - wasn’t for her to rekindle her relationship with Mason Strout. She was here for Claire’s engagement party, to celebrate the future marriage of two of her closest friends.

  “Oh well,” she said. “It’s not a big deal. I’ll see him in a few weeks at the wedding.” She pretended like her heart wasn’t sinking like a ship on fire.

  “Good. I’m glad you’re not too bummed. And guess what?” Claire beamed. “We rented a karaoke machine! So, get ready to have some fun.” She waved to some new arrivals. “I gotta go say hi.”

  I won’t let this ruin my night. I won’t let this ruin my night, Meg thought. She tried to convince herself that she wasn’t disappointed that her ex-boyfriend wasn’t coming. Claire’s mom’s scalloped potatoes were on the buffet and Prince was playing on the stereo. Though she’d have to be very drunk to hit the karaoke machine, she had a long entertaining night of watching everyone else sing their hearts out to look forward to. It would still be a great party.

  Who was she kidding? She was devastated. She’d been waiting months for this evening. Last year, when Claire had asked her to be a bridesmaid, she was so honored she’d almost cried. However, when she’d found out that Claire’s fiancé, Ben, was asking Mason to be a groomsman, she thought she might be happier than Claire and Ben about their summer wedding. It might be a little selfish, but their marriage really meant more to her than free champagne and the electric slide.

  The realization that she’d made a huge mistake when she let Mason go had hit her months before the engagement. Since he lived in San Francisco now, she knew that her chances to correct her life-changing mistake were going to be scarce. This wedding was her beacon of hope to see him again.

  However, shortly after Claire and Ben were engaged, Ben left San Diego for FBI training in Quantico, Virginia. There hadn’t been time for an engagement party, and since Claire had her heart set on one they decided to postpone the party until he returned. She’d been worried sick that Mason would find a new girlfriend while Ben was learning to negotiate hostage situations and profile serial killers. There had even been a scare when Mason started dating someone else, but from what Meg understood it hadn’t lasted. She’d been waiting months for this and had been dining on solid protein to shed a few pounds from her five-three frame. And now he wasn’t even coming.

  Twenty minutes later she was still standing alone in the same spot, digging through her purse for her cell phone. Loners should always look busy. Preoccupied with something, so it appeared as if she chose to be alone. The task at hand, whatever it might be, was so overwhelming she couldn’t find the time to chat with anyone else. She was too busy to socialize, and she needed her phone immediately. Only she had no idea who she was going to call. Ever since her sister had given birth to twins she rarely answered the phone. Her best friend, Simone, was on a date with a fireman, and her neighbor, Dana, was in France. Meg had been feeding her cat.

  So she stood alone in her vintage Dolce pumps watching Claire’s gay uncle Albert sing “Mandy” on the karaoke microphone. Meg - wasn’t sure why he’d worn a tux to the party. Everyone else had understood that this backyard soiree was cocktail attire.

  “Oh, Maaaandyyyy,” he sang as he twirled to a few of Claire’s parents’ neighbors. She watched as he serenaded a little girl, before making his way to Claire’s sister, Avril. He sang to Avril as if she’d been Barry Manilow’s muse when he’d written the song. He tilted her chin up with his index finger.

  If he came anywhere near Meg she’d slap him. Okay, she - wouldn’t slap him. But she definitely didn’t want him serenading her. She looked down at her shoes, the same way one would pretend to look for a pencil when they didn’t want the teacher calling on them.

  She’d battled ruthlessly for her size-five black pumps on eBay. Vintage Dolce and Gabbana, the rhinestone brooches on the front of them had made her lose sleep until the end of the auction. She admired the way the stones glittered beneath the patio lights until she felt it was safe to look up again.

  Except for Avril, Meg was the only bridesmaid who had attended the engagement party. The rest of the girls were from Los Angeles, and couldn’t make it to the party in San Diego. Claire’s bachelorette party in Mexico was only a weekend away, and they’d all be attending. Meg had heard so much about the other bridesmaids, and she couldn’t wait to meet them.

  She spotted Avril rummaging through her purse as well. Her bottle-blond hair hung over the collar of her fur coat, and she wore pink pants with white patent heels. Her real name was April Caridini, but she had started going by Avril Carie a couple years ago when she had decided to pursue a modeling career. The results were far from glamorous, as she ended up posing in spandex atop treadmills and stationary bikes for a brochure for Slim Gym, where she worked as a receptionist. Like Meg, she appeared to be dateless—and friendless, for that matter. Meg headed her way.

  “Avril, it’s great to see you.” She couldn’t help it, but her eyes immediately wandered to Avril’s hairless eyebrows. Penciled lines resided above each eye, and Meg wondered what had possessed her to do this. Maybe she’d accidentally plucked too many, and when she tried to correct the situation it snowballed? Perhaps some nuclear hair removal cream? Or was this her idea of a new look? She wore a fur coat in San Diego in June, so one had to wonder.

  “Hi, Meg.” Her smile was tight.

  “So, how is your job? At the gym. Right?”

  “It’s fine.” She paused. “What do you do again?”

  “I’m a movie critic and entertainment writer for San Diego Weekly.”

  How many years had they known each other? Five? Six, maybe. Every single time Meg saw her she asked what she did for a living.

  “Hmmm,” she said. This was the part of the conversation when Avril could now return with a question for Meg. Keep the conversation going. Instead, Avril checked herself out in the reflection from the sliding-glass door.

  She was the type of woman that some guys probably thought was gorgeous. The same type of guy that hung out at Hooters and smelled like beer on Sunday afternoons. But she tampered with herself too much. If she would let things be she might be naturally pretty. Her brown hair had been dyed blond so many times that it looked like it was covered in rough gold semigloss spray paint. She always overdid it with the makeup, looking as if she used chestnut-colored crayons for lip liner and petroleum as gloss.

  Meg scanned the room for others to chat with, but the scene was bleak and so she made another attempt to connect with Avril.

  “So, how is your love life? Dating anyone these days?”

  “It’s okay.” She paused, then looked down at Meg. “Isn’t Mason coming?”

  Claire must’ve told her that she was hoping to see him. This irked Meg a tad, because she didn’t want it spreading like wildfire that she was still in love with him. It was kind of personal. Personal in the same way she didn’t want everyone to know she’d been fired from her last job because she’d told her psychotic boss to go to hell. It was fine if everyone assumed she’d quit.

  “No. I heard his flight’s been cancelled.” Meg tried to keep her tone cool and nonchalant.

  “You can’t ever go back.” Avril sounded like Meg’s mother, using one of her trite phrases like, “You lie down with dogs, you’re going to get fleas.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, it’s really hard to get back together with an ex. There are always reasons for breaking up with someone and people don’t really change. I’m just saying it’s us
ually impossible to go back. At least in my experience.”

  Well, you don’t know Mason and me, Meg wanted to say. You don’t know our situation and you hardly know me, you dummy. But instead she decided to let Avril rattle off her hollow wisdom. They stood in silence for several more seconds before Meg excused herself. Wasn’t there always one bad bridesmaid in every bunch?

  Meg decided her best bet for excitement was by the Brie platter. Cheese always excited her, and if dairy didn’t make her butt blossom like a magnolia in springtime she could and would eat an entire block of sharp cheddar in one sitting. She popped a slice of Brie into her mouth.

  “Hey. You dateless too?” She turned to a guy who appeared to be no more than eighteen and looked as if his last haircut had been given with a pair of garden shears. He had hoops in both ears, and she thought she saw traces of eyeliner beneath his eyes.

  She finished chewing. “Well, uh, yes. As a matter of fact I am.”

  “Yeah. Me too. I don’t have a date either.” He held his hands to the side and said, “I just plan on getting drunk.”

  She chuckled. “Nice attitude.” She probably could’ve been his babysitter at some point and wanted to tell him that she was twenty-seven years old, but he seemed harmless and just as lonely as her. “So how do you know Claire and Ben?”

  “I’m Ben’s cousin. Matt. I’m in the wedding.”

  She extended her hand. “Nice to meet you, Matt. I’m Meg. Are you a groomsman?”

  “No. I’m doing a reading. My brother is a groomsman.”

  “Oh. Who’s your brother?”

  “Bill. There he is right now!” Just as he pointed, “The Devil Went Down to Georgia” blasted from the karaoke machine, the shrill fiddle descending over the party like confetti.

  “Him?” She pointed at the guy who stood behind the microphone, rolling up the sleeves of his untucked shirt.

  “Yeah! That’s my brother!” Matt shouted over the music.

  Bill began to sing as if he’d been moonlighting in country bars his whole life. He was attractive in an outdoorsy type of way, deeply bronzed skin, with a prominent tan line where a large watch must’ve resided on his wrist. She sensed that his khaki pants and loose, button-down shirt were probably his dressiest clothes.

  He jumped on top of the Jacuzzi, stood on the cover and began to speak the words of the song as if he were Charlie Daniels himself. She watched as women flocked to the foot of the hot tub.

  When the fiddle part of the song sped up, he hopped from the spa, grabbed Claire’s grandmother, linked elbows with her and began to do-si-do around the barbecue. Meg watched as Claire’s parents did the same.

  Ben came from a huge family so it was no wonder she had never met these particular cousins. It was hard enough to keep track of his siblings half the time. He had twelve groomsmen, most of whom she’d never even met.

  As soon as Bill finished his song the entire party roared with applause and Claire’s mom immediately grabbed the mic. A line began to form for the karaoke machine.

  Matt grabbed her arm. “Let’s sing something.”

  She shook her head. “Oh no.” She laughed. “I can’t sing. Nooo way.”

  “So what? C’mon. It’ll be fun.” He tugged on her arm.

  “I can’t. I’m not kidding.” Not only did she not want to sing, but she was having way too much fun watching Claire’s mother sing “Build Me Up, Buttercup.” She was one of the only people Meg knew who still wore a beehive. Meg suspected she went through a bottle of hairspray a week. When Mrs. C moved, her blond hair - didn’t. She kicked her foot out in front of her as she sang, “I need you!” She proceeded to throw a foot out in front of her with each “build me up” chorus.

  She hardly noticed when Matt’s brother joined them. “Nice job,” Matt said as he patted his brother on the back. “Bill, this is Meg.”

  When she reached to shake his hand she noticed small beads of sweat around his temples. His loose dark hair hung over his ears.

  “Meg Thomlinson?” he asked.

  “Yeah.” She was pretty sure they had never met before. He would be hard to forget, and she started to feel a little embarrassed that she didn’t recognize him.

  “I’ve heard Claire and Ben talk about you quite a bit,” he said. “I just moved here from Santa Barbara, so I’m still getting to know everyone. I read San Diego Weekly too, and I saw your latest review on the Peter Jackson movie.”

  She hadn’t experienced this kind of flattery in ages. While San Diego Weekly was a popular magazine, it was pretty rare that anyone paid attention to her byline.

  “What do you do?” she asked.

  “I’m trying to start my own surfing camp for kids, but mostly I teach private lessons right now.”

  “You’re entirely responsible for getting this party started,” Meg said.

  “Someone had to do it.” He laughed. Matt excused himself and headed for the karaoke line.

  “You want to grab a drink with me?” Bill asked. They both glanced at her empty wineglass.

  “Sure.” He filled both their glasses with merlot and they stood near the wine table talking about movies and his recent move to San Diego. Meg had never met anyone like him. Surfers by nature were usually carefree to the point of being careless. They were nomadic and so laid-back that they lacked ambition to do anything other than surf. But he seemed to be ambitious and curious about everything.

  Matt returned with a twinkle in his eye. “We’re singing ‘Mony Mony.’ I’ve signed us up. All you have to do is the background. Bill is doing it with us. You know the ‘so good’ parts. Or ‘like a pony’? Just sing those lines.”

  “I’m not doing it.” She was definitely not drunk enough for this. But even as she protested she was dying to get up there. It looked like so much fun.

  “And now. Bill, Matt and Meg Jagger!” Mrs. C boomed from the microphone. It was going to be hard to argue with someone whose head butt could knock her out.

  “Meg Jagger?” She laughed nervously. “I’m hardly Mick Jagger and if you think I can sing like him you’re insane.” She stayed put.

  “Come on, Meg!” Claire yelled from the back. She looked around the room. They were all watching her. It was subtle at first, like the sound of crickets, but then the chanting became louder and louder with each passing second. She was sure Claire had started it and she wanted to kill her as they all chanted, “Meg! Meg! Meg!”

  What the hell? she figured. It wasn’t like Mason was here to see her.

  “All right,” she said before downing the remaining contents of her drink.

  “Good girl.” Bill patted her on the back.

  She was shaking when they got to the mic. Why? She wasn’t sure. It was just an engagement party. Everyone was drunk anyway. Mrs. C had just sung “New York, New York” and had almost backed into the pool when she hit the high notes. She’d even seen Avril browsing the karaoke book.

  Meg and Bill positioned themselves on either side of Matt. At first they all hovered around the mic and when she heard her own voice bellow out Billy Idol she didn’t think she sounded all that bad. Several seconds into the song Matt ripped the mic from its post, jumped into the crowd and knelt on one knee while he screeched out the words. Then, to her horror, he looked up and tossed the mic back to her. Clumsily, she fumbled with it, and for a moment felt like tossing it back. But Bill elbowed her and yelled, “Sing!”

  “You make me feel!” she belted out. She could feel Bill’s warm breath on her face as he moved in closer and sang the chorus. She looked out at the crowd, the glee in their eyes as they danced to her song, her singing. She felt like Janis Joplin and couldn’t control herself when the lyrics burst from inside her chest. She opened her arms and let her pashmina fall to the ground as she performed like a born diva. Matt and Bill scrunched in closer and picked up the background.

  It only felt natural to do the pony. She grabbed each side of her red skirt and bounced up and down while lightly kicking each foot in front of her. She was
in perfect sync with the music, and bounced higher, kicked harder with every chorus. She threw her head back and even shimmied a little.

  She was a rock star, and she felt her adrenaline surge when she noticed the first three rows of the dance floor doing the pony with her. She gave her foot its hardest kick yet, and felt the bliss that surged through her veins turn to ice-cold terror as her Dolce pump slipped off her heel and soared over the crowd. She screamed, but - everyone was too busy doing the pony to notice. Everyone except for the guy standing next to Avril in the back row. The guy who looked a lot like Mason. The guy who—holy shit—was Mason. Mason! She watched as his placid face became contorted and her pump headed like a shooting star toward his head. She stood frozen as his hand shot up and caught her shoe.

  Meg hobbled off the Jacuzzi, plucked her remaining shoe from her foot and darted for the ladies’ room. She passed Claire on the way.

  “That was aweslum!” Claire said, notes of intoxication in her voice. “Oh and hey.” She winked. “Maaaason. Apparently, he flew standby and lucked out.” She high-fived her.

  “I almost hit him with my shoe.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll get it back.”

  Actually, getting her shoe back was the least of Meg’s worries. She was supposed to look beautiful, make him instantly take a pleasant trip down memory lane—not thank God for unanswered prayers. She’d been doing the pony to “Mony Mony.” Her shoe had nearly taken his eye.

  She felt like she’d woken up after a long night of drinking, sick with regret and filled with memories of all the idiotic things she’d said and done. Only she wasn’t hungover, or drunk. She was pretty sober, which gave her no excuse to be singing Billy Idol in front of a crowd of fifty strangers. At least if she’d been drunk she’d have a reason for all this.

  Her dark hair had frizzed in the fresh air, and if she had known he was going to come she would’ve avoided the karaoke machine at all costs. She did her best to smooth her hair, and felt somewhat comfortable with the soft wavy look she was stuck with when she left the bathroom.