The Bloody Mary I sipped was on point. The combination of good conversation, delicious food and a cold drink—had done it again. My left arm was successfully burned from the Arizona sun, but there was no way in hell I would be moving to the shade. I might switch arms though.
My best friend and I were soon headed to crash a wedding, but we were in no particular hurry. Who wants to rush away from poolside drinks with a mountain view? Not this chica.
We finally got back to the house to change for the wedding. My friend’s roommate’s dad was getting married and we had been “included” last minute. They said it would be small but we were more than welcome to come. Of course I’m going to go. No brainer.
I’ll admit, our main priority wasn’t to be on time, per say. We figured worst-case scenario we would just slip in the back of the church. Well here’s how it actually played out, folks.
My friend and I, bachata music blaring, sassy, little red Mazda—whip into the parking lot. Now I don’t want to embellish here, but it felt a lot like Tokyo drift as we slid into our parking spot (my brother would be proud).
Quick lipstick application and we hop out of the car. We see the curtains in the back of the building open and close again quick. Uh-oh. Are people actually waiting on us?
Now as I walked up to this building, from the outside, I could see that it was about the size of my tiny Chicago apartment. The overly optimistic side of me thought, “Maybe it’s like Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory? And will be bigger on the inside. Thus allowing us to blend in.” Cute Megan, cute.
Door to the chapel opens and less than fifteen friendly faces stare back at us. Ohhhhh, so this wasn’t a small wedding, this was pretty intimate. Got it. The groom in his I’m-about-to-be-married-and-I’m-nervous-as-hell voice says, “So nice of you to make it.” Deer in headlights look. We scoot quickly to our seats.
It turns out the peeking curtain a few minutes earlier…that was the bride. Waiting to walk down the aisle.
After the ceremony, the newlyweds had pictures taken around the grounds. The fifteen of us watched them, shuffled our feet, talked to statues, and attempted awkward conversation. I loved every minute of it—you know me.
The bride said she wanted a picture with everybody. Okay well I’m so far removed from this couple that I didn’t include myself in this “everybody”. The bride wasn’t having that, so the picture was taken, and I’m in it. I imagine one of two things happened: The photographer either took the picture and then immediately deleted it—it was for show. OR that couple is going to have a hard time remembering who the hell that girl in the black dress was.
The venue was adorable—a balmy night, lights in the trees, beautiful centerpieces, and ummm, free wine.
Then the toasts happened. Ah ha ha the toasts, always my favorite part of the wedding. It’s important for you to remember, I am seated at the table with the groom’s two children. Their parents were married up until three years ago.
Glasses raised, the bride’s friend from work starts her speech. “I was in the car at the stoplight…waiting, we wait in life….waiting is hard, we wait for so many things… wait wait wait waiting wait.” I look at my friend. What the hell is this waiting theme? I’m nervous. Who waited for what?! Ah. Crickets chirp. No, literally they chirp. We are outside. But it’s ironic and wonderful nonetheless.
The work friend nervously smiles, “I’ll never forget when she first came into my office five years ago. She shut the door and said, ‘So he and I are dating, but you have to keep it on the dowwwwn low.’” She giggles; thinking her use of a pop culture phrase is cute. The rest of us just sit there, with bug eyes. We all forgot to breathe.
Five years? But I thought three years? At that moment I want to turn into a damn cricket myself and hop the eff away… but I brought this on myself and I realize, “Duh, this’ll be a great story later.”
I dare to glance at the groom’s son; he winks at me and raises his glass with a smirk. He knew. He was just there to support his father, knowing we all make mistakes (and will probably keep making them).
As my friend, her roommate and I left the reception, he told me he’s never seen his sister laugh so much as she did when she was at our table. She even hugged me goodbye–a rare occurrence I’m told. At the reception I acted out a ridiculous amount of stories in order to fill the silence gap. I was actually drained by the time we left, from keeping up the conversation—but damnit, the groom’s kids were going to enjoy themselves if it was the last thing I did.
I can only hope that when the groom’s kids look back at that awkward picture of “everybody”, they see the girl in the black dress and remember, “She helped us make the best of an awkward situation.”