The bride’s voice trembles the slightest bit while she’s in the middle of her vows, but she recovers quickly and, with a resplendent smile, is able to finish without crying.
The guests follow the celebration of love in moved silence while the mother of the bride’s sobs can be heard in the background.
The only hiccup comes when the best man has to be nudged by his fellow groomsman to bring the rings forward. Apparently, he was too busy staring at one of the bridesmaids—me—to realize his big moment had come.
How do I feel about it all?
So confused.
Weddings are too emotional. I shouldn’t be forced to reflect on my love life while attending one.
The way Archie is staring at me, he could ask me to be his casual fling for the rest of our lives and I’d gladly say yes. That’s why I have to avoid him at all costs. Tomorrow morning the party will be over. Winter and Logan will go on their honeymoon. My parents will head back to Pasadena. And Archie will be off to Berkley, out of my life for good. I have to resist twenty-four hours, tops. I can do it.
It’s easy to avoid him in the melee that follows the happy couple out of the chapel. Two groups form outside, ready to throw rice at the bride and groom as they exit the church. I make sure Archie and I are on opposite sides.
Before moving to the reception, we have to pose for a few pictures. But it’s all very orchestrated: bridesmaids on one side, groomsmen on the other, now only the bride and bridesmaids, groom and groomsmen, let’s switch it up, bring the parents in, and we’re done. No occasion to talk.
Next, the reception. The weather has been nice, allowing for the lunch to be served outside.
The party will take place on a portion of estate opposite to the vineyard. This patch of green, short-cut lawn is enclosed by tall, majestic trees—a clearing in a magical forest straight out of a storybook. The seating area has been staged to perfection: a rectangular raised stage under a white pole structure resembling a house with no walls. Crystal chandeliers dangle from the high middle pole, and white canvas with wide gaps between them serve as a roof. Long, rectangular tables fill the entire space, each decorated with green and white flower centerpieces and lined by King Louis XVI chairs with an oval back, white upholstery, and a natural wooden structure.
It’s what I imagine happily ever after looks like, which only serves to remind me why Archie and I can’t be together. Because I want this for myself one day. The fable wedding, to be the princess at the ball. But, most of all, I want a man who loves me so completely to want to spend the rest of his life with me, and to not be afraid to pledge that love in front of all our friends and family.
Family. That’s the other, more important reason. I want one of my own. A husband. Kids. The white fence. And the cat—no offense to dog lovers.
And Archie can give me none of those things. We’re Monica and Richard from Friends; I want kids, he doesn’t. I just have to be strong and stay away from him, and hope one day my Chandler will come along.
Just another few hours. I can be strong.
The seating arrangements are on my side. Inside the wall-less house, the wedding party table is laid parallel to the short side of the rectangular dais while the other tables are perpendicular to it. The bride and groom are seated in the middle. Archie is on Logan’s right, and I’m on my sister’s side two spots down. Unless I lean forward, I can’t even see the best man, which is great.
I’ve been so lost inside my head that it isn’t until the second starter that I notice the person sitting next to me. And I notice him only because he asks me if I could pass him the bread basket.
I mean, I knew Lana had a plus one, and who the plus one was. But how the hell did I not notice I’ve been sitting next to Christian Slade for the past half hour? I swear he wasn’t here when I sat down and, okay, I’ve been doing my best to stare the other way, but Penelope, his assistant, must’ve conjured him out of thin air.
I hand him the bread basket, trying not to blush. And not because he’s the celebrity actor who I’ve had a crush on since his first movie came out. But because this is the man who found Lana crying in a hotel closet after she’d discovered the affair I was having with her boyfriend.
With every new person I meet that knows about The Mistake, fresh shame engulfs me, and I’m brought back to that dark spot in my past filled only with self-loathing.
He takes the bread basket from me and nods a thanks. “Summer, right?” he says.
I nod.
“I’m Christian,” he says, needlessly.
“Er… nice to meet you?” It comes out as a question, because I’m not clear where this man’s opinion of me lands. Also, we both have our hands full—his with a bread bun, and mine with the fork and knife I’ve just picked up—so we don’t have to shake.
Christian breaks off a piece of bread without bringing it to his mouth. “I always wondered how I’d feel about meeting you.”
He has been wondering about me? I’m too stunned to reply, so he continues. “On one hand, you hurt Lana in a way no one deserves to be hurt.” I lower my gaze, fresh shame engulfing me. “On the other, if it weren’t for you, I would’ve never met her…”
As per my new policy of not shying away from my mistakes, I own up to it. “What I did to her was inexcusable. And I don’t know where she found the strength to forgive me. I’m only glad something good came out of it all. She’s really happy with you, and all I ask is that you give me the benefit of the doubt.”
Before he can reply, Lana pops her head forward.
“Hey, what are you two whispering about?”
Christian lowers his tone even further. “I was asking Summer for skincare advice.” Now I’m even more stunned that Christian Slade, People’s Magazine Sexiest Man Alive six times in a row, knows what I do for a living. “I have to beat Hollywood’s ageism, ya know?”
Lana rolls her eyes. “Don’t worry, your skin is more glowing than mine.” She wrinkles her nose and, looking at me, she adds, “So annoying.”
When Lana turns away again, Christian gives me a small, imperceptible nod that I receive as, “You get the benefit of the doubt once, but hurt my girl again and you’ll end up on my shit-list forever.”
I nod back, projecting, “Thank you, and I won’t screw up again, I’ve learned my lesson.”
***
The second course is cleared out and, before the wedding cake is presented, it’s time for the speeches. Logan makes one. My sister sticks to a short thank-you message; she’s always hated public speaking. And then it’s the best man’s turn.
Archie stands up and takes the microphone, giving me an excuse to watch him while he can’t stare back for longer than a few moments, not unless he wants to make his speech very awkward.
He doesn’t have a written script, and begins his address to the crowd off the cuff. “Logan and I have known each other since we were eighteen and by some lucky twist of fate ended up sharing a freshman dorm room. I have to say, when I first stepped inside and saw this prepped-up kid in his ironed shirt, he was so prim I wondered if he pressed his pajamas, too, and if we could ever become friends.”