Bridesmaid Dispatches - Part IV

Saturday...Wedding 

Run, Hydrate, Electrolytes, Moisturizer, Breakfast.

Hair and makeup at the local salon takes hours and I can hardly sit still. We return to dress, an act which seems so much faster than usual – our bridesmaid dresses are burgundy with beaded edges. I wasn’t such a fan when we chose it, but with the whole ensemble I look at myself in the mirror and I’m amazed at the transformation. It’s rare that I look this pretty. I hope it’s enough to stun some groomsmen into submission.

Shy smiles are exchanged between bridesmaids and groomsmen at the front of the church. It seems strange for us to feel awkward, but it’s momentary as my two favorites circle in…

G3: “You left us at the bar.”

Me: “Yes I did. Did you miss me?”

G3: “You know I did.”

Me: “Well, I had to go home to sleep.”

G1: “Alone?” he asks with a twinkle in his eye. This question makes me laugh as my two would-be volunteers against “alone-ness” are standing in front of me. Then they laugh.

Time to go have a wedding.

After countless pictures and one short limo ride, we arrive at the Edna Valley Winery. I find some friends and requisition some pinot. Finally, some time to relax and enjoy with people not entirely involved in the proceedings. Bottles are opened, cheese is eaten, introductions made, more “mucho gusto”s. G1 spends some time with me, meeting my friends and introducing me to the Chileans he knows. He is a sweet fellow. As the bridal party get officially “introduced,” I am again paired up with G3 – he seems nervous, and not in the mood to flirt. I wonder what this is about.

Speeches are made, a delicious dinner is eaten, and before dancing begins, I find G3 and G1 having cigarettes outside the tent. I greet them with: “It’s my two favorite Chileans!” The moment I approach G1 leaves – again, what is going on?

Me: “Look, you make G1 so nervous he has to leave.”

G3: “No, you make him nervous.”

Me: “I couldn’t sleep last night.”

G3: “Because of me?”

Me: “Of course, because of you.”

G3: “But you kissed G1.”

Me: “Oh, so you compared notes.”

G3: “Yes, he told me.”

Me: “Well, I like him more than you.”

G3: “I know.”

Me: “You’re trouble you know, you’re sort of scary.”

G3: “I’m not scary!” He looks genuinely hurt.

Me: “Yes – I don’t think I can trust you.”

G3: “You can’t trust me?”

Me: “No.” He shakes his head and finishes his cigarette. “But, it’s a wedding – anything can happen if you want it to – you just have to make an effort.”

G3: “You had your chance last night.”

Me: “No – you had yours…So, do you see anyone here you want me to introduce you to? Have your eye on anyone?”

G3: “Just you.” He smiles and starts to walk away.

I dance one of the first dances with him – “I left my heart in San Francisco” so appropriate on so many levels. It is one of the only times I’ve ever danced cheek to cheek with someone. He repeats the expression back to me “cheek to cheek?” like a question.

The dances start to get faster, rowdier, louder. I see both G1 & G3 flirting, talking and dancing with girls from the bride’s law school. They’re both somewhat typical, but oh well, I tell myself – it’s a wedding – games are played, romances blossom and die over the course of a cocktail. People come for easy ass so someone will no doubt hookup - why shouldn’t it be them? I’m in such a good mood I want to dance every dance and meet everyone I can meet. The bride's brother has smuggled in a flask full of something, and it makes its way to me a few times. Disco and pop mix with salsa and meringue, even “Gasolina” is played, and the wine keeps flowing. The cake is cut and eaten in a flash. Every time G1 gets a moment away from the girl talking to him, she comes back to find him. G3’s girl must speak Spanish because she’s in the thick of a crowd of Chileans in tuxedos – he’s only one of them. In a little while I see her lead him away from the dance floor and they’re gone for a good long while. Hmmm. That is indeed disappointing. Could it be possible that G3 mistook my insousciant flirtation as a genuine indifference to him? How could that be? Surely this would not have been lost in translation. I then strengthen my resolve to go for G1 – besides, the girl trying for him is an amateur.

I make my move at the earliest moment, and yet somehow it all goes very wrong. Wait – he doesn’t want this? What’s going on? I didn’t go home with G3 last night because of him – of course he wants to disappear with me – right? Yet, he remains a steadfast gentleman despite my better efforts to lead him astray. I’m completely puzzled, and then after a few moments, wounded. Why do I care so much? I return to the dance floor and G3 is still missing. He eventually returns but the damage is done.

As the party winds up, plans are made to meet back in town at a local tavern. I depart with friends – trying not to be upset about what’s developed in the past few hours. Although, truth be told, I am hurt to the point of tears at one time, but it passes. The feeling is not unlike being chosen last at kickball.

The bar everyone meets in is loud, cheesy, and over-stuffed with college students – I immediately start on the whiskey and dancing with friends. The crowd fills in even more, and there’s still no sign of the others. Finally, G1 arrives with his gal, and about five minutes later G3 makes a grand entrance while in an enraptured lip-lock with his gal. The place is a vast barn, flooded with enough college-level hormones and flirtations to burn the town down, but it’s all hard to miss. What is happening? Why isn’t anyone kissing me? Didn’t the last two days mean anything to either one of them? I have another whiskey and dance dance dance. G1’s gal is trying to nestle inside of his tux jacket while still on the dance floor, G3 eventually comes up for air and makes eye contact with me. I’ve always been good at the “death eyes” when I need to use them; I gave him some of my best. Within a second, he knew he’d made a mistake, but what’s done is done. He surrendered himself to the girl of his choosing. I’m pretty amazed actually, those two girls were really very drunk indeed – and let's all be honest, even if it is a one-night stand, don’t you want to be a little bit sober?

I’m sure I’m not the only bridesmaid who’s wandered home after a wedding with only a wilting bouquet to keep her company. As I walked away from the bar I kind of chuckled, after all, is it really appropriate for a bridesmaid to be doing the “walk of shame” at the bride’s parents’ home the morning after? If one thing remains true, I am a classy girl. I also laugh at myself too, realizing that this is what happens when you play for all: you win none.