And then there was one.
Alex didn’t look at me during the rehearsal. I tried to catch his eye, but when it became apparent he wasn’t going to look, I took that as a clear sign that trying to talk to him would be futile.
Megan and Tim were both semi-practicing Catholics, so the ceremony would be held at Megan’s family’s church, with the reception following at a swanky hotel in DC that boasted a spectacular view of the National Mall. Megan’s mother didn’t quite make eye contact with me either, which I recognized as evidence she had read the blog and disapproved of my sexual proclivities while drunk. And apparently even the priest was a Buzzfeed reader, because when he explained the communion to the wedding party, he made a point of saying that only Catholics were to take the communion. “If you aren’t Catholic, or are and aren’t pure enough to take communion at this time”—he looked pointedly at me—“you will simply bow your head.”
I considered chiming in that I wasn’t Catholic, so my religion was the issue, not my purity, but I kept my mouth shut and glowered silently at the floor instead.
I wanted to be deliriously happy for Megan. Isn’t that how you feel on your best friend’s wedding day? But the priest’s comment at the rehearsal had knocked me for a loop. It meant everyone at the wedding—and on Megan’s side, that included people I had known for most of my life—had read the blog and knew what I had done. And even worse, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out which groomsman was creepy and which one was avoiding me like the plague, so not only had I humiliated myself, but Alex was probably suffering too.
But for Megan, I put on my cheeriest smile and faked it. Even when I said good morning to Claire and she turned her head the other way, I didn’t let my face show what I felt.
Megan knew though. She put a hand on my arm while the stylist curled my now semi-permanently-straightened hair around the barrel of an iron, and I looked up to see pity reflected in her eyes. “You look beautiful,” I told her.
She leaned in close and whispered in my ear, “You can do this.”
I nodded, not quite trusting myself to talk, and swallowed hard. “I don’t matter today.”
“You always matter, Lil. And I’m sorry I ever made you feel otherwise.” She saw that I was struggling to maintain the cheerful front and switched gears. “You ready to get strapped into that bra?”
“I’m burning that thing after today.”
“How very retro.” She took my hand and squeezed it.
Mark was the best man, so I was paired opposite him at the altar. Alex was two people behind, with Justin standing directly behind him. I couldn’t look at Alex without seeing Justin looking back at me, so I tried to focus on Megan instead, which was where I should be looking anyway. But I kept gazing back, willing him to look at me too. To offer some hope of forgiveness.
He didn’t.
When the ceremony was over, Mark smiled genuinely at me as he offered his arm, and I took it, reminding myself to smile for the pictures. The last thing I wanted was to look sad in Megan’s wedding album.
We toasted the couple in the limo on the way to the hotel, posed this way and that for the photographer, and finally it was time for the reception. I refused the champagne that the waiters kept pouring though; I needed a clear head for my speech.
The bandleader gestured to Mark and he went to the bandstand to begin his toast. I looked around, frantic; Alex hadn’t taken his seat at our table yet. I spotted him leaning against the bar as Mark began to talk. I just needed to know where he was—even if it was so I could not look at him during mine.
I would love to say that I paid attention to Mark’s speech, but I didn’t. Instead, I ran through mine in my head. When everyone around me raised a glass, I did the same, and then it was my turn. The bandleader introduced me, and the band played a snippet of the song “Notorious” as I rose to take the microphone. I spun to give Megan a look. She threw her head back and laughed.
I left my notecards at my seat. I had the whole thing memorized, so they would just be a distraction. Mark handed me the microphone, and the bandleader gestured to the band to cut the song.
“Well, that was probably an appropriate introduction,” I began, veering off course. There was some laughter.
“I’ve known Megan since we were seven years old. The day we became friends, in fact, she smacked another girl in the face with a Snoopy lunch box for telling the entire bus that I had a crush on Ricky Wilson.” More laughter.
“Everyone needs a friend who will beat someone else in the head with a lunch box for you, and Megan has always been mine. Of course, I’m sure there are more than a couple of you here tonight who would like to hit me with a lunch box, and not out of friendship. In fact, there’s a whole second reception line after dinner so everyone I’ve wronged can take turns slapping me with a Snoopy lunch box.” Much heartier laughter. Claire caught my eye as one of the few people not laughing. She sat stone-faced, her arms crossed. If I had actually brought a lunch box, she would be racing to be first in line.
“Learning to share Megan has been hard, but Tim has been particularly gracious about it. And I couldn’t wish for a better husband for my wife—oh sorry, did you not know about that? Megan and I have a pact that we’re going to marry each other if either of us is still single at forty, so by my calculations, you’ve got just over seven years until I take her back.” Less laughter at that one, but still a decent amount.
“In all seriousness, though, it’s been inspiring to watch how happy you have made Megan. I’ve been with her through so much, but I’ve never seen her light up the way she does with you. And there’s no one else in the world I could share her with so freely.
“Megan and Tim, may you always be this happy. May you share the joys of this world together always, and may your lives be as full of wonder and bliss as you both are today. I love you so much.” I raised my glass and the crowd followed as I felt tears well up in my eyes.
“To Megan and Tim.” The room echoed my sentiment, and I returned to my seat. I glanced around the table—Alex was still at the bar, so I couldn’t gauge his reaction.
I picked up a glass of champagne that the waiter had filled while I was speaking. I could drink now at least—just not to the point where I did anything stupid.
Alex slid into his seat at the table, across from me, once the salads were in place. He mostly talked to Claire’s husband, Alan, but finally, over the main course, he glanced in my direction.
I froze. Part of me wanted to shout how I felt across the table. Part of me wanted to crawl under the table and hide.
He held my gaze for what felt like several minutes, making noncommittal responses to Alan until he eventually looked away.
It was something though. And enough to give me a quick sense of hope.
Megan and Tim were invited to the dance floor by the bandleader, and we all watched from the darkened room as they did their choreographed routine in the spotlight. As they twirled around the floor, I sat there trying to work up my courage. When the bandleader invited the rest of the guests to join them on the dance floor, I saw Mark turn to me from the corner of my eye, but I got up and ran around the table to Alex.
“Can we talk?” I asked.
“Now?”
“Yes. Or I’ll lose my nerve.”
He sighed, but he pushed his chair back from the table and stood, offering me his hand. I looked at him in surprise. “It’ll look bad if we leave the room. It will be better if we dance.” I nodded and took his hand, then followed him onto the dance floor.
We stayed near the fringe, where the music was quieter, his arm loose around my waist. He remained silent.
“Please say something,” I said finally.