After All

Yeah, that’s the other problem. During the summer months, finding a date to a wedding is next to impossible. I’m starting to think there’s a business idea in men and women as wedding dates for hire, of course in this city the males would be in high demand. I’m not sure if there’s more women than men here or that the male dating pool sucks (and I can attest that it does) but all the guys have to do is snap their fingers and a woman will be conjured up in front of them. It’s I Dream of Genie but with sex. Meanwhile all the women are fighting over a remotely eligible man like they’re duking it out over the last ham on Christmas Eve.

But, I promised myself I wouldn’t dwell on it. Not today. Today is Jackie’s day. And despite our friend and co-worker Tiffany having too many mimosas at breakfast, everything is working out beautifully. It’s a sunny and warm summer afternoon with not a cloud in the sky, Jackie is looking absolutely stunning in her designer wedding dress (low-cut Grecian style top with a poufy skirt), her golden-brown hair flowing in sleek waves over her shoulders.

As her bridesmaids, Tiffany and I don’t look half-bad either. Even though Tiffany’s head is currently half-hanging out the window, her updo is staying intact and her makeup is perfect. Jackie’s colors for the wedding are blue and hot pink, so we were able to pick whatever style of dress we wanted so long as the color was an exact match. Tiffany is thin and tiny, so she’s rocking the classic strapless cocktail dress while I’ve got an empire waist and fluttery sleeves to hide my fluffy arms and stomach. The only problem is that my cleavage is bordering on vulgar so I have to keep reminding myself to pull up the neckline and make sure the girls are in check.

“I’m feeling better!” Tiffany suddenly exclaims, straightening up and looking at both of us with wide eyes.

“Did you just do a line of coke when we weren’t looking?” I ask her.

She looks at me absolutely horrified, which was the point. Tiffany is twenty-one, still lives at home (which is actually smart in Vancouver’s vicious housing market), and for all her bluntness, dry humor and quirks, there are still a few things that shock her. Mainly drugs, co-ed changing rooms and farting. When you work with a person for a long time, you end up learning a lot about them.

“I don’t think I’ve ever done day-drinking before,” she says as way of explanation.

Jackie and I exchange a look. As the oldest of the group, my look is the most weighted.

“No day-drinking? How did you survive high school? Or college?”

“I studied and got good grades. You try having my parents. I didn’t even have a sip of wine until I was seventeen and at my Uncle Lin’s wedding.”

“Oh Tiffy Whiff. What are we going to do with you?”

“You can start by not calling me Tiffy Whiff.”

I shrug and sit back in my seat. Despite being the oldest, I’m still the one who is single. Tiffany has a long-term boyfriend, Ken, and Jackie of course is getting married today.

She’s also pregnant. No, it’s not a shotgun wedding. They only found out last month or so. Of course, I’m absolutely thrilled. Everyone is, especially Will and most especially Jackie’s nine-year-old son Tyson, whom she has from a previous relationship. The baby wasn’t expected at all but sometimes the best things in life catch you by surprise.

I look Jackie over again, beaming at how beautiful she is, how radiant she looks. If anyone deserves eternal happiness with a sexy gentleman like Will, it’s her.

“Make sure you eat enough,” I tell her. “You barely touched your avocado toast.”

“Did you know avocado toast is why I can’t afford to buy my own house?” Tiffany pipes up.

I’d heard that shit before. Newspaper articles blaming everything from avocado toast to social media as the reason why millennials can’t afford a house. In Vancouver it’s because a tiny tear-down house in the city is worth over a million dollars. I have a job that pays well and yet I still have to live with a roommate. And no, I don’t eat my weight in avocados, even if I look it.

“I’ll try,” Jackie says. “I haven’t had an appetite.”

“Too nervous?” Tiffany goads.

“I told you, I’m chill,” Jackie reminds her. “I’m chill. I’m good. I’m great. Cool as a cucumber.”

I narrow my eyes thoughtfully. The lady doth protest too much.

“As cool and cucumbery as you are,” I reassure her, “you have nothing to worry about. The rehearsal last night went fine. The ceremony will be over before you know it and then it’s time for you guys to have fun.”

“I never said I was worried.”

“I know you didn’t…”

“Do you think Ty is too old to be a ring bearer?” she suddenly says. “What if he doesn’t want to do it and is only trying to make me happy?”

“He’s not too old and you can tell he likes the responsibility. He wants to be a part of it all.”

“What if Emmett does something stupid?”

“Cruiser McGill!” Tiffany exclaims, clapping her hands together.

I sigh. I’ve never met Emmett Hill, Will’s friend and fellow groomsman. I have, however, heard a lot about him. I mean, everyone in Canada knows who he is. He was on the reboot of Degrassi as Cruiser McGill, the nice boy next door, for what seemed like forever. I never actually watched the show but I saw his face a lot.

And I never really thought much about it. That’s kind of the way it is with Canadian TV. Lots of faces on mediocre, poorly-lit shows, faces you don’t bother attaching to any names.

That’s not to say Emmett still has the same face. He was always cute but he’s managed to get sexier as he’s gotten older. Now he’s on some ridiculous superhero TV show and everyone is swooning over him left, right and center. Granted, as I said, he’s sexy. He’s got this permanent smirk and sexy stubble and light brown hair you just want to run your fingers through. Plus, abs for days since the network tries to show him as shirtless as possible (which doesn’t really make sense when the guy is a villain and it’s not Baywatch, but whatever).

But regardless of him being hot, he’s still a dick. I know I don’t know him enough (or, you know, at all) for this judgement but meh, I’m going to do it anyway. Maybe there’s some gossip site or media bias, but all I see of him now is news of him dating this actress or that model or whatever and then just acting like an asshole to the public, like swearing at the paparazzi and being an overall doucheburger. I’m not always for this country’s tall poppy syndrome wherein we like to cut down those on the rise to keep them humble, but if Emmett is a poppy, then someone oughta start plucking his petals off.

Also, he wasn’t at rehearsal dinner last night and he has the task of walking both Tiffany and I down the aisle since Jackie’s dad is also the best man.

“He’ll be fine,” I tell her. “That’s not for you to worry about anyway. He’s Will’s friend, that’s Will’s problem.”

“Will’s problems are my problems,” Jackie points out, not looking convinced. “That’s how relationships work. Hey, give me the champagne. I want some for real this time.”

“No way,” I tell her. “You’re pregnant.”

“But my doctor said a glass–”

“You’re pregnant and you need your head on straight so you can remember every detail of the wedding. You’re as cool as a cucumber, remember?”

She nods at that.

I drink the rest of the champagne.