Always the Bridesmaid

by Whitney Lyles

  He didn’t seem like he wanted to talk about it. She changed the subject by waving down the bartender and ordering them another round of shots.

  Cate handed him a buttery nipple, and they popped the shots into their mouths, letting the liquor slide down their throats.

  They danced for the rest of the night. When the band finished, Cate bought a CD and two T-shirts, trying to think of sobriety as she made out her check to King Mother.

  Grease was waiting by the front door when she got home. He meowed until she reached down and scratched him behind the ears. She was about to dial the message center, hoping that Paul had left a phone number where he could be reached, when the phone rang.

  “Hola,” he said.

  “Don’t you mean aloha?”

  “Aloha. Whatever. I’m glad you answered. I’ve been trying to get a hold of you all night.”

  “You have?”

  “Yeah. I wanted to ask you something.”

  “What’s up?”

  “Why don’t you fly out here this weekend? Spend next week with me.”

  “Uh . . . yeah.” She didn’t want to sound too eager or drunk. “I’d love to. I have Leslie’s shower though—on Saturday.”

  “Fly out on Sunday then.”

  “I guess I’ll have to look into flights and stuff. I wonder if it’s too expensive with summer and everything.”

  “Well, I think you can probably use some of my frequent flyer miles. We’ll talk more about it tomorrow. We don’t have to figure everything out right now. Anyway, what did you do tonight?”

  Cate told him about King Mother and The Casbah.

  “Cool,” he said. She heard him yawn. “Well, I’ll give you a call tomorrow, and we’ll figure out your plans. Why don’t you look on the Internet in the morning?”

  “Okay. I’m excited to see you.”

  “Me, too.”

  They said good night.

  “I’m going to Hawaii!” Cate screamed after setting the cordless phone in its cradle. Grease bolted beneath the bed.

  11 • Burn the Sheets

  Cate passed Jill on her way to the complex parking garage. Jill was dressed in an outrageously bright yellow Hawaiian muumuu, and she had three huge gardenias pinned in her platinum hair.

  “You look like you should be going to Hawaii instead of me,” Cate said.

  “I’m going to a luau on Loring Street. I was just on my way up to see if you wanted to go with me.”

  “I would love to. Unfortunately, I’m off to another wedding shower.” Why did she always miss out on all the fun when there was a wedding shower? Two months ago she’d missed the annual Pacific Beach Block Party for Sarah’s shower. Val’s shower had landed on the same day as the Ocean Beach Street Fair, and the year before she’d missed Street Scene in the Gaslamp for her sister’s shower. That was three parties and a multitude of good bands that she’d passed up for a day of the most boring gift opening on earth.

  She felt a flash of desire to cancel on Leslie’s shower and hula dance the day away with Jill. She couldn’t though. She remembered when Leslie had her appendix removed. Leslie had given Cate the silent treatment for two weeks because, instead of keeping a steady vigil by Leslie’s bedside, Cate had only stopped by twice to visit her during her three days of recovery. Cate could only imagine the destruction flaking on the shower would cause. Besides, it would be bad manners and mean. Leslie had been waiting for this shower for her entire life.

  “Well, that sucks that you can’t come with me,” Jill said as they headed toward the garage. “Showers are soooo boring.”

  “Really? I actually like watching someone open fifty packages full of plates and stemware for hours on end.”

  Jill squeezed her arm. “It won’t be so bad. Spike the punch.”

  “That’s not a bad idea at all.”

  “Showers aren’t so bad if they have fun games and stuff.” Jill tried to be positive.

  “That is true. The games aren’t bad. It’s just the gifts. Someone needs to change the tradition of showers. It should be a day of games, spiked punch, and feasting on more than mini quiches!”

  “There you go! I’ll change it if I ever get married. Did you get her a gift?”

  “No. I’m on my way to Crate and Barrel right now.”

  “Well, have fun!” Jill called as they got into their cars.

  Cate went to the mall with the intention of purchasing Leslie’s shower gift, period. She had no business buying more clothes, and she was on a time schedule. However, on the way to Crate and Barrel she noticed a sundress in the window at Bebe. Perfect for Hawaii. A hundred ten dollars later, and ridden with guilt by her impulsiveness, she was back on track to Crate and Barrel.

  But when she passed The Gap she saw a cute pair of shorts she couldn’t live without and a beach bag that she needed. No. She couldn’t. She still had a four-hundred-dollar pantsuit to pay off and a jalopy that was in dire need of a mechanic. She felt a flicker of annoyance by the financial burden of Leslie’s wedding and her piece-of-crap car. However, she was also pleased with her self-control when she passed The Gap.

  She found the gift registry, entered Leslie’s name, and waited for the printout. After three pages were ejected, she began to leave the registry, assuming Leslie wouldn’t be able to fill another page with things she wanted. Another page flew from the printer. Then another and another . . . and another . . . Eight pages later, Cate was thumbing through the small catalog that comprised Leslie’s registry. Had she gone crazy with the gun? Who could possibly need all of these things? And the two-thousand-dollar marble lazy Susan? Who did she think was going to buy her that?

  Cate pulled the invitation from her purse.

  Come join us for a round the clock shower!

  Each guest has been assigned a time of day!

  Your time indicates what type of gift you

  Should buy for Leslie.

  For example if you have eight A.M.

  you should purchase breakfast stuff.

  Your time is 3:30 P.M.

  Three-thirty P.M. What do people do at three-thirty? With eight pages there certainly had to be something she could find. By the time she had scanned over the second page she had a headache. There were so many things, most of them kitchenware. None of which went with three-thirty in the afternoon. Who was the lucky devil who got eight A.M.?

  She pulled her cell phone from her purse and called Sarah. She was going to the shower. Maybe she’d have some ideas.

  “Hey, what did you get Leslie?”

  “Oh. I had five P.M., so I got her the martini glasses and an appetizer tray she registered for. I thought that would be good for drinks and appetizers at that time.”

  “I have three-thirty in the afternoon.”

  “Three-thirty? Uh . . . let me think about that one.”

  “I have no idea. Everyone does something different at that time.”

  “Just go get her lingerie.”

  “That stuff is so personal, though. Besides, I don’t have time to go to Victoria’s Secret.”

  “Are there decorative things on the registry? Get her something for the house.”

  “That’s a good idea. Thanks.”

  After she slipped her phone back into her purse, a salesgirl wearing an apron approached. “Hi! Can I help you find something?”

  “Yeah, I need to buy a gift that could be used at three-thirty in the afternoon. And it has to be from these eight pages.”

  “I think that just about anything that you buy here at Crate and Barrel will go with any time of the day!”

  “Well, I was hoping there would be some kind of vase or wall hanging on here. Maybe I could get her one of those.” Cate handed her the first four pages. “Why don’t you look over these? And I’ll look over this half.”

  “Okay!”

  They both began scanning the pages.

  “There is the porcelain flowered vase for eighty-nine ninety-five on page three orrrrr . . .” The salesgirl glanced over the
fourth page. “That’s all I can find as far as decorations go.”

  Ninety dollars for a vase?

  The salesgirl must’ve been thinking the same thing. “What’s your price range?” she asked.

  “Well, I really didn’t want to go above forty.”

  “There are tons of things on here for under forty dollars.” Kitchenware, stemware, dishes. Nothing that was congruent with three-thirty in the afternoon.

  Cate found a set of four throw pillows at thirty dollars a pop. And that was pretty much it in the decorative department. What was she going to do? Buy Leslie one throw pillow?

  She was ready to close her eyes, wave her finger around, and let it land on something on the list. She glanced at her watch: twelve forty-five. She still had to purchase the gift and drive to the shower, which was nearly forty-five minutes away.

  “I’ll take the vase,” Cate said with a sigh.

  The shower was at Leslie’s aunt’s estate in Carlsbad. A table full of gifts stood next to the front door of the elegant house. There was no room for Cate’s vase among the mountain on the table, so she set it next to several others that had been placed on the floor. She mentally counted. Twenty-three gifts so far. Each gift—approximately three minutes. She was looking at a minimum of an hour of gift opening. God help them all.

  She felt an arm around her shoulder.

  “Hey, I’m glad you made it,” Leslie said. She wore a pearl-colored satin suit with matching heels and had her hair and makeup professionally done. Cate was about to ask if she was underdressed when Leslie spoke up.

  “Listen, I meant to tell you.” She was whispering now. “My mom changed her last name after the divorce. She went back to her maiden name. So whatever you do, don’t call her Mrs. Lyons. It’s Van der Berke now.”

  “Okay.”

  “Oh, and my stepmom is coming. I put her at your table. You’re sitting on the other side of the room from my mom. I can’t even put them near each other.”

  “What’s his new wife’s name again?”

  “Kim. I would really appreciate it if you could kind of keep her away from my mother. Just don’t let her go on that side of the room. Okay?”

  “Uh . . . er . . . yeah.”

  “Thanks. Listen, I gotta go say hi to some more people, but we’ll talk later.” She slapped on a smile and swished off.

  Cate knew that Leslie’s parents had gone through a sticky divorce, but she hadn’t realized how bad it had been. Van der—what? She tried to remember Leslie’s mother’s maiden name. The last thing she wanted to do was create any added tension by offending the mother of the bride. Van der Beene? Van der Kamp? Van der Berke! That was it.

  “Hi, darling! How long has it been? Two? Three years?” Leslie’s mom air-kissed each of Cate’s cheeks.

  “It’s good to see you, Mrs. Ly—Van der Berke.”

  She wore a canary yellow St. John suit with matching yellow Ferragamo heels and a sweeping white hat. She placed a jeweled hand beneath Cate’s chin. “You look absolutely exquisite.”

  “Thank you.” Cate thought she actually looked pretty bland in her khaki capris and white peasant blouse.

  “Pour me a glass of that, will you,” she said, motioning toward the open bottle of champagne on the table next to them. She held an empty glass with a gigantic bronze lipstick print on the side of it.

  Cate refilled her glass. “So how have you been?”

  “Oh. Much better now that the shithead I married moved out of my house.”

  Cate wished she hadn’t asked.

  “Do you know I had to burn the sheets we had, Cate?”

  “Uh no. I hadn’t been aware of that.” She took a heavy chug of her champagne and scanned the room for Sarah. Someone, please come to the rescue!

  “Yeah, well when someone brings crabs into the house, you have to get rid of the sheets, the towels. Everything. I mean, that’s how I found out, you know? About her. She gave us all crabs.”

  This was way more information than she wanted to know. Way more. Crabs! For God’s sake! They were supposed to be talking about the lovely china Leslie had selected.

  “Anyway, that’s all water under the bride . . . I mean bridge now. Ha! Ha!” She laughed at the Freudian slip. “So, how’s your life?”

  She tried to remember how her life was. But her mind was still reeling with shock from the crabs story.

  “My life? My life is good. Yeah. Uh . . . I have the summer off,” Cate said. “I’ve been doing some freelance photography for a friend of mine, and I’m going to Hawaii next week.”

  “Hawaii! I’ve been to every island. I can tell you all you’ll need to know. Which island are you going to?”

  “Maui.”

  “Well, you must do the road to Hana. It’s a beautiful drive, and go down to Makena Beach. There is fabulous shopping over by the Fairmont.”

  They discussed Hawaii over champagne until Leslie told them it was time to take a seat.

  Cate was seated next to Kim. Luckily, Sarah sat at her table as well as three other acquaintances from college. Since Kim was only about three years older than them, she fit right in. The only thing that made her stand out among the other women at her table was that she was nine months’ pregnant, bulging with child.

  “I hope I look as good as you do when I’m pregnant,” Sarah said to Kim.

  “Thanks. I’m an aerobics teacher, so I have an advantage, I guess.”

  Kim was quiet and smiled at almost anything anyone said.

  Gift time rolled around, and Cate released a yawn. Leslie was unwrapping her master bedroom sheet set when her cousin, Veronica, announced that for every ribbon Leslie cut that would equal one child. So the three minutes that Cate had estimated for each gift had actually turned into seven minutes, while Leslie ripped, pulled, and fidgeted with every single freaking ribbon, doing everything in her power to avoid bringing out the scissors.

  To make matters even worse, the maid of honor, Bethany—whom Cate had no reason to dislike but felt like assassinating today—stood and announced that each person had to offer advice or share a story about Leslie when she opened their gift. It wasn’t a bad idea, and Cate saw the logic behind it. This way everyone would be interactively involved with the whole gift opening process instead of thinking of ways to slit their wrists from sheer boredom. But for God’s sake. This was going to tack on another minute or two to each friggin’ gift.

  At that moment—more than ever—she wished she was married. Advice would be much easier than sharing a story. What was she going to say? I remember the time Leslie and I got piss drunk and toilet papered her ex-boyfriend’s house.

  Apparently she wasn’t the only one suffering from sheer boredom because people began to chat amongst themselves, whispering at their tables, catching up.

  “Do you know what you’re going to say?” Kim whispered.

  “I don’t know. Most of my stories are rated R,” Cate said.

  “Mine, too. Ha ha!” She put a hand on her belly. “I don’t really know Leslie that well, to be honest. She’s been pretty warm toward me though. . . . I mean considering everything. I was actually kind of afraid to come today.”

  Cate was hoping they’d get to three-thirty fast. She didn’t want to hear Kim’s side. Confessions of a gold digger. No thanks.

  “Her mother has put us through hell,” she whispered.

  Cate sensed she was going to hear it anyway.

  Then a miracle. One o’clock! It was Kim’s turn.

  Leslie began pulling and stretching the white ribbon on the signature blue Tiffany box.

  “Do you have advice or a story?” Bethany asked.

  Cate felt sorry for her. The room had fallen silent. If Kim offered advice, she would look like a fool. She’d wrecked a marriage, had gotten pregnant out of wedlock, and was the archrival of another woman—the victim—sitting only feet away. And what kind of stories could she possibly have? She hadn’t been there when Leslie was growing up.

  “I just have some
things to say,” she said. “Leslie is a very special person. She has always shown me nothing but kindness, and I am sure with all of her good qualities she will have a wonderful marriage.”

  “Thanks, Kim,” Leslie said as she continued to pull the ribbon off without asking for scissors.

  Cate noticed that there was a small dent in the side of the package and a streak where some of the blue paper had been ripped. It wasn’t large or noticeable, but she could see it from where she was sitting.

  When Leslie finally slid the ribbon from the box, she tore at the wrapping paper. She pulled the lid off the box. “Oh! It’s the frame . . .” The smile fell from her face as she pulled out the gift. “Oh no.” Her voice dropped when she held up an eight-by-ten frame, the glass shattered into a million pieces.

  “It’s broken?” Kim asked. “I told them to put extra tissue paper in there.” Her face turned red. “I’m sorry. I’ll return it for you.”

  “Oh, it’s okay. It’ll take five seconds to exchange it,” Leslie said. “Thank you so much though. I love this frame!”

  Leslie quickly packaged up the broken picture frame and moved on to the next gift.

  Cate glanced at Mrs. Lyons Van der Berke sitting across the room. If she was feeling spiteful, it didn’t show. She loosely held a champagne flute as she sat watching the gift opening unfold. Her legs were crossed, and Cate couldn’t help but look at her bright yellow Ferragamos. Her left leg was draped over her right knee. On the sole of her left shoe Cate could make out tiny traces of blue wrapping paper.

  12 • The Strobels in Maui

  When Cate arrived at the hotel, Paul was in a meeting. A key was waiting for her at the front desk.

  “Here you go, Mrs. Strobel,” the hotel reservationist said as she handed Cate a key.

  “Oh . . .” Cate released a chuckle. “We’re not, um, actually . . .” She shook her head. “He’s not my husband.”

  A fake smile spread across her face. “Oh. Well, that’s okay, Miss—uh?”

  “Padgett.”

  “Right. Will you need more than one key, Miss Padgett?”