Always the Bridesmaid

by Whitney Lyles

  They lived in the neighborhood across the street from Huntington Gate, High Valley. This was also a nice neighborhood but more rural. Most of the houses varied in size and were set on at least five-acre plots of land. Horse rings and stables covered the yards.

  She had one hell of a time trying to locate the Gomez home. High Valley was a maze of winding roads that led to unpromising paths. The wooden street signs were faded and nearly camouflaged amid the sage-brush. When she finally found the house, the address number did not match the last name on the gate. It read The Banks Family rather than The Gomez Family. Maybe there was a divorce or something.

  She pulled onto a ten-acre lot with a sprawling horse ring surrounded by one of the most beautiful emerald lawns she had ever seen. A woman atop a white horse, wearing an English riding habit, stopped next to her car. “Can I help you?” she asked. She looked too old to be Ariana’s mother.

  “I’m looking for Ariana Gomez,” Cate said. “I’m her kindergarten teacher, and I’m supposed to meet with her today.”

  “Oh.” The horse’s tail swished from side to side, swatting flies. “They live in the trailer behind the property.” She pointed to a skinny dirt trail encased in avocado trees before trotting off.

  When Cate stepped from the car, dust swirled around her pants and settled on her blue suede loafers. She could hear the sound of sprinklers in the distance. Water sprayed over several blossoming yellow and red rosebushes that surrounded the gigantic ranch-style home. She was still dying of thirst and wondered what the Bankses would think if she drank straight from their sprinklers. She walked past their home and headed toward the dirt trail.

  A trailer that had probably been a real beauty for someone in the 1970s stood at the end of the path. One of the windows was cracked. Another was held shut by duct tape. She knocked on the door. A man at least five inches shorter than Cate answered. He had a mustache, and his black hair had been parted and slicked to the side. He wore a pair of brown pants, cowboy boots, and a button-down shirt that looked as if it had also been around for a few decades.

  He nodded. “Hi.”

  “Hi. I’m Cate Padgett. I’m Ariana’s kindergarten teacher.”

  “Sí. Sí. I am Eduardo, Ariana’s father. Come in, Mrs. Cate. We’ve been waiting for you.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I hope you haven’t been waiting long. I got lost.”

  “No. It’s good. Very happy to meet you. Very good.”

  An audience awaited her. Five faces under the age of twelve looked up at her, and a tiny Mexican woman wearing a white dress and sandals smiled anxiously at Cate. Her hair was pulled into a tight bun.

  “Please. Meet family,” Mr. Gomez said. The trailer was immaculately clean but tiny. The kitchen area was not even half the size of Cate’s bathroom. All the children sat around a small table. There were four bunks in the front end, one of which Cate sat on, and what appeared to be a tiny bedroom in the back.

  “This is my wife, Lupe.”

  The woman smiled shyly and nodded.

  “And these are our children. Please be welcome to our home.” He pointed to each child, Enrique, Reuben, Oscar, Maria. Finally a little head emerged from behind one of the older boys. “This is Ariana. Come say hi, Ariana.”

  She was dressed in a ruffled white dress that Cate imagined was probably her most valued possession, and black sandals. A neat braid hung over the back of her tiny neck. She looked up at Cate with huge, round brown eyes.

  “Hi, Ariana.” She knelt down in front of the child. “I’m Miss Padgett. You’re going to be in my class this year.”

  Her eyes wandered shyly to her father.

  “I’ve been teaching her some English. She’s getting some, but she’s shy. I want her to do good in school. It’s very important.”

  Mrs. Gomez stood and walked to the small kitchen. She opened the refrigerator, and all the children’s eyes darted to what she pulled out. “We have soda,” she said to Cate. “Please have drink with us.”

  “Oh thank you. I really appreciate it.”

  “Which one?” She pointed to a liter of Sprite and a liter of Coke.

  “Sprite would be great. Thanks.”

  Then Mrs. Gomez pulled out a plate filled with tamales, a bowl with refried beans, a basket of freshly baked tortillas, and another bowl of salsa. Mr. Gomez said something to the other children in Spanish, and they moved from the table and took seats on the cots. He pointed to the table. “Please have a seat. My wife prepares food for us.”

  Cate took a seat at the table, and Mr. Gomez slid in across from her. He pointed to the empty spot next to Cate, and Ariana took a seat.

  She thought about Karen Sickle and how she had offered her nothing. She thought of how bratty Timothy had been, and how she knew it was going to take some work to get him on the right track. In a strange way, this was part of the reason she liked teaching so much. She loved meeting a variety of kids and seeing the way they developed throughout the school year. She knew that Timothy would be difficult to control at first. But as soon as she put all the kids on behavior modification contracts, rewarding them with stickers when they were good and taking the stickers away when they were bad, Timothy would live to impress her.

  Although Timothy and Ariana came from such different backgrounds, Timothy would learn something from her. When he watched Ariana get constant rewards for good behavior, he would want to follow in the same path. Cate was willing to bet that he would grow into a different child by the end of the school year. That was what she loved, watching these kids from unique backgrounds intermingle with each other and grow into different people.

  Mrs. Gomez set a glass filled with Sprite and a heaping plate of food in front of Cate. The smell of Mexican food made her mouth water. The rest of the family was served before Mrs. Gomez took a seat next to her husband.

  The food was delicious. She could’ve eaten three tamales but didn’t want to be greedy after Mrs. Gomez had already dished a second round of food on her plate. She spent over an hour with them. She asked the kids questions about their ages and what they liked to do. Some of the older children were nervous about attending school. She told them what they could expect at Tierra Bonita.

  She thanked them profusely for the meal, and they thanked her a dozen times for visiting with them. The entire family followed her to her car.

  She was just about to step inside the Volvo when Ariana tapped her on the leg. Cate looked down at her little face. She pulled something from behind her back. It was a drawing done in pencil, on the back of an ad that had probably been left on someone’s car in a parking lot. It was of a schoolhouse with two huge clouds and a sun overhead. On the bottom in the childlike writing that Cate had become familiar with over the years was written Miss Padgett.

  Cate practically collapsed when she returned to her apartment. After putting Ariana’s drawing on the refrigerator, she fell into a deep, sweaty nap for three hours.

  She probably would’ve slept all night if Grease hadn’t been determined to kill a spider that had crawled behind her dresser. His constant clawing at the slim space between the dresser and the wall had forced her to wake up.

  The first thing she did was call Ethan, so he could fill in the blanks from the previous night. She prayed that she hadn’t made a complete ass out of herself. She hated the postdrinking nervous ache she got after a night of binge drinking. This was why she always tried to remember her limits. Unfortunately, Ethan wasn’t available to provide details. She left a message.

  Then she realized Paul still had not called. She tried not to think about No Call Paul and fell into a beading frenzy. She beaded like a maniac, making bracelets, and anklets, and necklaces, and little inventions like beaded pinky rings and key chains.

  Ten rolled around and still no word from Paul. Her imagination went wild with possibilities. He was cheating on her. He was mad at her. He was a jerk. Why was she like this? Her moods and emotions were at the mercy of Paul’s phone calls. She felt pathetic. But she couldn’t
stop herself from dwelling on him.

  Love meant that you called someone when you were out of town. Love meant that you wanted to hear someone’s voice, even if you had nothing to say to her.

  Then a horrific thought flashed through her mind the same way lights on top of a cop car glared in her rearview mirror the last time she’d been pulled over for speeding. Paul didn’t love her. He’d never said it. He wasn’t in the same place—like Ethan said. She was speeding.

  She needed some fresh air. She walked to her mailbox in sweats and flip-flops. Fog had rolled in over the ocean, and the air outside was moist.

  Disappointment hit when she pulled her Visa bill from the box. She didn’t feel like looking at it tonight. There was a thank-you note from Leslie Lyons, acknowledging the “wonderful pancake warmer” Cate had given her at the shower. Pancake warmer? No. Cate had given her a ninety-dollar vase. Emily Post would’ve died.

  She could hear her phone ringing from the hallway. The mail nearly scattered from her hands when she darted for the front door. Paul! Please be Paul! She dropped the mail on the floor and took a deep breath before she answered.

  “Hello.”

  “Hey!” It was Leslie. She always sounded excited on the phone. “What are you doing tonight?”

  “Nursing a hangover.”

  “You went out on a Monday night?”

  Cate’s engaged friends had all forgotten that Monday nights qualified as a Friday when you were single. “Yeah, it was one of those spontaneous things. I ended up two sheets to the breeze with my friend Ethan—the one I’ve been taking pictures for.”

  Leslie’s voice turned to an excited whisper. “Did you hook up with him?”

  “No! I have Paul. I would never do that to him.”

  “How is Paul?”

  Cate sighed. “Fine.”

  “What happened?” Leslie asked. “I can tell something is wrong.”

  “He hasn’t called in two days.”

  “Where is he? Is he still in Maui?”

  “No. He went straight from Maui to San Francisco.”

  “Well, two days isn’t that long. He’s been traveling. Give him a break. Maybe he’s busy.”

  “True. But he does this to me constantly. You know how he is. Hot and cold and up and down. I just get bummed because I think if you really care about someone, you call just to hear her voice. I mean, doesn’t Russ call you every day? Doesn’t he want to talk to you?”

  “Yeah, but we’re getting married.”

  “Paul and I have been dating for almost a year. Don’t you think he should be calling every day by now?”

  She was quiet for a moment. “All guys are different. It takes some a little longer to become more attached. And besides, guys get busy and they just forget. They’re stupid. Don’t worry.”

  “How long was it before Russ started calling you every day?”

  She thought about it. “Well, hmmm. A while. I used to get pissed, too. It takes guys a while to catch on. They’re like dogs. Most of them need training.”

  Cate imagined herself guiding Paul to the phone with a leash.

  “Sometimes I think I should just date other people.”

  “Maybe that’s what he needs. When Russ was acting like a flake, I started talking about this guy, Alvin Youngkin, that I worked with. I always said how cute and great he was. Then I would flirt with him when Russ was around. It really made Russ jealous, and then he started behaving. I whipped his ass into shape.”

  Cate wondered if that was how Leslie had coerced Russ into marrying her, always making him feel threatened. “I don’t want to have to play games like that. I like Paul. I don’t want him to feel insecure. I want him to love me.”

  “Well, don’t make any drastic decisions tonight. Give him until midnight. If he hasn’t called by then, you can start to worry.”

  “Why midnight?”

  “I don’t know. Just so you don’t worry.” She changed the subject. “Anyway, I was just calling to tell you a little bit about the wedding. It’ll all be in the itinerary, but I just wanted to let you know some of the details. It’s going to be at the Laguna Cliffs Marriott. The hotel overlooks the harbor. It’s gorgeous, so everything will be held outdoors. I can’t wait to show you my table linens!” she exclaimed. “My mom and I saw a pattern we loved on a gown at Neiman Marcus. We bought the gown and took it to the garment district in L.A. to see if they could make thirty-eight tablecloths and four hundred matching napkins with the same pattern.”

  “There’s four hundred people coming to the wedding?”

  “Well, we’re inviting five hundred, but we figured that only four hundred will show. Anyway, we found someone who could make the table linens. But they had to send everything to China. So right now all of my table linens are being made in China!”

  “Great.” The last thing that came to mind when planning a wedding was table linens, let alone custom-made ones from China. Cate imagined children slaving over the tablecloths and napkins in a sweat-shop. “So what kind of ceremony are you having?” she asked.

  “Since Russ is Jewish and I’m Lutheran, we’re going to have a minister and a rabbi.”

  “Really? You found a minister and a rabbi who will do that?”

  “Yeah. It was hard, but we found them. Anyway, you guys are all going to walk down the aisle and then I’m going to come in on a horse.”

  A burst of laughter nearly exploded from Cate’s throat before she realized that Leslie was serious. “Your dad isn’t walking you down the aisle?”

  “Yeah. He’ll be leading the horse by a rope.”

  “Oh. That should be . . . nice.”

  “Yeah. I wanted a whole fairy-tale feeling to the wedding. We looked into horse-drawn carriages, but there wasn’t enough room at the hotel with four hundred people coming, so we thought a horse would be just as pretty. It’s going to be a white Arabian horse with a long mane and tail. And Russ is going to lift me off the horse when I reach the altar.”

  Cate was just glad that she didn’t have to ride a horse down the aisle. She tried to picture everything. The bridesmaids in their disco suits. Leslie in her strapless ivory gown on a horse. Mr. Lyons holding the rope. It was a horrendous episode of A Wedding Story. Who was she to judge, though? She was unengaged and sitting at home alone waiting for Paul to call.

  After she hung up with Leslie, she flopped onto the couch. She decided not to dwell on Leslie’s advice about Paul. Leslie was no expert when it came to relationships.

  Cate had met Leslie her freshman year of college, and from the very beginning of their friendship, Cate knew that Leslie’s lifelong goal was to get married.

  She’d been one of those girls who’d always had a boyfriend. Since she was thirteen she hadn’t been without a relationship. If she saw the romance going south, she had one boyfriend lined up before she dumped the other. Father of the Bride was her all-time favorite movie. She watched it religiously in the dorm room they shared. She lived for episodes of Celebrity Weddings, jotting down notes of things she wanted to replicate at her own wedding. Cate remembered her describing her wedding dress, cake and, if memory served, her bridesmaid’s dresses to her friends after her second date with Russ. There had been no mention of suits.

  After several years of continuous nagging, she’d finally convinced Russ to take her to Zale’s, where she picked out the three-carat ring surrounded with little diamonds that she’d had in mind for nearly a decade. She just wanted to make sure that she liked the ring, since she was going to be the one wearing it for the rest of her life. Cate thought that picking out your own engagement ring was perhaps one of the most unromantic things she had ever heard. Then again, maybe she should listen to Leslie. She was the one getting married. She must be doing something right.

  The phone rang again. Paul! Paul! Please be Paul! It was Ethan.

  “I just got your message. I was going to call you anyway to see how you were feeling.”

  “Today was horrific. Heat and hangovers just don�
��t go together. It must’ve been a hundred and ten in Poway.”

  “I know what you mean. I was a little hung over, too.”

  “I wasn’t too much of a pain. Was I?” she asked.

  “No. Not at all. I had a good time last night.”

  “You did?”

  “Of course. We’ll do it again.”

  “Next time I won’t behave like Mötley Crüe.”

  He laughed. “What’s wrong with partying like a rock star?”

  “Nothing, if you’re actually a rock star.”

  “Let’s grab dinner or something this week,” he said.

  They made plans for dinner and said good-bye. She watched an hour of mediocre television and popped a zit on her forehead that was barely visible but would probably create ten more pimples now that she had attacked it. Finally she decided to call it a night. It was midnight, and he hadn’t called. She felt like crying but was too tired.

  She washed her face, then doused the zit with enough rubbing alcohol to fuel a car. Even though she knew she wouldn’t be able to get a sound night of sleep without hearing from Paul, she wanted the warm, safe feeling of her comforter over her body. She had barely turned off the light when the phone rang.

  “Hola, sweetie,” he said.

  “Paul.”

  “How are ya?” he sounded happy to hear her voice.

  “I’m good. What have you been doing?”

  “I’ve been swamped. This whole week has just been crazy with meetings, luncheons, seminars.”

  “You had a meeting this late?”

  “No, I just ended up sitting in the hot tub at the hotel for like two hours and didn’t feel like getting out. How are ya?”

  Didn’t feel like getting out! She’d been on the verge of hysteria, and he didn’t feel like getting out of the freaking hot tub to call her? “I’m tired,” she said. “And I’ve been a little worried, Paul.”

  “Why?” He didn’t have a clue.

  “I called you two days ago and never heard back. I was starting to wonder if something was wrong.” She felt like saying, I want an explanation for your damn hot and cold confusing personalities, but she maintained control.