Always the Bridesmaid, Never the Bride

I think I’ve finally met my threshold of going on absolutely mind-numbingly shitty dates with men who may as well be a walking-talking red flag.

In his defence, Justin has been the least red flag-ish of the bunch, but this has definitely been the straw that broke the camel’s back – the camel’s back being my sanity and faith in the male population.

I excuse myself to go to the bathroom. I don’t need to use the bathroom, but I need the silent reprieve from Justin’s chattering. It seems that Justin’s favourite topic to discuss was himself. Any time I tried to steer the conversation in another direction, or provide information about myself, he yanked the steering wheel from my grasp and put us back onto his preferred topic: himself.

The bar of expectation for a decent date must be in Hell if he’s classified as the least questionable date I’ve been on recently.

At least he didn’t insinuate that working as a high school teacher and earning peanuts would reflect badly on him, because he needed a partner with a high-earning wage to make it in his social circle – unlike Michael. Thank God he didn’t ask for me to send him pictures of my bare feet because he has a foot fetish (I will never, ever understand how someone can have a foot fetish – gross!) – unlike Bryce.

Sighing, I check my reflection in the mirror and reach into my handbag. I quickly swipe a coat of lip gloss and fluff out my hair before running a critical eye over my outfit. Grace, my best friend since childhood, loaned one of her dresses to me for my date tonight. It was soft baby blue with a pleated skirt that flared out from my hips and ended just above my knees.

I glance at my watch; five minutes has passed. I’ve prolonged my disappearance as long as I could before it seemed like I climbed out of the window to sneak out of the restaurant. With one last quick glance in the mirror and a nod of approval at my appearance, I exit the bathroom and make my way back to our booth.

Except, when I round the corner of the booth divider, I find my companion to be missing from his seat.

Not only is Justin vacant from the table, but so are his possessions.

I glance around but don’t spot him anywhere. Maybe he decided to also take a bathroom break whilst I took mine?

“Penny!” I hear my name being called from behind me. I turn towards the call and see one of my friends, Jessie, who is a manager at this restaurant.

After several of my failed and weirdly creepy dates in the past, Jessie suggested that whenever I want to go on a date with somebody I’m not too familiar with, I should arrange for the date to take place at the restaurant she manages most evenings, and where her husband, Royce, is the head chef.

Jessie beckons me towards her with a frantic wave. I grab my handbag and coat from my spot in the booth and quickly down the last dregs of wine left in my cup then head to Jessie at the front counter.

“Did you see where Justin went?” I query when I reach her. “Did he go to the men’s bathroom right after I went to the bathroom?” I scan the hallway that leads to the bathrooms. “Surely a guy wouldn’t take that long using the bathroom?”

A sympathetic grimace makes the edge of Jessie’s lips tug up into an awkward smile and she shakes her head. “No, honey… After maybe a minute or two of you being gone, he just got up and left the restaurant. He hightailed it out of here so fast that I barely had a second to register where he was going.”

I groan and lean over the counter, smacking my forehead against its surface. “You’re fucking kidding me… I got ghosted?!”

“That’s not all, babe…” she continues. “He also didn’t pay for any of the meals for your table. He left the whole amount for you to pay.”

If this was the first time a date I had been on ended negatively, I would probably be crying right now. Instead, I’m just tired – mentally, physically and emotionally. “So, the prick orders one of the most expensive food items on the menu, demands we have a bottle of wine for the table when I just wanted to have a Coke, spends the entire hour and a half eating and only talking about himself,” I count off on my fingers, “but he has the audacity to believe he had a reason to dine and dash and ghost me?!” I thump my forehead against the counter several more times.

Jessie slips her hand under my forehead to protect my head – or to stop me from denting her countertop – and pats me on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about the bill, Royce and I will cover it for you. Something nice has to come from this shitstorm of a date you’ve just had.”

I turn my head and peek up at her, giving her a grateful smile. “There’s no chance that you and Royce are looking for a third in your relationship, is there?” I joke. “I think that’s the only option left for me at this point.”

Jessie barks out a laugh as she resumes going over paperwork. “You’ll be the first to know when Royce wants to have a threesome,” she jests. “But on a different note, maybe you’ll meet someone at Grace’s wedding on the weekend. Surely Hamish has some mates or distant relatives that you haven’t met yet that could be the one to break your streak of bad luck.”

I rest my chin on my hand and watch her as she works. My awful date is immediately pushed to the back of my mind as I think about Grace’s upcoming wedding. “I doubt I’ll have the mental capacity or the time this weekend to even have a spare moment to scratch my ass,” I sigh tiredly. “I love that girl, but my God being the Maid of Honour has been tiring. I definitely prefer being one of the bridesmaids in a wedding with not much responsibility in organisation of wedding-related events.”

Jessie chuckles as she continues looking over her paperwork. “For someone who apparently hasn’t liked having so much responsibility, you’ve absolutely nailed all of your jobs relating to the wedding. The hen’s night was a smashing success, and Grace told me you helped her choreograph a dance she’ll do for Hamish at the reception.” She reaches over me to grab the pile of receipts from today’s patronage and slips them into her folder. She moves to the cash register and taps several buttons then prints another receipt from the Eftpos machine. I can see the table number at the top of the receipt: table 8 – the table Justin and I had reserved for our date.

I grab the receipt from the Eftpos machine before Jessie can file it away and take a photo of its contents. “I’m paying you back for this. I appreciate the charity, but I’m a big girl. I can handle my messes.” I hand the receipt to her and she tucks it away with the rest. “And I’m glad to know you enjoyed the hen’s night, and I appreciate the compliment with the dance routine. Regardless, I’m excited for this weekend to happen, and equally excited for it to be over… don’t tell Grace I said that.”

Jessie laughs and circles the counter, grabbing me and bestowing upon me her signature bear-hug. I sigh and rest my forehead on her shoulder.

“All jokes aside, I’m sorry your date didn’t work out tonight,” Jessie mutters into my ear. “I know this sounds cliché, but I truly believe the person who is your perfect match is just around the corner.”

I don’t respond for a moment, suddenly feeling choked up with emotions. I often try to write-off my horrible dating life in a joking manner, but when I stop and think about the sad state of my love life, it depresses me. Especially when I’m surrounded by so many friends who are fortunate enough to be in healthy relationships.

I just want to find my person, too.

I squeeze Jessie’s midsection in silent thanks. She squeezes me harder in return and presses a kiss to my temple. “If I could deliver the perfect man for you on a silver platter, I would do it in a heartbeat,” she reiterates.

Chuckling softly, I retreat from her embrace. “Well, hopefully this Prince Charming will make his appearance before I’m too old and decrepit to have a sex drive or the energy to even hold someone’s hand,” I joke. Grabbing my bag and slipping on my coat, I lean forward and kiss Jessie’s cheeks. “I’m gonna head home before I embarrass myself any further tonight. Tell Royce I say ‘hi’, and I’ll see you guys on Saturday at the wedding.”

Jessie pats my cheek sweetly before kissing my forehead. “Looking forward to it! Forget about Justin – you’ll bounce back, you always do.”

I smile gratefully and head for the exit, waving to her over my shoulder as I cross the threshold.

Forgetting about tonight’s blunder will be easier said than done.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

As I walk down the aisle, arm linked with Hamish’s older brother Brent, I can’t help but be in awe of Grace’s meticulous planning paying off to produce one of the most stunning weddings I’ve ever witnessed.

I’m even more grateful that Grace chose such beautiful gowns for us bridesmaids; I’ve been to multiple weddings as a bridesmaid and worn some dresses that were beautiful, and others that looked absolutely horrendous on my figure.

Grace and Hamish opted for a colour theme of rich navy blue, with the men donning the same shade of blue as our dresses, paired with crisp white shirts and white accents throughout their suits. Our dresses are all the same shade of blue, but each of us four bridesmaids have a different cut and style of dress that works best with our bodies; a decision I was incredibly grateful for, given my history of sometimes ending up in dresses that didn’t flatter me but were flattering on other bridesmaids.

I make my way down the aisle and throw Hamish a cheeky smirk that screams ‘you will definitely start bawling your eyes out the moment you see Grace’ before making my way to my spot on the bride’s side. Several moments later, Grace glides down the aisle on her father’s arm, looking like a goddess. I glance at Hamish and see him wiping away tears as he stares lovingly at my best friend.

For a split second, my happiness for Grace and Hamish is interrupted by a twinge of sadness and longing. I want to experience what they’re experiencing right now. I want to have someone stare at me as though I was the last drop of water in the driest desert on the planet.

For the remainder of the ceremony, my mind wonders. Typically, I can bounce back after having horrendous dates, but being surrounded by so much love and passion today has made it difficult to stamp out the melancholy creeping up on me.

As the evening progresses and my responsibilities and commitments lessen, I feel a wave of exhaustion settling in my bones. As beautiful and exciting as the day has been, it has been taking a much heavier emotional toll on me than I expected.

As many of the guests flood the dancefloor, I snatch up the opportunity to escape to the terrace. Grabbing my glass of wine and a plate of mixed fruit, I meander my way past guests and head for the exit.

The moment I step outside and let the door close behind me, the silence and warm nighttime summer breeze washes over my nerves, instantly calming me. I plop down on one of the terrace chairs, slipping my heels off and reclining back, resting the plate of fruit and my wine on the table beside me. For a moment, I close my eyes and enjoy the peace and quiet.

I lose track of how long I keep my eyes closed, jolting back into consciousness when I hear the terrace doors open behind me. Briefly, the sound of music and cheering filters into the night air before it is snuffed out once the door closes. Glancing back, I see my peaceful solace is being interrupted by what can only be described as a Greek God.

I had spotted this man briefly in the crowd of guests as I walked down the aisle during the ceremony, but became too busy with Maid of Honour duties as the night went on to see him again. Doused in a stunning shade of maroon with white accents, his three-piece suit looks like it fits him like a glove. I guarantee if he took off his jacket, I would be able to see every single perfectly sculpted ab through his dress shirt.

He has a beautiful lightly bronzed complexion with dark eyes that I just know a writer would describe as dark, chocolate orbs made for hypnotising. His hair is combed and slicked back, but I know without hair gel, it would be curly and luscious, begging for someone to run their fingers through it.

I realise I’ve just been staring at this man, slack jawed. I cough awkwardly and sit up straighter in my chair and smooth out the wrinkles in my dress. “Uhh… Hi,” I splutter awkwardly.

A small smile tugs at his lips. “Sorry, I didn’t realise someone else was out here. I didn’t mean to intrude on your solitude,” he apologises.

Hysterical laughter escapes out of my mouth. “That rhymed,” I blurt.

Where the fuck have my braincells gone all of a sudden?

He chuckles and it sends a shiver down my spine. “I guess it does,” he moves to the recliner beside mine and sits back before turning towards me. He sticks his hand out across the gap between us. “I’m Nathan, a mate of Hamish’s,” he explains. “We play footy together for the Glen Waverley Hawks on the weekend.”

“I’m Penelope, Grace’s best friend,” timidly, I place my hand in his, expecting to shake his hand. My heart plummets into my stomach when instead, he brings my hand to his mouth presses a kiss to the back of it.

I don’t know if I’m about to combust from the almost unfamiliar arousal I’m feeling, or if I’m going to faint from the lack of oxygen from holding my breath.

He smirks knowingly, and my stomach flutters. His thumb brushes my knuckles as he releases my hand and resumes reclining. “You make a beautiful bridesmaid. The dress looks stunning on you.”

I smile shyly, blushing. “Thank you. You look beautiful too,” my eyes widen in embarrassment. “I- I mean, you look handsome. Not that you don’t look beautiful! I-” I slap my hands over my face and groan. “I promise I’m not usually this braindead,” I mutter through my fingers.

He laughs and reaches for my hands, moving them away from my face. “You’re really fucking cute, has anyone told you that recently?”

I can’t help but smile. “Absolutely not,” I respond. “If fumbling, brainless word vomit is your cup of tea, then you’ve apparently found me at a good time.”

He raises a sceptical eyebrow. “Your boyfriend isn’t going to come out here and beat the shit out of me for hitting on you, is he?”

I scoff, shaking my head. “There’s no boyfriend to beat the shit out of you in the first place,” my smile briefly turns into a grimace that I’ve been trying to hide all evening. “Always the bridesmaid, never the bride, I guess,” I respond, pointing to myself.

“Well, I’m not about to propose to you,” he replies. He pauses for a moment, then cracks another sly smile. “That will only happen after date number six.”

“You think you’re even going to have date number one?”

“Without a shadow of a doubt,” he responds cockily. “Are you staying at the hotel down the street?”

I hesitate momentarily, becoming weary. My mind flashes back to my failed date this week with Justin. “I am,” I say cautiously. “I just need to make something clear: I had a horrendous date this week where I got stood up after the main course, and I don’t know if I’m mentally ready to go on another date, let alone face being rejected again.”

Sympathy flits across his face, softening his smile. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable or upset,” he apologises. “What if we have breakfast together tomorrow morning – just as new friends – and we see where we go from there?” He grabs my hands again and cradles them between his warm palms. “No expectations, just two people chatting over breakfast.”

I stare at our joined hands for several beats. In the short period of time speaking to Nathan, I’ve felt more chemistry and attraction to him than I felt after several dates with previous men.

“You don’t even know anything about me, and you already want to share a meal with me?”

His rich chuckle fills the night air. “Again, I’m not asking you to marry me tomorrow morning over a stack of pancakes,” he absentmindedly rubs my hands between his, spreading his warmth to my hands. “Let’s just enjoy the weekend, chat a little. When Monday rolls around, and if you’re still spending every waking moment thinking of my beautiful face,” he winks at me coyly, “then we’ll go from there.”

“Will you still be thinking of my beautiful face by Monday morning?” I query light-heartedly.

A smile brightens his face and I feel butterflies erupt in my stomach. “One billion percent, yes.”