A Perfect Match

“God, what is taking her so damn long?” the drunk, sweating groom groaned impatiently, pacing the courtyard. I felt his stare burning into the side of my head, as if somehow I should have answers concerning his bride. I kept my eyes down, continuing to click through the shots I’d taken on my camera. “Hey, bro,” he called to me, “can you go light a fire under her ass?” 

Without acknowledging the intoxicated groom, I walked off in the direction of the bridal suite to find Jill, all the while wondering what kind of girl had agreed to marry Dirk the Jerk. I found it hard to imagine that anyone could be shitty enough to be a good match for that guy.

“I already told you, it’s too dark, tone it down!” a shrill voice pierced my ears. Though I had only just entered the hallway, but I could already hear the ruckus coming from the bride’s room. I approached the door and knocked lightly.

“Dirk, if that’s you, I’m not ready!” the shrieking, valley-girl accent came again, “Oh my god, just go wait outside, don’t be so impatient!” 

I tried to give her the benefit of the doubt. It was her wedding day, after all. In an attempt to control every last detail of the biggest, most important event of her life, she had likely been reduced to a bundle of nerves.

I leaned close to the door, “Hey, sorry to disturb you, it’s just the photographer. I need to talk to my assistant. Jill, could you come out for a minute, please?”

Silence on the other side. Jill slipped out a moment later, closing the door gently behind her. She looked exhausted.

“The groom and his party are all waiting out in the courtyard,” I told her, “they’re drunk, they’re in tuxes and, at this point, I feel like someone’s gonna have a heatstroke. Any idea when the bride will be ready?”

“I think they’re nearly good to go,” Jill responded, rubbing her temples. She sighed, “We’ve got a bridezilla on our hands this morning.” I frowned. My crew worked their asses off to give our clients a product they would be happy with. The least the client could was treat us with basic respect.

“If it makes you feel any better, the groom isn’t exactly a winner,” I admitted, “it’s only noon, but the guy is wasted and belligerent.”

We both glanced at the bride’s door as a muffled conversation seemed to grow louder, and it didn’t sound like an exchange of pleasantries. I looked to Jill for any indication of what was going on, but she was focused on the door, her eyes tight and worried.

“I think they’re nearly good to go,” she said finally, “I got all the shots I needed. The bride’s just getting her makeup adjusted, so it shouldn’t be lo—” before Jill could complete her thought, the conversation had moved right up to the door and we could hear every word.

“April, I need you to just get out of my face now, okay? You’re really, really pissing me off,” a woman whisper-shouted, “I don’t know why I thought you could handle being a bridesmaid.”

A second later, the door flung open and a young woman in a flowing, pink dress rushed out, choking back sobs. Her tear-filled eyes met mine. She turned away quickly, letting her copper hair fall into her face, and rushed from us down the hall and around the corner.

Jill and I looked at each other, bewildered. “Holy shit!” I lowered my voice to a whisper, now aware that our conversation could potentially be heard through the door, “I know you said she was a bridezilla, but…holy shit!”

“Okay, guys, I literally cannot take this drama anymore!” the same woman, who I could now confirm was the bride, announced inside her room, “If anyone else thinks they’re gonna make this day more stressful for me, just please leave now. Anyone?!” Silence from her spectators. “God! Guys, go meet the boys outside. Gooo! Mom, help me fix this freaking veil.”

The door swung open once more and we stood back as a parade of women in various shades of pink filed out, each one looking more tense than the last. An older woman, who appeared to be the mother of the bride, lingered in the doorway, adjusting a long, lace veil. 

“You look beautiful, honey,” the mild-mannered woman said in an assuring voice, “Okay, carefully now, Innis, come on out.”

Finally, the woman of the hour emerged, sweeping long, brunette locks away from her face. I locked eyes with her, she was beautiful. And oddly familiar. 

Now, I know I'm a good-looking guy, but when our eyes met, a jolt shook her petite frame. She stopped in her tracks, staring at me, pale-faced, for a second before quickly following her crew out of the building. Jill and I hung back from the group and she filled me in on her wild morning with the bridezilla. She recounted Innis’ horrific treatment of her makeup artist, her bridesmaids, her poor, sweet mother, and Jill herself.

To be honest, I still don’t know the details of what happened in that bridal suite because I was focused on the small, butterfly tattoo on the bride’s neck. 

“I don’t think you’ll have any more trouble with her,” I told Jill. She shot me a puzzled look, but there was no time to explain, we had work to do.

#

The men were drunk and rowdy, and it was near impossible to get them to follow directions. I looked through the pictures I had taken, shaking my head. Eyes were closed, ties were crooked, and poses were sloppy; they looked positively trashed. On the bright side, the bride seemed to have changed her tune. She had somehow grown sweet and affectionate toward her buffoon of a husband-to-be. I instructed the wedding party to sit off to the side, while I took some final shots of the bride and groom.

“Alright, lovebirds,” Innis glared at me as I went on, “I think we’ve got all the shots on your list. If you think we’ve missed anything, let me know because we do have some time before the ceremony.”

“You missed the shot of us in the gazebo,” Innis practically spat her words at me. But I wasn’t angry, I was amused. I strode up to the couple.

“You know, guys, we’ve already almost surpassed the number of shots in our agreed-upon contract, and the ceremony hasn’t even started yet,” I spoke to them like they were five years old, “If you want more couple shots, I’m afraid there’s going to be a fee.”

Innis looked like her eyeballs were about to fall out of her skull; her eyes were wide with shock. “What the hell do you mean a fee?! We’re already paying you guys through the nose, w-we’ve signed a contract with you, for God’s sake! You can’t just start demanding additional fees!” 

“Check your contract again,” I replied calmly, “fees are subject to change.” Anger gripped her, she couldn’t bring herself to speak, “I’m sorry, Innis, is it? Please let me know how you would like to proceed.”

“Just let me know how much it is and I’ll e-transfer you,” her voice was barely above a whisper as she spoke through jaws so clenched I was worried she’d shatter a veneer. I grinned as she grabbed Dirk’s hand and stormed off to the gazebo.

#

The ceremony was beautiful: the decorator did a great job. 

The ceremony was as beautiful as it could be with great decor, a drunk groom, a pissed-off bride, tense bridesmaids (one with her eye makeup ruined from crying), and a shocking number of guests who made no effort to hide their impatience during the ceremony because they were only in attendance for the open bar.

My crew and I followed the guests into the reception hall. I scanned the room for the photographers’ table—usually a bare, sad-looking table in the far corner of the hall—but saw nothing. Innis was mingling with some of her guests, who were forcing smiles and reciting their congratulatory formalities. She turned away from them and ran smack dab into my broad chest. 

“What the—what is your problem? God!” she backed away from me in disgust. I rolled my eyes at her reaction. 

“Where’s our table?” I asked.

“What do you mean your table?” she sneered at me.

“You do know you’re supposed to reserve a table and purchase meals for your photographers, right? We’re here all night.”

She let out a dramatic sigh, “Look, there’s a strip mall around the corner. It’s no more than a five-minute drive from here. There’s a pizza place there, so you ca—” I held up my hand, I’d heard enough. 

“We’re not going anywhere.” I glanced around the hall and caught eyes with an attractive, dark-haired girl sitting with two other women at a table, “You know, that table looks a bit sparse. I think we’ll just join your friends and hang out there for a bit.” I flashed a smile at the dark-haired girl, and she smiled back.

Her eyes went wide in disbelief, “You can’t sit with my cousins, you creep!” You’re here to TAKE PICTURES. And if you think you’re going to do anything more than your job while you’re here, I’m gonna make sure y—” I cut her off again.

“What are you going to do?” I challenged. She was red in the face, sputtering, no words escaping her painted, pink lips. “We’ll be over there,” I told her, “The crew and I are going to have dinner, maybe some drinks, and we’ll be ready to take pictures of your first dance when it begins.” I walked off toward Innis’ pretty, dark-haired cousin—not breaking the flirtatious eye contact we’d made—leaving Innis red-faced and fuming in the corner of her reception hall.

#

By the end of the night, the bride, the groom and all of their guests seemed to have been having a good time. Drinks were flowing, music was playing, and people were dancing; it was everything you’d expect of a successful wedding reception. I felt a hand on my shoulder, it was Jill.

“Hey, it’s 11:00 pm, time for us to get out of here.” I nodded and craned my neck to see the bride and groom. They were laughing and dancing, encircled by their wedding party, parents and other friends. Innis took Dirk’s face in both her hands and looked at him, drunk and in love. She kissed him, and the whole crowd cheered. I suddenly felt a little guilty about the way I had treated Innis that day, but I knew I could make it up to her.

“Looks like the newlyweds are busy,” I said in Jill’s ear, she strained to hear me over the music, “The maid of honour just went to the bar to get a drink, can you let her know that we’re heading out? Tell the crew it’s time to go; I’ll meet you guys in the van.”

As soon as Jill had left, I pulled out my phone and opened up my pictures. I scrolled back to three weekends ago, when I had attended a pub crawl that I paid heavily for the following morning. My eyes scanned through several blurry shots of people’s feet, an attempt at a drunk selfie with my friends (which consisted primarily of my thumb), and…there they were. 

Not just one selfie, but three, clear as day. Somehow, women knew how to contort their hands to get a good picture. In the first picture, I was sitting in a club booth. With her long legs drunkenly slung over my lap, was Innis. We smiled with our cheeks pressed together, looking ridiculously intoxicated. A cute, butterfly tattoo was visible on her neck.

Delete.

In the next picture, she was kissing me on the cheek. From the look on my face, you could guess I was pretty thrilled about it.

Delete.

By the third picture, we were kissing. Her hand was deep in my hair, my arm wrapped around her waist. Half of my head was cut-off; her selfie-taking had gotten sloppy, potentially because her attention was on something else.

Delete.

There were no pictures of what happened later that night. There was no proof that we had stumbled into an Uber together. There was no evidence of her having been in my apartment, in my bed. 

The memories flooded back to me. Waking up alone and hungover in my room, looking for Innis, but finding nothing but a beige scrunchie in my sheets. I texted her, but my messages didn’t go through. I called her, but received an automated message. She had blocked me. I beat myself up for feeling a little hurt by her sudden disappearance, but I did. I had wanted to see her again.

Now here she was, I’d finally found her. 

I took one last look at the wedded couple. They held each other, drunkenly swaying to Elvis’ velvety voice.

It turned out that they were a pretty good match for each other, after all.

I grabbed my camera and headed to the van to meet my crew.