What a Shame...

“It’s a shame isn’t it?”

“What is?”

“That the groom is a whore.”

“What?”

“You didn’t know?”

The pair lowered their voices then to a more appropriate volume, but I’d already heard more than enough. More than I should’ve.  More than I was supposed to. It’s none of my business, I reminded myself, gritting my teeth and trying to actually focus on the program that I’d only been pretending to read before. I tried. I really did. But little words kept slipping through. Words like “all the time” and “at their engagement party” and “here?” and “you’re kidding me?”. 

I started gathering my things to move tables. Sure, the seats were assigned, but I would stand the whole night at the bar if I had to.

“Is that her?”

I looked instinctively in the direction the pair was pointing.

“Yeah, that’s her.”

A tall beautiful girl, with strawberry blonde hair and an easy smile, was busy chatting it up with a couple of the groomsmen. What’re they even doing out here? Shouldn’t they be back with the wedding party right now, getting ready?

“You’re right,” the gossipers continued in voices that could not even generously be called hushed, “she is showing.”

Immediately my eyes dropped to her stomach. One of her perfectly manicured hands was resting casually upon it. As if she wanted to call attention to the slight bump underneath her empire waist chiffon dress. She probably does. 

A chill shock crowded round the edges of my vision, rippling cold tension across my muscles. What? Was this really happening? This was incredible! The grooms secret pregnant girlfriend was at the wedding? This was the stuff of soap operas. Telenovelas. Kdramas! This kind of thing didn’t happen in real life.

I stumbled over to the bar. Ordered a double whiskey. Neat. Not that I’d ever drunk one of those before. It was just the fastest, stiffest drink that I could think of. I downed it in one gulp and promptly coughed.

“Y’alright there?” the guy on my right, whom I’d neglected to notice before, asked with a mild laugh

“F-aahhg-fine,” I coughed into the crook of my elbow. The burning in my throat and chest finally migrated and settled in my stomach. “One more, please.”

“You sure?” the bartender asked, whilst the guy on my right raised an eyebrow. 

“Mmgggghmm,” I nodded. The bartender and the guy looked at each other, shrugged, and then gave me another whiskey.  I sipped this one. 

“Better?” the guy asked. 

“Mmm, yes,” I looked at him finally. He was handsome. Grey-green eyes, facial hair, broad shoulders and an amused grin that suited him so well. He must’ve worn it often. 

“Do you drink whiskey often?”

“First time,” I said with a shake of the head, “you couldn’t tell though, could ya?”

“Not at all,” he laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling up. “You drank like a pro.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not.”

“It’s a fine thing,” he continued with his deep rumbling chuckling, “it’s a joke, by the way. A joke.”

“Oh I know,” I laughed with him. The bubble of mirth loosened some of the tension in my chest. It’s loosening reminded me of why it’d been stiff though. 

Miranda. 

What was going to happen to her? Was she about to marry a man who’d cheated on her and gotten another girl pregnant? That couldn’t happen. That would be terrible! Sure, she and I didn’t exactly get along. She bugged me to high heaven. She was too controlling, kinda fake, and annoying as all hell – but she didn’t deserve to be cheated on. She didn’t deserve a loveless marriage. 

Someone needed to tell her.

I needed to tell her.

But, what about the wedding guests? my cowardly side whined. There’s like hundreds of people here from all over the world, and this venue looks like it cost a fortune, plus don’t all rich guys cheat? 

“My name’s Fred, by the way,” the guy beside me held out his hand for a handshake. All of a single second had passed. He looked nice, and originally this had been my whole reason for coming to this wedding. To hopefully meet, dance, and exchange numbers with a handsome single guy.

“Tell me Fred,” I said instead, “is it common for rich guys to cheat?”

“Oh,” his head jerked back a millimeter, his hand lowering, “did someone cheat on you?”

“Not me,” I murmured into my glass, taking another courage-seeking sip.

“Only assholes cheat,” Fred said simply. 

“Right?”

“Damn right.”

“And,” I hesitated, “and if you knew – or rather if someone you knew – that is, what I mean is,” my joints were feeling relaxed and warm, “if someone knew – they should tell you. Would they tell you? Right?”

“Uhm,” Fred frowned, biting his lip as he endeavored to decipher my convoluted question. “Would I – would I – want someone to tell me that I was being cheated on?”

“Yeah,” I nodded. My neck wobbled up and down a lot longer than it normally did.

“Yes,” he nodded at once. “In a heartbeat.”

“But,” I hemmed, desperate to wriggle free of this unwanted responsibility, “wouldn’t you hate them?”

“Maybe, at first,” he said honestly, “but, in the end I’d be grateful to them.”

I nodded, eyes focusing on the wood grains of the bar top as I finished my second drink. Empty, but cowardly still, I lifted the glass for a third. The bartender titled his head in disapproval.

“Come on man, I need the courage,” I plead with him. Like before, he and Fred exchanged a look. Fred nodded.

“I think she does, mate,” Fred said. The bartender acquiesced, poured me one final whiskey, informed me that after that I was officially cut off for the rest of the night, and then said something to Fred about making sure that I was sobered up before driving anywhere. I couldn’t fathom why Fred was being turned into my chaperone or why they felt like I was going to be leaving soon. All that I could think about was what I was going to say to Miranda as I downed my third and final glass of firewater. 

“OK!” I clapped my hands with a shout that made Fred, the bartender, and the random guests behind me all jump. Making sure that I had all of my stuff I hurried off to the bridal prep room before the walls could start spinning too fast. 

“Miranda!” I exclaimed without preamble, bursting into the room like a cartoon character. The door banged loudly against the wall, the handle leaving a small dent. 

“Bridget?” Miranda the bride, all decked out in her white finery exclaimed in return. The bridesmaids in the room all gasped in unison. An audience. I’d expected one, but I wasn’t sure that Miranda deserved one. 

“Can I talk to you alone for a minute?” I asked her as calmly and quietly as I could.

“Are you serious?” She barked out an angry laugh. “I’m getting married in the next thirty minutes.”

“I know, but I just,” I was scrambling; all of the sentences that I’d been practicing on my way over were all jumbled up now. “I just – it can’t wait. I need to talk to you now.”

“I don’t have time for this,” Miranda scoffed, turning away from me back to the mirror.

“It’s about Justin.”

“What about him?” Suddenly her eyes doubled in size as she gasped. “Did he spill something on his suit?”

“No.”

“Did he lose his tie?”

“No.”

“I bet he forgot the rings,” she worried to the maid of honor by her side, “did he forget the rings?”

“No, no, no,” I shook my sloshy head, “nothing like that.”

“Here, I’ll handle it,” one of the bridesmaids suddenly grabbed my elbow, “why don’t we go outside and you can tell me.”

“No, I can’t tell you,” I shrugged away from her. Gosh why were these girls so controlling and clicky? “I’ve got to tell Miranda.”

“Tell me what?”

“You can’t marry him!”

“What?”

“Because,” I started and stopped. I really wanted to tell her kindly, gently, privately. But, we were running out of time. “Because, his pregnant girlfriend is in the audience.”

The silence that followed that sentence was as bad as I’d been imagining it. No worse. Worse. It was a silence that turned the brightness of the lights way too far up and spun the walls round and round in circles until the churning in my gut twisted too far. 

At least, I’d managed to push the bridesmaid away before I threw up all over the bridal room floor.