But no bus goes to Yosemite Ranch.Which means I’ve been hoofing it all the way from Sweetbriar, over the hills, and down into the valley.A lot of cars have passed me by, but none have stopped.One woman slows down to glare at me, then speeds off, like I’m a criminal.
Which I guess I am.
I’ve been walking for hours and hours, lugging all of my worldly possessions in the duffel bag on my shoulder.I bought it at Goodwill for three dollars.The strap is cutting into the flesh of my shoulder, and I’m pretty sure I’m listing to starboard now, whatever that means.
I’ve never had a massage, but I hear they’re nice.And right now, I’d give every penny I’ve managed to scrape together for one.
Unfortunately, I haven’t done a lot of penny scraping.What I’ve got in my pocket probably wouldn’t cover the cost of a pinky finger massage, let alone one for my whole body.
I should’ve rested when I reached the nearby town of Sweetbriar.I should’ve at least refilled my water bottle.But I was impatient to arrive at my new job.I knew it would be a walk, but I didn’t know it would be atrek.
I’m so flippin’ relieved to see the huge letters forged in metal and arching over a lane—Yosemite Ranch.I turn in, thinking I’m home free.Little did I know that I had another mile to go.
Who needs a mile-long driveway?
Now I’m not even sure I’m in the right place.I’ve reached the end of the lane, and I see a huge spread before me—homes and barns and outbuildings and corrals and gardens.
And it looks like there’s a wedding going on.No—it’sdefinitelya wedding.But not a normal one.
Fancy cars and SUVs are neatly lined up on the grass.I see two parking attendants dressed in suit jackets.
As I get closer, I realize that this looks like a wedding from a movie set or a fairytale.Everyone’s dressed up in the kind of expensive clothes I only see on TV—never in real life.The entire ranch is decked out for this celebration with flowers and fancy plants and fairy lights.I see a huge fountain, water shooting through a rainbow of colorful lights.
I’m looking at a white event tent so massive it could probably be seen from space.Its roof is peaked in a way that reminds me of a castle.It has arched windows along its sides.Music flows out and rolls over the ground, along with the sound of laughter and chatter and the clank of glasses.
I follow the sound, like I’m hypnotized.I poke my head inside the main entrance.
And gasp.
Holy shit!
There’s a huge wooden dance floor surrounded by overstuffed lounge furniture and cocktail tables.A disco ball hangs from the ceiling.There’s a raised platform for the disc jockey. Oriental rugs.Potted ferns and palms.Tables and tables of food and treats.A bar with fancy lighting.Even a chocolate fountain and two pretty Golden Retrievers wearing big, fancy bows on their collars.
Oh.There must be over two-hundred people in here, and a couple of the guests are already giving me the stink eye.
Of course they are.
I suddenly become painfully aware of what I’m wearing and the ratty duffel bag I’ve got slung over my shoulder.It’s stupid to even think it—I don’t belong here.Well, duh.I’m a wedding crasher.A trespasser.Not only do I not belong at this wedding, I doubt I belong on this ranch, in this area of Nevada, or among these people.
The only way I’d ever be asked to attend a fancy party like this is if I’d been hired to bus tables.
I decide to slink backwards and away from the lights and food and music.I don’t have any other option.I’m not exactly the type who’d grab the DJ’s microphone, call for everyone’s attention, and announce that I’m here for cookin’ and cleanin’.
The problem is that I’ve nowhere else to go.I’ve no other job, no home, and only fifteen dollars shoved in the bottom of my sock.I’ve been promised a job here at Yosemite Ranch, and I need it.
My life depends on it.
Maybe I can tiptoe out of here and go sit under a tree in the dark and wait for the festivities to end.Then, when people get in their shiny cars and drive away, I can quietly ask for the person I came to see.I’ve committed the name to memory.
Just as I turn to go, my gaze lands on the bride and groom as they glide in one another’s arms on the dancefloor.They’re fairytale movie stars, to match the fairytale movie set.The groom is a very big guy with black hair, smiling so hard at his bride that it looks like his face will break.
The woman is drop-dead gorgeous, with red hair collected up into a soft twist.She’s wearing a wedding dress so flippin’ elegant that it belongs on a reality TV bridal show.She floats in his arms and gazes into his eyes.
Sigh.
Next, my focus is pulled toward the sea of guests, many of whom are eating and drinking at round dining tables draped in white linen and decorated with fresh flowers.I watch, transfixed, as one woman brings a fork to her mouth, closes her eyes in delight, and swallows a bite of fluffy cake.
My stomach growls in complaint.I haven’t eaten all day, and I’ve drunk so little that I’m lightheaded.
