Shuffle lift step, shuffle lift step.
“Nah, I’ll let her cool off first.”
“I don’t think that’s going to happen any time soon.”
Tears well in my eyes. My chin threatens to quiver in its dumb face case or torso vase or whatever the heck that kid called it.
They’re right, though, all of them. I shouldn’t have come, and I am most definitely not heading back to endure more of the same. Viv swore up and down that she’d understand if I couldn’t make it. Yet, just as I approach the exit, I spot the elevator leading to the upper balcony. It lends a view of the wedding; Viv didn’t need it since their group isn’t that large, but it’s the perfect hiding place for a hindered maid of honor with a wounded heart.
Once I get seated in a rather dark corner, eyes set on the priest waiting below, my phone lets out a buzz.
Viv:where are you?
I’m quick to type back, lifting the phone to eye level as I do:Please don’t be mad. I feel sick from the meds, so I came up to thebalcony to watch. I’m here, I just can’t be down there, okay? I love you! It’s going to be amazing.
Viv:I would never be mad. We’re all just fortunate that you’re still with us, thank heavens! That could have been so much worse. Thanks for staying to watch from the balcony. It means the world to me! Love you.
I sigh, the internal hurt and offense slipping away as I consider what a great friend Viv is. My phone lets out one last buzz.
Viv:Don’t worry about sticking around for the bouquet toss. I have a feeling that, no matter who catches it, you’re next.
I try to shake my head. Ofcourse,Viv has the feeling I’m next—as Shaylee said—aside from Viv’s teenage cousins, I’m the only unmarried one left.
My defensive wall goes right back up at the mere thought of looking for love. Everyone’s walls are built by events in one’s past. My wall is more like a crate, a collection of sea-tossed boards and planks nailed sloppily together by years of hurt and neglect. I may feign that wholewoe is meact each time I’m the bridesmaid and not the bride, but the truth is, I’m terrified of making the wrong choice of messing up as much as my parents did. It’s why Kirsten and Viv are right about how quickly I vacillate between rallying hope and abandoning it altogether.
Who cares, I muse. I willnevertell a man I love him, especially a man like that. And to think, I hoped he was Mr. Right. I doubt there even is such a thing. If there is, one thing is for certain— Chad’s dumb cousin isn’t Mr. Right, Mr. Maybe, or even Mr. Not-Right-Now. Viv can forget about setting me up with him; as far as I’m concerned, that man is Mr. Never.
2
Maggie
Present Day
Rebounding—a fun aerobic exercise on a trampoline—is at the top of my resolution list for the new year. So you can imagine how proud I am as I take my first class the day after Christmas.
Why wait until New Years? Especially considering the copious amounts of charcuterie board goodies I ate this month.
I know the rebound class is a win when the instructor starts with a Taylor Swift song. Since I’m only a few years younger than the pop queen herself, Taylor and I essentially grew up together. With songs likeLove StoryandYou Belong With Me, she helped a teenage hormonal me cope with the cruelty ofimmature boys. Like the name of that hit album, I wanted to beFearless! And when I pumped myself up on Swift’s songs, I was.
The album she released after I graduated helped meShake It Offwhen the Brew House was torn down to make room for condos since, apparently, Virginia Beach didn’t have enough already.
But today, as I bounce to the electronic beat ofReady For It,I think of the ways I’ve risen above letdowns, heartaches, and disappointments.
At a mere twenty-nine years old, I’m the owner and operator of a new beachside coffee shop that’s even better than the first, if I say so myself. You’ve no doubt heard of the Coffee Loft, the most charming coffee chain in the U.S. For one to carry that name, one must live up to impeccable standards. Just look at the ones in Long Island and Palmer City.
My shop is in an old, restored train station that oozes charm! I love being there, I love making it cozy and new for each season that comes, and I love every member of my staff. Life is humming along beautifully. I’m achieving my goals one by one.
Finish school while working as a barista full-time: check!
Become an owner/operator of a successful coffee shop:check!
Find the man of my dreams to enjoy life with: insert a crow’s distant caw over a stretch of barren land. Better yet, a toilet flushing with a flourish.
Okay, so that area is a work in progress. And no, I still haven’t told a man I love him because I have yet to fall in love. But for the first time in years, I am genuinely ready for it.
I’ve been on close to a dozen dates in the last four dozendays. There was the electrician who squeezed puns into every conversation we had. Mid-way through the date, I was so punned out I imagined jamming my fork into the nearest outlet.Are we having pun yet?
Then there was the “much-older” gentleman who lied about his age. I should have caught on when he posted a black and white photo that looked suspiciously like James Dean. It’s a classic look, and he was cute. Too bad he was also in his early seventies. The guy showed up at the diner in pegged jeans rolled at the ankles, a tight white tee shirt that, bless him, accented his sagging muffin top, and thick, silver hair swooped just like the rebel without a cause himself. For a woman closer to his age, Herman would be a real catch.
