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Jackie sat back against her chair at the table, eyes closed, the heel of one shoe idly flopping in rhythm to romantic songs from her parent’s youth, Fly Me To The Moon, The Way You Look Tonight, You’d Be So Easy To Love, Hey, There.
Even hours in, it was a lovely reception. Yet another one. She didn’t know where her half-date Dylan had gone to and didn’t really care. He was a friend, a beard, the requisite handsome gay man who is supposed to introduce you to the one true love you meet at your best friend’s wedding in all the rom-cons, more likely he was out chatting up his own Mr. Right or Mr. Right-now and she could hardy blame him.
It wasn’t a destination wedding, just an hour away from the city, but they had booked a hotel room nearby anyway in case they drank too much which, several or almost countless plastic flutes of Prosecco into the day, Jackie supposed that she had. But she had eaten, too, out of polished silver warming trays with all the usual suspects, meatballs, turkey, roast beef, salads and other things, some of which she was sure decorated the classically ugly sateen of her bridesmaid’s dress. Who knew that Cara was so friggin’ traditional? Well, Jackie did of course, they’d been friends since grade school. Funny, she thought, she’d always supposed that she would be the first to get married, she didn’t know why. Maybe she hadn’t made as much of an effort as she should have. Her mother still thought and occasionally hinted that she should have stayed with David, good old safe David. Good old safe, unfeeling, vapid and passive aggressive David. David of the now ‘brilliant’ career in advertising. David of the split level wife and idiotic kids…
She opened her eyes. No use dwelling on the past.
People were dancing on the floor to an upbeat cha cha that she didn’t remember. Oh, yeah, ‘I could write a book’ with a new beat. Her mom had an album with Peggy Lee singing that, but Jackie seriously doubted that either Peggy Lee or her mother could write a book or even read one.
Wow. She was in a seriously fucked up mood and she didn’t want that, not today.
She gathered up her long dress and decided to make her way to the ladies room. When all else fails, she thought, beat your face.
On the way she ran into Dylan and possibly the handsomest man she had ever seen, or seen lately, walking towards her.
“Jacks!” Dylan called out. “You’ll never believe who I just ran into.”
She squinted one eye. She had never seen his companion before, she would have remembered.
“Who?” she asked.
“Marco,” he said. “Remember? From Jamboree camp?”
Jacky vaguely remembered Jamboree camp. She and Dylan had gone for several years in high school, mostly to get away and because Dylan, now an optometrist, had been convinced he was going to be a Broadway star.
“Kinda,” she said and smiled She extended her hand to Marco and he took it, smiling at her, and then moved in for a hug.
She was so turned on that she was embarrassed. She sort of wondered how drunk she looked, hair, dress, mascara. And then she remembered. Marco had been a very sweet, almost painfully shy little boy who had tagged after her at camp. He had no interest in being in the theater but his Uncle ran the camp and he and his cousins were more or less forced to go. Marco had been into something entirely different…..what was it….oh, yeah. He was an artist. He painted the flats and helped set the lights and in the twelve years since she’d left camp he had grown several feet and become unbearably adorable.
“Marco,” she said, suddenly sobering up. “I am truly happy to see you.” She said. “I’ve always wondered what happened to you.” And then, realizing that on some very remote level it was true, and being surprised by it herself she said. “I’ve missed you.”
“Well,” he said, smiling at her with dazzling super white teeth. “Here I am.”