The Hookup

  I got in relatively late the night before Chrissie’s big day. We had hoped to still see each other but there were some classic last-minute conflicts, and her emotional state was like, so fragile. She had her mom and sisters so I knew we could reconnect in the morning. Although I kinda wanted to see her. She was my bestie! On her wedding night! Ugh!

I can’t even imagine what I’d be doing, of how I’d handle it all. Probably just not get married. Lifetime commitment didn’t seem natural to me. Certainly not my parents. Mom on number 3, and dad on 2 and that seemed to be ending soon, too. No thanks!

I went down to the lobby bar for a quick nightcap when this kinda hot looking prepster bought me another drink.  Okay, maybe not hot, hot – but let’s say doable in that New England, cardigan, collegiate sort of way. No rugby, but maybe crew? Golf for sure. He was cute. I don’t know what I was thinking, okay? I was hungry. Tired. Frisky. And he was harmless. And fun in a Ken doll kinda way. But still somewhat vacuous. This was a Cindi Lauper moment. So what?

Our conversations – if you call it that – continued into my room. I couldn’t quite get much about his history or interests or maybe I wasn’t really listening. And that wasn’t part of the plan anyway. Fortunately, he seemed rather – I don’t know – flexible to whatever. Pliable, does that make sense? Regardless, I took full advantage.

But what cruel fucking deity had me walking down the aisle with him? Or at least I think it was him? The dude had a twin, and he was right behind us. Or he was behind us, and I was walking with the twin. I mean, like WTF? I couldn’t even remember his name. Chadwick? And brother Winston? Neither twin made much eye contact, and both were silent the whole walk. Did I dream this even happened? Holy shit! I hate weddings. Oh, Chrissie, I’m so sorry.