Divorced from the Wedding

June 23, 2018

Hyannis, Massachusetts

Brandon Goodwin could feel it coming.

In less than thirty minutes, the ceremony would begin, and his fantasy would come to an end. He couldn't bear it. This whole thing was just too damn much.

He quietly excused himself and went to the downstairs bathroom of St. Francis Xavier Parish. He rested his head on the side of the stall and waited for the panic to leave his mind. Two minutes. Five minutes. Ten minutes. The demon in his brain seemed to take forever to go away. A part of him wanted to laugh. He shouldn't be panicking, he thought to himself. He should be happy for them, not sad for himself.

Finally, the demon in his mind fled, and he tried to compose himself. It wouldn't be so bad, he thought.

Then he flashed back to his first day at Archbishop Williams High School, in the fall of 2003. The first day he met Mary Ellen Shaw and fell so hard for her...and also met Brian Hughes, who became his best friend. He found himself hating that day. He wished his parents had never put him in that goddamn school. Then he wouldn't have wound up here.

Brandon took a deep breath and returned to the pew. There was a white woman and a black woman now seated in front of him, both around his age, both deep in conversation. He could only see the backs of their heads, but the black woman had long, permed black hair and the white woman's hair was shoulder-length, blonde and curly. They were whispering about something.

The ceremony soon began, and Brandon put on the best acting job he could, feigning happiness as he saw Brian walk down the aisle. Brian actually stopped to give him a fist-bump, and Brandon gave him a thumbs-up as he made his way towards the altar. There was another gesture he wanted to make, but it wouldn't be appropriate.

Then, the end of the fantasy. Mary Ellen walked down the aisle, escorted by her father Martin. Brandon put his head down slightly. He couldn't bear to watch this. Suddenly, it was 2003 all over again. And '04. And '05. And '06. And graduation day, class of 2007.

He never had a shot at her. He never had a chance. She was from the part of Dorchester where the Sullivans and McDonoughs and O'Toole's lived. He was from the part of Dorchester that always seemed to make the first five minutes of the eleven o'clock news. If he ever tried to let her know how he felt, she would have either said no, or she would have said yes and Martin would have forced her to change her mind.

"That dress is gorgeous," he heard the white woman in front of him say in a distinct accent.

Maybe it was, but Brandon couldn't determine for himself. At least not yet.

The old priest, a bearded fellow who couldn't have been more than five feet tall, began the ceremony, and when he came to the part where he asked if anyone objected and to speak now or forever hold their piece, Brandon rolled his tongue into the roof of his mouth. He couldn't ruin this moment, as much as he wanted to.

Then came the exchange of vows, and Brandon finally looked up. Mary Ellen was even more beautiful now than she was during her days at Archbishop Williams. She was so tall and slender, with light-brown hair and sparkling blue eyes. She wore an intricately embroidered strapless lace wedding dress; the sight of her pale shoulders through her veil was beautiful and brutal at the same time. For years after they had both graduated from Archbishop Williams, Brandon had dreamed of what it would be like to kiss those shoulders, to run his fingers through her hair, to have a child or two or three with this lovely young woman. He'd never get the chance. Not now.

When the priest told Brian he could kiss the bride, Brandon wanted to die. This church felt like hell. He didn't dare look up. He didn't want the image of Brian kissing Mary Ellen to be in his memory; it would bring nothing but tortuous pain, he thought.

"Awww," said the white woman in front of him, again in a noticeable accent.

Brian and Mary Ellen walked up the aisle, and the new husband again gave Brandon a fist-bump. "See you at the reception!" he yelled. Mary Ellen never even bothered to look at him.

Brandon nodded, and rose again from the pew to head to the bathroom. All the stalls were now occupied. Jeez, he thought, I just can't catch a break.

-

"Wi-Fi sucks, eh?"

There was that accent again. It was the same white woman who was in front of Brandon when his life ended.

Brandon turned around and looked directly at the woman for the first time. She bore a strong resemblance to Rebel Wilson, and sounded a bit like her; Brandon thought that she was no Mary Ellen, but she was quite cute, with a flawless complexion and a nice smile. Her light pink dress seemed to make her figure even fuller and sexier; he couldn't help glancing twice at her cleavage.

"Yeah, I'm trying to get another Uber to take me to Scudder Avenue, but yeah, the Wi-Fi's out."

"I can give you a Lyft. Get it?"

Brandon laughed. "That's a good one."

The Rebel lookalike waved him over to the parking lot, and after a minute she located her black Prius.

"Nice ride."

"Thanks," she replied. "Wish it was a Tesla, but that's a bit out of my price range. I figured this was good for the climate, and good for my purse, too!"

"Good point," he noted as they climbed in.

Brandon couldn't help glancing at her cleavage again.

"So, did you like it?" she asked.

"The wedding? Ah, it was all right."

"All right? I thought it was beautiful! I'd love to have a wedding like that."

"Well..."

"Hope they have a nice honeymoon."

"They probably will."

"I'm sure of it."

The Rebel lookalike paused.

"Hey, do you mind if I ask how you know them?"

"Oh, I went to high school with both of them. Brian and I both work at the Globe now."

"Yeah, I know he's on the op-ed page. What do you do there?"

"I'm one of the sportswriters."

"Cool!"

"Well, do you mind if I ask how you know them?"

"Oh, she and I worked together on the New York Times Fashion section for a couple of years."

"Yeah, she always loved fashion. She was always the best dressed girl in school."

"Not surprised."

Brandon paused, and quickly glanced again at her cleavage. "If you don't mind me saying so, you know how to rock a dress yourself!"

"Thank you. And you certainly know how to rock a suit!"

"Oh, you're much too kind."

The Rebel lookalike laughed. "You know, the girl I was sitting next to in the church? We were both talking about you-we saw you coming up from downstairs. We both thought you looked like Michael B. Jordan!"

"What? Are both of you blind? I probably look more like Jordan's Furniture!"

She chuckled. "You're too funny."

"Thanks. OK, I...I guess I'm your typical American who can't tell an accent...where are you from? If you don't mind me asking."

"Oh, I'm from Ballina in Australia. I've only been in the States for a couple of years, though."

"Really! Where were you previously?"

"I lived in Toronto and London for a while."

"Did you like it there?"

"No! I thought I'd find guys there who looked like Drake and Idris Elba, but I guess they were all taken."

"I see."

"Speaking of guys being taken, the girl next to me was joking about which of us might have the better shot if you were available. We thought your girlfriend would be around, but she never showed up! Was she sick?"

"Uh, no. She doesn't exist."

"Really?"

"Yeah. My work is my wife."

"That's too bad."

"Oh well."

Brandon's eyes darted again to her cleavage, and then down to her legs. She was almost as pale as Mary Ellen, and Brandon imagined how cute her toes must have looked underneath her black pumps.

"So the girl next to me said you looked like the sort of guy who'd like a hot black girl or a hot white girl."

"Really."

"Yeah."

"Hmmm."

She pulled into the parking lot of the West End reception hall and shut off the ignition.

"You don't look too enthusiastic."

"Well..." Brandon demurred.

"You don't want to see a bunch of people get drunk and try to dance?" she laughed.

"Not really, to be honest."

"Can I tell you something?"

"Sure."

"I fucking hate wedding receptions. I'm usually just there for a half-hour, then I take off."

"Really."

"They're so boring...I usually sit there and think, 'How soon will it be before they get divorced?'"

"Oh my God-you think just like me!"

"Great minds think alike!"

"Hey, I don't think I ever caught your name."

"I didn't catch yours, either. Can you throw it to me?"

"As long as you don't drop it."

"Hah!"

"Yeah, I'm Brandon Goodwin."

"Claire O'Donoghue."

"So nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you as well."

"So, did you want to go in for a half-hour and then take off?"

"I'd rather skip it, honestly. I mean, I love Mary Ellen, but they'll have just as much fun without us."

"Good point."

"So what do you want to do?"

"Really want to get something to eat...I think there's a Burger King around here somewhere...let me look it up..."

"Oh, the Wi-Fi's working now."

"Yeah, finally...Oh, yeah, it's on North Street."

"Cool. Let's head over."

Brandon glanced at the side of Claire's face as she restarted her Prius. She was really cute-her cheek, her eyelashes, even her earlobe. She almost made him forget Mary Ellen. He wanted to impress this lady, and desperately tried to come up with something.

"Hey, don't they call Burger King Hungry Jack's in Australia?"

"Why, yes, they do! Not a lot of Americans know that. How did you know?"

"Wikipedia!"