Part I: The Bridesmaid
Swaths of chiffon the color of cotton candy swim around me as I step out of the sleek town car. As my satin pump clad foot hits the pavement, I feel the dull ache at the bottom of my foot and regret for the 10th time today agreeing to be in two weddings in one day. I inhale sharply as I climb out of the car to mentally prepare and I use my exhale to propel me forward. I remind myself I have less than 30 seconds to make it back to the head table to give my bridesmaid toast. The reminder makes me sprint forward, eager to not miss it. But my mad dash back into the reception hall is quickly interrupted by a distraught Dorota. "Ms. Blair! Ms. Blair! Wrong shoe!"
I whirl around, my dress swishing around my ankles, to see Dorota leaning out of the town car frantically waving the Manolo satin shoe that I believed to be on my right foot. As I glance down, I spot one velvet shoe and one satin shoe. "Give me the shoe!"
I hold out my manicured hands as though to catch it and Dorota gently tosses it to me. Although the only sports I have only played in my life are tennis and field hockey, I manage to catch it like a pro baseball player. Swapping the shoes, I chuck the velvet one back at Dorota and make a graceful sprint back inside.
After drinking and reluctantly dancing my way through the reception, all that's keeping me from a much-needed rest back at home is the bouquet toss. Now, this is my favorite part of a wedding reception. Not because I'm desperate enough to believe catching a bouquet is the ticket to a wedding, or even that I need it. No, instead it serves as the prime opportunity for me to shine and be in the spotlight. Whether it takes a well-maneuvered sidestep or a subtle shove, I am always the one to catch the bouquet. Always.
I position myself right in line with the bride, eyes narrowed and ignorant of the excited buzz around me. I maintain my razor-sharp focus as the bride hurls the bouquet behind her and it soars through the air. As expected, it's heading straight for me and I outstretch my arms, ready to catch it. It's just at my fingertips when all of a sudden, everything turns to darkness.
I flutter open my eyes to see a blur of faces hovering above me. After blinking a few more times, my vision clears and I see precisely three people looking at me with great interest as I lay across the dancefloor. The closest and most central of which is an unfamiliar man who is actually quite handsome despite his rumpled hair. He wears a slim-fitting black suit and an expression of concern. His formerly furrowed brow relaxes as he watches my eyes open. Then, he turns to the other two who I now see are Kati and Isabel.
"I need a bottle of vodka and an ibuprofen, STAT." He barks at the two who get up obediently and march off on their mission.
"Are you a doctor?" I say wearily, gingerly pressing my hand to my forehead.
"No, but they weren't doing any good hovering so I got rid of them." He says, the faint trace of concern still etched across his forehead.
"No truer words have ever been said about those two." I give a weak laugh. Kati and Isabel return and the mystery guy takes the vodka and little cup with a pill and sets it on the table next to us.
"Are you okay? That was a pretty bad fall." He offers his hand to help me up.
I take it and slowly rise up, feeling faint as I get on my feet. He quickly brings a chair behind me and directs me to sit which I do, feeling much better now. I brush away the wrinkles that have formed on my long pale pink pleated gown. "So who was responsible for my head injury?" I say, already plotting that person's demise.
"Girl with the long brown hair over there. The one taking selfies with the bouquet." He points across the room and I see Penelope Shafai, arm outstretched and making a kissy face with the bouquet by her cheek.
"That bitch. Did she even pretend to be concerned for me?" I say, not taking my glaring eyes off of her.
"Sort of, I guess. But then she ran off pretty quickly to apparently update her Instagram story." He says disapprovingly.
I turn back to face him and offer my gratitude but then realize I still don't know his name. "Well, thanks for helping me…" I trail off, indicating for him to fill in the blank.
"Dan," He offers his hand for me to shake and I take it. "Dan Humphrey."
"Blair Waldorf." I glance around at the now mostly empty room. "How long was I out for?"
"Only a couple minutes. But I guess a girl suffering a mild concussion isn't exactly party inducing so most people took off." Dan shrugs.
"I probably should too." Blair stifles a yawn. "I'm exhausted and probably need to be seen by a doctor in the morning."
Dan nods, "To be safe, I would. Can I walk you out? You still look a little dizzy."
"I'm fine," I rise to my feet but my words are contradicted when I sway a little.
He raises his eyebrows and not saying anything, offers his elbow which I link mine through.
"By the way, I enjoyed the fashion show earlier." Dan says as we make our way to the exit.
I look at him blankly. "The fashion show?"
"Yes, I really loved the mismatched shoes. I thought it could be quite the trend." He gives me a wry smile and realization dawns on me.
"Oh, that." I say, trying to think of a good explanation. I guess it would seem a little odd witnessing that with no context. I decide for the truth. Whether it's my head injury or the physical exhaustion, I don't have the energy to think of a lie. "I was in two weddings tonight and had to go back and forth between them."
"Two weddings?" He looks at me with widened eyes. "How is that even possible?"
"A car stocked with attire for both, many cups of coffee, and a trusty helper." I point to Dorota who's standing outside the car bundled in a beige wrap coat. I glance back at him and I suddenly feel a rare urge to be generous, "Want a ride home? You did help me and I'd like to say thank you in some way."
"That's not necessary." He shakes his head. "Besides, you should get home right away to rest and put ice on your injury."
"Really, it's no trouble. I can have my driver drop you off after me so it won't even delay me getting home. Where do you live?" I ask him as we reach the car.
"Williamsburg."
I wrinkle my nose, automatically. Just when I was beginning to like him too... I nod. "In that case, you will definitely be dropped off second."
"Thanks, again, I appreciate it." He says climbing into the car after me. Once I'm buckled in, I pull out my phone to check my texts. I see 12 from Serena and decide they will have to wait until I'm home. Probably another sordid story of her fabulous life in Milan or whatever European city she's traipsing at the moment. I set the phone down beside me and turn back to Dan.
"So are you a professional bridesmaid?" He asks me, playfully.
I shake my head, "No, thankfully. I'm Chief Operating Officer of Port Publishing."
"Wow, that's impressive. You can't be more than, what? 25?" He says, eyeing me.
"27, actually." I clarify, feeling a bit inflated by his compliment. I've been buying more and more anti-aging creams lately, terrified of acquiring wrinkles so his guess pleases me. I make a mental note to restock on my supply of La Prairie caviar skin cream.
"Still, I don't know many other 27-year-old COOs. Especially ones that find the time to be bridesmaids. I have to ask though, why did you agree to such a commitment? I find attending one wedding in a day to be grueling enough." He winces, dramatically.
"Oh, what a surprise, a man who hates marriage." I say sardonically as I glance down at his left hand and confirm that he indeed is unmarried.
"It's not that I hate marriage, per se. I just find the whole concept to be dated and as a modern woman yourself you should see how misogynistic weddings and marriages are." He says cynically.
"I don't see what's so misogynistic about declaring your love in front of everyone you know and vowing to spend the rest of your life with someone." I counter. "You probably are just one of those assholes who claims problem with the institution when reality, you'd rather not be tied down so you can screw whoever whenever you want." I roll my eyes and scoot further toward the edge of the seat.
"On the contrary," He replies calmly. "I have no problem with commitment at all."
"Right," I say sarcastically. "Anyways, what do you do?" I ask him, eager to deflect.
"I'm a writer at the New York Times."
"Ah, good for you. A real writer then." I'm mildly impressed.
"I'm not sure I'd say that." He uses a self-deprecating tone. "You haven't read what I write."
Before I can ask him what it is that he writes, we pull up at my place. "This is me." I say lamely, feeling a bit awkward. I extend my hand, "It was… interesting to meet you."
"You too." He seems to think and then speaks again. "If you ever want to debate marriage or perhaps another topic again, you should give me a call and we can go for a drink." He profers his business card but I don't take it.
"I think I'll pass. But thank you, have a good night." I shut the door behind me, not looking back.
So bleary-eyed from the exhaustion of the day and from the fall I took, I don't even notice my missing phone as I exit the town car.
It's not until later that I finally realize it's gone. As I stand over the sink, scrubbing away the last of traces of my bridesmaid duties from my face, I hear a faint door at the voice. "Ms. Blair?"
"Come in, Dorota." I dab at my face with an Egyptian cotton towel and turn to face her in the doorway. There she stands with my phone in her hand, the flecks of glitter dotting the case shimmering.
"You left this in car." She says handing me the phone.
"Oh," I say, blinking in confusion. I could've sworn I had it that whole time. "Thanks, Dorota."
"Also, Ms. Serena call landline and say you must call back. Very urgent." Dorota says, reminding me of all the unanswered texts I had from her. I feel a pang of worry and realize that something could be wrong.
"I'll call her now." I shut the door behind her and dial Serena.
"B! Finally!" Serena's cheery tone immediately makes my worries dissipate.
"S, what is going on? I had a million texts from you and Dorota said you had something urgent to tell me." I say in an annoyance. It's so like her to be dramatic. She probably just thought she made out with Leo DiCaprio again but it never turns out to actually be him.
"Um yes," Serena exclaims. "I am currently at the airport waiting to board the next flight home. I thought you'd want to know that your best friend is finally homeward bound."
"Oh my god, S!" I glance around frantically. "You should have told me sooner. I'll have to have Dorota prepare the guest room right away."
"Blair, you know I don't care about that. I'll sleep in your bed if I need to. I just can't wait to be back in the city. Oh, wait," She pauses and I hear a faint announcement come down the line. "That's my flight, gotta board now. But I get in at 9 AM tomorrow and will take a cab straight to your place. So be up and ready! Love you, B."
"Love you too, S. See you soon." I hang up, feeling a mix of emotions. It's been so long since I've seen her in person. It's like I missed her immensely but at the same time have gotten so accustomed to a long-distance friendship, I'll have no clue how to pick things up. 9 AM, I groan to myself. So early after such a long day but it is what it is. I open up my calendar app to add in her arrival details and notice I already have something scheduled for tomorrow.
Frowning at my phone, I click the date and see the following penciled in:
Drinks with Dan Humphrey
7 PM
What the fuck? I definitely didn't put that in. I notice dots on each Friday for the next 6 months and see they all say the same exact thing. He even added himself to my contacts. I feel so violated! I can't believe he went on my phone. He must have done it in the car on the way back to Brooklyn. That hipster asshole. Doesn't he know going through someone else's phone is practically sacrilege?
Too tired to even think more about Dan Humphrey and his antics, I lock my phone and climb into bed. As I lay, struggling to fall asleep despite my fatigue, I feel the slightest flutter in my stomach as I replay the memory of waking from my fall to see his soft brown eyes on mine.