I followed her around with my eyes all night. She caught me looking several times, as she worked her personal magic and spread it about from duty to duty. I was quick to avert my eyes though, pretending to notice something just above or beyond her face.
She’s graceful in her presence and efficient in her job. First, it was the grand entrance of the newly married couple, as she lined everyone up and got them on queue for their country line dance entrance. She laughed just as much as the bridal party did while it was going on. Secondly, she stood back far enough from the official cake cutting and subsequent “smashing” to not get messy, but was close enough to bellow like a sailor with phrases like ‘do it’ and “give ‘em the frosting in the kisser’.
She loves her job and knows how to make everyone have a great time, but when things go wrong (and they do) she takes charge and handles the situation like a professional. She must be “handling” a problem because I don’t see her anywhere. I wanted to ask her to dance now that the evening is winding down. Maybe I should find her and make sure she’s alright.
I step out of the barn into the cool evening air, loosening my tie and finally taking in a full, deep breathe. The night crickets are chirping, and fireflies start to light up the evening sky. Something rustles in the dumpster sitting on the far side of the barn, and I walk around it not wanting to surprise a mean and hungry raccoon. Suddenly, a hand slaps the side of the aluminum box and “fuck” is shouted as loud as can be. Then a “damn it” echoes in a familiar voice through the box and out into the night. Isabella?
Approaching the box that is spewing curse words, I look inside and see her. She’s covered in sauce from the lemon pepper chicken, and she has little bits of broccoli and rice in her hair. She’s shaking her hands to remove the slimy food particles while she continues reaching for bags and ripping them open. I lean against the big steel box, trying to hide my surprise, but a smile escapes my lips. She stands majestically in the middle separating piles of bags to search from those that have been searched. Or at least it looks like a possible search and rescue mission.
“What are you doing?” I ask, my smile growing bigger as soon as the words leave my mouth. “Did you lose something?”
She jumps, grabbing at the sides of the dumpster to balance herself, startled at the sound of my voice. Strands of her hair have escaped in frustration and cling to her face, as she tries to use her shoulder and her elbow to remove them from blocking her vision. “You scared me,” she breathes, brushing food particles from her dark skirt using the backs of her hands. Her fingers are mired in every kind of filth you can imagine in a dumpster of garbage. “The catering company accidentally threw away the bride’s veil, so it has become my duty as the wedding planner to save the day...and save the veil!”
“Good Lord,” I choke out, exasperated at her. “Why didn’t you come and ask me to help you? I would never have let you get inside here. It’s nasty and dangerous.”
“Haha. This is the glamorous part of my job, don’t you see?” she asks, smiling at me and holding her arms open wide to the mess beneath her. Her beautiful wide smile and laughing eyes do little to convince me of her sincerity. “I’m an expert dumpster diver. This isn’t the first time I’ve had to do something like this. I once had to cut a wedding dress off my bride because her bustle collapsed and fell in the toilet while she was using it. The automatic flush grabbed it and pulled her down, clogging the toilet and flooding the bathroom.”
“Yes. It all sounds so glamorous,” I laugh, shaking my head in complete disbelief. “With stories like that, you should write a book, The Misadventures of Wedding Planning.”
“I love that story. It still makes me laugh so hard I could pee,” she chuckles, stepping out of the circle of muck and mire she has found herself buried in to get closer to the back of the dumpster. “I only have a few more bags to go through. Do you want to help or would you rather stay clean and cheer me on from the sidelines?”
“In good conscience, I can’t let you get any dirtier than what you already are. Please step out so I may get in to finish?” I command.
“No, bossy man. It’s my wedding, my bride, and my responsibility,” she grumbles and growls at me in frustration, blowing and flipping her hair out of her face again.
“For fuck’s sake, Isabella,” growling at her in return. I reach in and pull the matted strand of hair from her cheek and tuck it behind her ear. “Don’t fuck up your suit and shoes for this veil. My clothes will launder just fine, yours may not. And they look expensive, so c’mon. Get out of there.”
“No!” she shouts, blowing out her red cheeks and pursing her lips in anger. Her hands go straight to her hips, and I simply can’t resist. I charge her like a linebacker and push her back onto the soft plump of the trash bags. At first, she fights me, kicking and pushing me away, but I hold her tight until she gives in, completely exhausted from the day. Out of the blue, she begins to laugh.
“What’s so funny?” I ask, taking a long look at her tired face. Her eyes are closed and she lowers her head back to rest on the trash. Giggles escape her lips every so often. I roll off her and lay to her right on my side, cushioned by another mound of garbage.
She turns her head slightly and opens just one eye to gaze at me. “Something happens at every wedding. I’ve been doing this for fifteen years now, and I’ve yet to have a wedding that goes smoothly,” she says, sighing loudly with the burden of her confession. “Many minor issues have happened, some major ones and some have even been repeated over the years, but never have I ever been tackled by a guest in a dumpster. There truly is a first time for everything.”
She belly laughs loudly as the absurdity of this situation comes to a head. She pushes herself upwards onto her elbows and takes a look around the dumpster at the mess she’s made. I can tell her brain is working to figure out the best way possible to find the veil quickly.
“C’mon, let me finish this for you?” I ask, taking a hold of her hand closest to me and wiping it down my chest, smearing a dark trail of cake down my silk tie. “See, I’m already dirty.” Her eyes go wide with surprise, then she takes her other hand and wipes it next to the trail of sauce, rice and cake muck.
She giggles again at the mess she made on my shirt and tie and lays her head back against the trash looking up at me. She’s daring me to punish her. Her eyes are half-closed, and she’s got that ‘I want you. Take me.’ look on her face. And fuck if my dick isn’t harder now than it was when I tackled her for arguing with me. She’s sexy as fuck when her cheeks are flushed with anger. I lean in to kiss her.
Suddenly, her eyes open wide and her hand goes to my chest, stopping me from proceeding any further. She bangs her head back and forth on the soft trash just beneath her head several times. “Wait, this bag is fluffy,” she flips over quickly onto her knees and starts ripping at the bag. She starts pulling out used paper napkins and tulle. Then finally, as the bag is almost empty, she pulls out some tulle and ribbon that is connected by a string to a hair comb.
“Ah ha, found it!” she exclaims, holding it high above her head and inspecting it for damage. She wipes the muck from her hands on her skirt before she begins to straighten it out, unraveling the ends to(hopefully) return it to its owner unscathed.
“Alright now,” I remark, “You have completed your mission for the evening. Go clean yourself up, present your find to the bride and meet me inside.” Taking her hand, I pull her up and make sure she is balanced in her heels, turn her to face the exit of the dumpster, and tap her butt to push her along.
“Oh,” she exclaims, turning to look at me sideways. She sweeps her eyes down demurely but lifts the corner of her lips into a small smile before stepping forward on her merry way. I watch her hips sway as she walks away. The halogen lamps illuminate the slight curves of her body until she steps inside the shadow of the barn. I suddenly feel alone and cold in the stale air of the dumpster.
Looking at the state of my shirt, I think I’ve lost my mind. Surely I don’t know what I’ve gotten myself into with her. She keeps surprising me, and the weird part is that I most definitely like it. She’s interesting, and damn it she calls out to me with a silent forbidden voice. Maybe it’s only forbidden in my mind since my heart is a married man, but my body is not.
She wages a war inside me. She’s been shredding my defenses since that first night in the bar when she ridiculed my taste in music. My first thought is to charge forward and claim her as mine, but then my heart pushes on the brake, reminding me it’s taken and has been for a long time. I feel unfaithful, but deep down inside there’s a whisper of a hint that I’m available and that feeling wants to rush forward and grab the freedom and adventure it’s being offered.
Why are life and love so fucking hard? I swear to God if I hear one more person say there is someone for everyone I will break and shatter. My someone was found and taken away...by me. I wasn’t paying attention and now she only exists in my heart and mind, but not physically in my life. That’s what I miss the most, the physicality of being close to someone. Feeling them touch you in that gentle way after a bad day, silently saying I know today was shitty but I’m here and we’re going to make it better together.
God, I miss a woman’s touch. Heels click on the pavement, bringing me out of my morbid thoughts and into the present. Her hips sway as she walks, and instantly pulls my attention to them. I grab a few of the cleaner napkins from an opened trash bag and wipe off my shirt and tie as best I can before stepping out of the dumpster. She tilts her head and smiles. She’s probably wondering what I’m still doing in the dumpster.
I reach out and take her hand, twining our fingers into one web. Damn that feels good. Her skin is warm against mine, and the breeze picks up her scent and twirls honeysuckle past my nose. Maybe this is a sign. Could Olivia be telling me it’s time to move on?
We enter the barn and the lights are turned down low for slow dancing. ‘Speechless’ by Rachel Platten is playing. I guide her to the dance floor and wait briefly but impatiently for her to wrap her arms around my neck. I need this tonight. This wedding has my emotions riding the surface of my mind. My hands fall to her hips as we sway to the music slowly. She feels wonderful in my arms, and something rises up inside my chest making me question my actions again. My heart is rebelling, and I don’t know if I should fight it or fucking run as far and fast as I can.