[This was originally posted at http://www.jessicaconcha.com/five-weddings.html]

© copyright Thu Sep 15 03:37:03 UTC 2011 - All Rights Reserved

*****

You know how they say that life is full of surprises? It really is.

I never really believed in fate, destiny, soul mates, pssh—none of it. I guess I am not your typical romantic. Never was, never will be.

I mean seriously, could you blame me? My parents were separated, my sister’s boyfriends were all jerks, and then… me. The one who has never had a relationship. I don’t think anyone has ever dared to look at me anyway. Not that it matters. I didn’t particularly believe in love.

No, I’m not bitter.

So, it was one of those nights when my Mom called me to tell me she was going to get married again. At first it didn’t sink in—much less expected my mom to want to get remarried. I mean why? I thought our family of three was already good enough.

Apparently not to her.

It was the night of the wedding that I was so upset I spent almost the whole night at the garden of the hotel where my mom and her new husband held the reception. I couldn’t bear to be inside, but I couldn’t show that I was unhappy either. At least not in the night my Mom deemed to be a dream come true. It was her Cinderella night, and I was acting like an ugly stepsister.

I was sitting on the white wooden bench near the pond, with my shoes all tucked underneath. I was barefoot and was playing with the water with my toes. It was a chilly night, and although it would have been nice to sit inside and be warm, the whole wedding still was unacceptable to me. Maybe because I was a Daddy’s girl. I always had that bias when it comes to my Dad.

“You know, there is a celebration inside,” I heard a voice coming from behind me. It was not a voice I recognized, but I still answered anyway.

“There’s no reason for me to celebrate.” I answered grimly.

“How come?” He was coming closer to where I was  and stood right next to the bench where I was sitting at. I still didn’t dare to look, “There’s always a reason to celebrate.”

Who is this stranger anyway? Why is he talking to me as if he knows everything? What I hate the most about are know-it-alls. It bugs me.

“You don’t know how I feel.” I answered him, “It’s not your mom who got remarried.”

He laughed out loud as if I said something funny. I didn’t try to kid around with him, what did he find funny anyway?

I was about to ask him what he thought was funny when he started talking again.

“Funny you’d mention,” he said out loud, “my mom got remarried last year. I think I’ll know first-hand how you feel.”

I finally looked up to this guy who is basically a stranger to me. Somehow, it made me feel better knowing someone knows how I felt.

He just gave me one of those smiles I was sure girls would swoon over. He had dark hair that falls on the side. He had his suit off and was only wearing a dress shirt. His hands were in his pockets.

“Happiness comes when you learn to accept the ability to love and be loved…”  He then said.

I was staring at this guy who was talking to me with all of this trivial stuff. Trivial or not, it made my heart twinge a bit.

“Wow, that’s… deep.” Was all I could say.

“Actually…” he pulled up something from his pockets, “I got it from a fortune cookie.”

I laughed out loud at what he said. I never really knew if he was kidding around about the fortune cookie. I never found out the truth.

It was like one of those nights. I started having a little crush on him. I did not even know it was possible for me to even have a crush.

Me. The one without a trace of romance.

Eventually, that night had to be over. I turned into one of those giddy girls who squirm at every little thing their boyfriends do. I guess you could say I condone into the norm, and I was not exactly unhappy about it.

It was not a one night thing. We saw each other again—thanks to all of these people in our small community that were getting married. We saw each other again at another wedding. Each time we would see each other, he would pull another quote that he claimed to have gotten from every fortune cookie.

The crush turned into a like.

Another wedding. To infatuation.

And another… and I was lost.

I was lost in love with a guy that I only saw on occasions. I did not even know his name. Why did I not ask for his name?

One day, we got another invitation for another wedding. My mom told me she was not interested in going, but I repeatedly told her I wanted to go. Another wedding means another chance of seeing him. Another wedding means a chance for me to say how I really felt.

I know it sounded like one of those weird fairy tales. A love on an interval. Is there such a thing?

I picked out a very nice dress—I was not a bridesmaid. I had a salon fix my hair to its best, my make-up done, and I was ready to go. I could not bear to leave that night without telling him any thing. It had to be that night.

Or never at all.

I was waiting outside among the guests to see him, and so I could go say hi. People came, and another, and another. No sight of him. “I guess he’s not at this wedding…” I thought to myself.

As I turned back to go sit down and to finally give up that the guy in the garden was not coming, I heard people cheering. I was not sure why at first, and then I figured the bride was coming.

Everybody went inside the church. All except for me. It was a first. It was weird not seeing him at an occasion. What happened to my fortune cookie?

I decided to sit outside at the garden during the wedding reception, just as how I did when my mom got married that one night I met him. I was sad and I did not particularly believe in love. He changed all of that. But where is he? Why now? When will I see him again?

As my mind was wandering off, I saw a shadow right behind me. It’s him. He came.

“Hey,” he said after seeing me.

He looked really handsome in his tux. His hair was perfectly put in its place. He was there to save the night again.

“You came!” The first thing that came out of my mouth as I saw him. I jumped and hugged him at the same time, “I thought you weren’t coming. I was so sad and I was about to tell you how I really felt. That ever since the first night I met you… you were always in my head. I just never thought I did like you, or loved you then. And I just couldn’t bear the thought of not telling you.  It had to be this night or not at all… that I am so lost in love with you.”

He backed off from me. His face was sullen.

“Oh.” He replied to me as if I said something wrong, “I’m so sorry. I really am.”

He took my hand to his. He squeezed it really hard as if it was the last.

“This whole thing…” he said slowly, “This is my wedding.”