Someone Like Her

2 - Jessica

Jessica

Exactly how drunk was I to end up in Matthew Parkinson's bed?

I groaned when I got to my last pinky finger and realized I might need my toes too to count all the drinks I had last night. Let's just say I celebrated my graduating from the maid of honor duties a little too much at the bar.

In my defense, weddings are a bitch to plan but a fairytale to photograph. I mean, I should know. My two best friends had already walked down the matrimonial aisle. And also, in my line of work, I've seen lovely brides taking the form of full-on Godzilla over a bad hair day, spill on a dress and the one fateful day Lilies hadn't bloomed the way they should be.

But then again, however nightmarish the wedding planning can be, there's a reason why only crazy people don't want to have a wedding. At the tippity top, there's immense beauty and tearful joy.

It's a fairytale behind the lens of a camera. Give it the right angle and it's a dream come true.

Weddings are equally nightmarish and dreamy because where there is dream, there is nightmare.

And however I want to skip all the fuss of planning a wedding, I've only allowed myself to dive into the horrors twice.

Twice.

First was when my best friend, Kathie Jane Lewis got married to the father of her triplets, Cade Parkinson and I was given the title "maid of honor" because our workaholic best friend, Audrey Danler had a crazy month running the bestselling women's magazine in town.

Second was when the cynic Audrey Danler herself married Cade's younger brother, Vren Parkinson. She accidentally got knocked up from their drunken wedding hookup, annnd, it was a rollercoaster ride from there.

In the wedding planning, I held the tasting card above all. Getting to eat assortment of cakes was worth trading my camera with the maid of honor bouquet. Worth wearing the gray lacy gown that totally washed me out.  Kathie said it didn't, but I've taken it off right after the ceremony.

Audrey changed into an elegant dress at the reception, so I got away from ridding the gown. Then as if the gown was besties with karma, I got mine instantly afterward.

A shame I'd be buried in when I die.

My hands are supposed to be on a camera like they naturally should, but last night they were on tequilas. Shitload of tequilas.

Audrey was too happily married and smitten with Vren to notice I went crazy on my drink number. Kathie Jane was juggling two sociable little boys while Cade is keeping a grumpy little girl who just wanted to go home. Her little sister, Chassie George who's married to Nathaniel Forester had two bundle of energies of their own to keep them occupied.

And then Kylie Preston (Audrey's assistant and my neighbor whom I developed a sibling-attachment to) was trying to keep Audrey and Vren's one year old Miles from a tantrum. That, and pampering her boyfriend who happens to be – drum roll, please – Christian Parkinson, Cade and Vren's younger brother.

In a nutshell, I've taken too much advantage of the liberty. And now I'm paying those irresponsible tequila shots with every ounce of shame and dignity.

Bits and pieces.

I have bits and pieces.

I remember Matthew Parkinson swerving me away from the grinning men in tuxedos at the bar.

Not proud of that.

I remember Matthew Parkinson offering to take me home and I throwing my arms around his neck and then passing out.

Not proud of that either.

I seem to remember him turning away and covering me up with the sheets.

A shame I'd be taking to the grave.

I shake my head to rid myself of the thought. Or any other thoughts of Matthew Parkinson.

As a wedding photographer, the day after a wedding gig is meant for sleeping in. I need it especially after the drunken train wreck I was last night. Badly. But apparently, I'm not just paying with shame and dignity. I have to give up my beauty sleep too.

I regarded myself in the mirror and frowned at the hangover pallor on my skin. I swipe another layer of lipstick and pinched my cheeks because if I'm gonna have to do a full-face makeup, I'll be late for my meeting.

I grabbed my purse from my nightstand, staring longingly at the bed I hadn't made two nights in a row because I hadn't been home. However crumpled the sheets were, the bed was tempting. But like I said, beauty sleep is not an option because I have to meet with a business associate/friend-in-the-business for potential high-profile wedding gig.

My head throbbed.

I cursed.

At least I'm wearing a cute camisole and my best pair of leather pants. When I got out into the hall of my ratty apartment building though, middle-aged Carmen living just across me tossed a scandalized look at my wardrobe. Her horrified gaze darted to my cleavage.

"Good afternoon, Carmen," I chirped.

And nope, I'm not going to wear anything over my camisole.

The woman took another sharp look at me and turned to her door in dismay.

God, I love my neighbors. Their spinster's lives and crumbling marriages echo through the paper-thin wall. It's very inconvenient but it makes me feel better about my poor life choices.

I turned to the apartment next door. Assuming Kylie slept over at her boyfriend's, my relief for the roaring headache still awaits me at of the trendiest restaurants in town where my friend hopefully is not sporting a frown at the moment because I'm running late.

I scurried out of my apartment building, tracked by a string of F-bombs from my neighbors who's due on their water bill.

I hailed a cab, feeling a little better having to know it's not just me who's having the shittiest day.

I'm sorry for the typos. Thank you so much for reading!