Page 9 of Resisting my Roommate

This isn’t the first time we’ve had this conversation. And I doubt it’ll be the last. But it hits harder than usual today, considering what this week represents. It’s why I’m working. To forget.

I doubt I will, though.

“You shouldn’t keep your table waiting,” I say evenly, showing no emotion.

As always.

She blows out a sigh, studying me for a beat. Then she retreats, expertly balancing the tray full of beer as she moves through the busy taproom.

I turn back to the row of taps, snatching the next order as the slip spits out of the machine, and get to work on pouring beer, grateful for the distraction.

Especially today.

A sudden hush falls over the space, catching me off guard, and I look up to see what’s going on.

Living in a small town and running a popular hangout, I’ve seen my fair share of interesting things.

Nothing could have prepared me for the sight of a woman in an extravagant wedding gown pushing her way through the doors of my taproom.

And it’s not just any woman, either.

It’s her. The bride-to-be from the bachelorette party I stumbled on the other night.

After I left the bar, I immediately regretted sharing my cynical views of love and marriage with a woman who was days away from taking that step.

Now, I feel even worse since I doubt she’s here for a celebratory beer.

Several silent moments pass as everyone in the taproom stares at her, myself included. I half expect her to turn around and leave, embarrassed by all the attention.

She doesn’t, though.

She holds her head high, determined and unfazed by her situation. One thing is certain. It takes guts to walk into a crowded bar on a Saturday evening wearing a wedding dress that would make Cinderella envious.

“Rough day at the office?” Bernie, one of my regulars, asks as she approaches the vacant chair beside where he’s been enjoyinga few beers with the other members of the unofficial Sycamore Falls chess club.

“Depends on your definition of rough,” she retorts playfully. “If you mean finding out the man you were supposed to marry has been cheating on you with your best friend minutes before your wedding so you ditch him, only for him to report the car he bought you as stolen, taking your only mode of transportation, then yes. It’s been a pretty rough day.”

“He did?” I press, unable to stop myself.

Her expression falls as she turns to me, clearly annoyed by my presence. Can’t say I blame her.

“I guess you were right and I’ve been wearing rose-colored glasses all along. So congratulations. Feel free to gloat.”

“Do you two know each other?” Bernie furrows his bushy gray brow.

“No,” I say at the same time as she answers, “Yes.”

Bernie eyes me suspiciously, seemingly more inclined to believe this complete stranger than me, someone he’s known since the day I was born.

“We met briefly the other night,” I explain.

“Is that right?” Bernie looks between the woman and me, obviously intrigued.

“It was quite an enlightening conversation,” she says once she’s situated on the chair, layers upon layers of fabric flowing out from beneath her. “He shared his opinions on love and marriage, how it’s all bullshit, more or less. If I remember correctly, he likened love to a sparkler on the Fourth of July.” She looks my way. “All smoke and no substance. Quite the romantic. I’m surprised all the ladies aren’t banging down his door.”

“Don’t pay no mind to Jude,” Harold, another member of the chess club, pipes up.

“I don’t plan on it.” She sits straighter, squaring her shoulders once more. “I didn’t have running out on my wedding and losing my car on my bingo card today, but I can make the most of a shitty situation. So I’m going to have a drink, then go down the street and treat myself to a piece of cake, since I’ve been looking forward to having some since I woke up this morning.”

---