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As I slide my feet into the uncomfortable kitten heels, I reflect on all of the life-altering decisions that have led me here. I feel the bile rise in my throat - not due to the lingering effects of the hangover, but due to the horrific dress my father's bride, Mel, had thrust into my arms that morning. She gleamed with excitement at how beautiful I would look in it and explained the vision that she had of me looking like a princess. I have never been a princess.
My dad raised me to be tough. Losing my mom at an early age had cut deep - for both of us. Dad had done his best to fill both parental roles, but he had his own challenges to face. He left me to mostly grow up with my grandparents in Cali, who I considered my closest family. He was away with the baseball team often, but the times I did see him, we would do things that built more strength than merely physical. He was big on sports, obviously. Father-daughter bonding time usually included throwing a ball around or marathon training. As he saw it, physical exercise was the most important lesson he could teach me. He had given me the skills to be in control of my body and, therefore, my mind, and for that, I will be forever grateful.
So, a pink frilly dress, nauseating matching pink kitten heels, and bouncy hair are certainly not for me. I could tell that was what Mel wanted, though; her own long white dress encrusted with sequins and sparkles seemingly echoed those thoughts.
It was kind of her to include me, I guess, on the big day. Though I suspect that had been with my father's encouragement. He was reaching out to me more recently, trying to make up for lost time, I think. A part of me thought that maybe Mel was being malicious since she knew how much this wasn't me and seemed to be trying to make me as uncomfortable as possible.
Though I appreciate that she wanted to make me part of their new, small family, I couldn't help feeling like the odd one out – not part of the actual family, just a distant relative left by the wayside. Mel has an 8-year-old boy called Luke, who I adore like a brother, but the three of them were their own family now with a home that I didn’t know and a life I didn’t fit into. A few years ago, they had settled into this town, a place I don’t really understand the appeal of; everyone knows everyone, it feels like there is absolutely no privacy, and there are very few things to do. Although I have to admit, I could think of one thing this small town has to offer, letting my mind dwell on the luscious lips and deep brown eyes of one particular man.
“OUCH!” I yelp, startled by the hairdresser who has just ‘accidentally’ burned my scalp with the straighteners. Her eyes are trained on the mirror, a look of focused concentration on her face, whether due to styling my hair or to a load of chewing gum in her mouth, I’m not sure. She mumbles something that resembles an apology before continuing with her task.
As soon as Mel notices me, she dashes over with a beaming smile, looking absolutely stunning in her dress and having already completed her hair and makeup. She had just spent the previous hour with the photographer before the ceremony begins. I can’t help but admire her long red locks and clear skin, despite the fact that her smile never seems to quite reach her eyes.
"Isobel, I cannot thank you enough for your attendance!" She calls out, as the hairstylist finishes styling my hair, leaving my neck positioned at an awkward angle. Mel is so sweet in a way that brings to mind a young child who longed for an older sibling or a close companion.
For the one-hundredth time, I have to remind her that "It's Izzie," after which I respond, "And it’s no problem. I wouldn't let the occasion pass me by."
"I simply wanted to convey to you how much affection I have for your father. I can't tell you how thrilled I am to soon be his wife and your stepmother." I am twenty-three years old, and the concept of having a stepmother is completely foreign to me. Her enthusiasm makes me feel very uneasy. In response, I manage to muster up a smirk. "Yeah. It's wonderful, and Pops is ecstatic about it,” I respond, making an effort to sound sincere. Despite this, it wis undeniable that my father is in a better mood than I'd seen him in many years. When he first started seeing Mel, I believed it to be a joke or a passing phase in his life. I'd heard of men in their middle years dating younger, more attractive women who resembled Barbie dolls.
How is it possible for her to be in such complete contrast to my mother? In every picture, my mother is wearing dungarees, and she is either covered in paint or covered in dirt. She did not waste any time on makeup or other girly activities; rather, she spent her time sitting in front of a blank canvas with a paintbrush in her hand or tending to the vegetation and flowers outside. I always longed to see her. I never had the opportunity to get to know her, but I miss the concept of her, and I miss the person that she was. I'm not entirely certain that I would have ever given Mel a chance if it weren't for the insistence of my father that she was his future.
My hair has been cut and styled, and now that they are finished, I have some time to collect my thoughts and assess how I am feeling. The thought of my mom has always had a way of making me more upset than I ought to be in any given situation.
When I look at Mel, with her bright pink lipstick and very fake, very large breasts poking out of her bejeweled gown, I can see the excitement on her face. It’s going to be necessary for me to adjust to the fact that she is my father's new wife. I take a long, deep breath in, hold it for a moment, and then let it out, getting ready to welcome this new chapter with them.
The rest of the morning passes in a blur, I have to visit the bathroom to vomit twice, and I don’t think I hid it particularly well from Mel. She scowls at me when I stumble out after my second time, and I give her a sickly sweet smile and thumbs up to indicate I’m okay. I am far from okay.
Now, standing outside the church with Mel behind us in her white gown and the three other bridesmaids, women who I don’t know, in front of me. I’m grateful for the fresh air surrounding me. I find my senses temporarily restored; my respite provided by the freshening wind that kisses my burning skin.
I nervously pick at the stems of the flowers I was holding. My father is about to get married, to truly have a new family.
Someone indicates that it’s time for us to walk down the aisle. Mel's elderly father has nearly fallen asleep sitting on a bench outside, and it’s amusing watching her try to rouse him so she can be given away at the alter.
I feel like a gift-wrapped doll walking down the aisle, trying to plaster a smile on my face for Dad's sake. I survey the church, the bridesmaids in front of me walking slowly, their footsteps in unison with mine, blocking the view of the altar and my father. The smell of the church floods my senses: fragrant lilies and a soft hint of incense swirl in the air around me. Guests line the pews, their oohs and ahhs surrounding me and filling me with a warmth and peace I haven’t felt for some time. The architecture of the church is breathtaking. Gothic arches rise up to meet the painted ceiling, lined with majestic stained glass windows. A glorious organ in the corner fills the room with its song. I feel embarrassed in the ridiculous frilly dress – but soon forget my discomfort when I look around at the beautiful room. I can never ignore incredible craftsmanship. Another win for Hoola Bay - its handsome men and a magnificent church.
My heart somersaults as I make my way towards the altar and my dad standing proudly at the end of the aisle. On his left, in a perfectly tailored tux, is a face I hadn't expected to see - one I could've never possibly anticipated, yet one I know all too intimately. Zak. His steely gray eyes meet mine, and the raw intensity of the moment floods me as though I am being drawn into a never-ending abyss. Sparks seem to fill the air, and my skin tingles with an electricity I've never felt before. He knows, of course he does - and we both know that there is no ignoring this, no running away.
My brain scrambles to understand the impossible situation, processing my dad's connection to my passionate tryst. He is my dad's best friend - how had I failed to notice the name? Dad always spoke about "Z," and I never made the connection that "Z" could’ve been Zak. The man who quite literally rocked my world last night. Oh god. And here he is, standing as my father's best friend, living proof of my deep and dark desires. I swallow hard, my heart pounding wildly against my chest. I am a thousand kinds of screwed.
Zak
I will be the first to admit that in the past, I have gotten myself into some potentially dangerous situations, but none of them have been as bad as this one. I take a few sips of my beer as I watch my best friend, who was just recently married, walk over to me with his beautiful daughter and the woman he has been in love with for the past several years by his side. I enjoy the sensation of refreshment as the beer makes its way down my throat. Who just so happens to be the sassy and sexy woman whose mouth I had been consuming with my tongue the night before.
She appears even more beautiful than I could have imagined, despite the fact that the dress she’s wearing makes her look a little bit ridiculous. I count at least ten separate instances where she looks down in disgust at it, making it abundantly clear that she disapproves of it. This is also evidenced by the fact that the smile she has been wearing appears to be phony. It makes me laugh to think that Mel had been successful in convincing her to wear that dress. I find that to be an amusing thought. It did not appear as though the girl I'd met would obey the directives of anyone else or participate in pursuits that she did not find enjoyable in any way, shape, or form. It was obvious that she had a sensitive side to her personality as well.
When I look over at the figure on the other side of the room, my breath becomes suddenly stuck in my throat. My eyes seem unable to tear themselves away from that figure. She appears to be very self-assured despite the fact that she is standing there by herself. Dave, an old friend of mine, is standing next to me and chatting about some new hobby that Mel was getting into, but to be perfectly honest, I’m not paying any attention to what he was saying. I respond with a feeble "Hmm" and "Yes" when it’s appropriate. Dave gives me a pleased nod of acknowledgment, so I'm going to assume it was successful.
I keep trying to look away and focus on Dave, but it’s like my eyes are no longer under my control. There is nothing that I can do about it. I am intrigued by her. Why did she lie about her name? Why can’t I stop playing last night in my head?
My thoughts are brought crashing back to earth as I am startled by Dave's voice.
"Have you met her?" My mouth falls open, and shortly after that, I almost drop my glass of punch. My heart is beating irregularly in my ears, and it appears as though time has stopped moving. Surely I am only imagining things. This isn’t going to happen. There’s no way that he can possibly know, not at all. I am taken aback, and all I can muster is a confused "What?" Dave made a motion in the direction of the woman who was located across the room while quietly beaming with smile. "My daughter," he says. "I don't believe that the two of you have ever crossed paths before; if I'm right, let's head over there, and I'll introduce you." He starts guiding me towards her, and before I know it, I am standing against my will, barely a foot away from Daisy/Izzie - the woman I can't stop thinking about.about. I soon realize there’s no way out of this situation, but fortunately, Dave doesn’t seem to have any suspicions about what was going on. I start to think that maybe I can have a little fun with this.
“Darling!” After giving her a bear hug, Dave encircles her with his arms, and I feel a little out of place. Izzie is the one who catches my attention and then changes her posture, her brow furrowing in confusion as she extends her arm for a handshake. As I take her gentle hand in mine, I can’t help but give a sly grin in response to the gesture, which makes my heart warm all the more because of her courage. When she looks down, the corners of her lips quirk, and a flush of color spreads across her cheeks as her gaze is fixed on the ground.
Dave introduces me as Zak, one of his longtime baseball friends, and gazes at me with a warm and wistful look in his bleary eyes. "This is my old baseball buddy, Zak."
Izzie smiles politely and says, "Nice to meet you, Zak,” Her voice is steady but contains a trace of nervousness.
