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She can say that now, but she wasn’t so thrilled back then.
SEVEN YEARS AGO
THIS WAS THE FIRST WEDDING I’d ever been asked to be in. I’d been to other weddings, of course, but I’d never beeninone. I was flattered that Gwen, who’d been dating my brother for about two years, but whom I hadn’t had all that many interactions with, wanted me standing up there with her.
There were five bridesmaids in total, and Gwen had picked colors in deep reds, pale pinks, and greens. Similar to her mismatched chairs, the bridesmaids got to pick their own dresses—they just had to fit into her color palette. I’d picked a light pink A-line chiffon dress that went down to the ground, long enough that I needed to wear heels so it didn’t drag on the floor. Remember this part—it’s important to the story.
A week before the wedding, Everett approached me with the idea of doing a dance for Gwen during the reception. He’d seen someone else do it on YouTube. He originally wanted to do it as a family—a choreographed number with all four of us involved. After responses of “I’d rather die” from our dad and “I have that plantar fasciitis in my left foot” from our mom, it was down to him and me.
Not one to back down from a challenge, and also because the whole thing was so out of character for Everett, I felt it was my duty to be there for him as his sister.
It should be noted that I’m not very good at dancing. There’s a reason my mom enrolled me in dance at the age of eight and then promptly unenrolled me after the first recital. I believe the words “can’t find the rhythm” were tossed around by my instructors. My sweet mother tried to shield me from it, but I heard what they said, and even at that young age, I knew that tracked. Beats were hard for me. At the school assembly when the police officers came to talk to us about not doing drugs, I was that girl who would somehow clap to the offbeat when they played that catchy tune I still can sing to this day. And not on purpose. The truth is, I didn’t like dancing and I very much hated being on the big stage with everyone watching.
But I took on this challenge, even with my rhythm issues, because I promised my brother I’d do this dance with him. I practiced anytime I could. I’d just finished my junior year of college at Colorado State University, where I was studying business administration with an emphasis in management and innovation. Very spellbinding stuff. I had a lot of opinions on business ethics and corporate social responsibility that could make even the kindest of people find a reason to walk away. “What was that? Sorry, Mila! I think someone’s calling my name. Lovely chatting with you!”I was doing a summer internship that wouldn’t start until after the wedding, so time was on my side.
I practiced day and night, with and without Everett. To the point that I can still do the dance to this day. It’s imprinted on my brain. I’m happy to report that after all the time I invested, I was actually not … terrible. I could keep up with the steps, not lose my footing, and stay on rhythm. This was a personal triumph for me.
The wedding was very Gwen: lots of beautiful flower chains hanging on everything, lots of draped fabrics blowing in the soft late-June breeze in the beautiful Rocky Mountains. Her dress was fitting for her style, and even if we have very different tastes in decor and clothing, I absolutely loved it. It was ivory with half sleeves, a deep V back, a natural waist, and flowing tulle with a frosted embroidered appliqué overlay. Her hair was half pulled up with perfect ringlets framing her face, and she wore a crown of large roses and pale-pink yarrow with eucalyptus leaves and baby’s breath. She looked amazing.
She and Everett saidI doin a small clearing with massive mountains as a backdrop. Afterward, we took approximately 1.5 million pictures, and after that we headed to the reception, which was in a beautiful log cabin building overlooking a lake.
Up until that point, the wedding had gone pretty perfectly. After a buffet-style dinner (because Gwen felt the sit-down variety was boring) where toasts were given in between a playlist full of Ingrid Michaelson, Alexi Murdoch, and Amos Lee, a space toward the front of the room was cleared and it was time for the dancing.
They did all the expected dances: their first one together as a married couple (“Crazy Love” by Van Morrison), then Everett with my mom and Gwen with her dad. After that, everyone was invited to the dance floor to really get the party started. Since most everyone had been enjoying the open bar, it wasn’t long before the dance floor was full, and a little crazy.
“Should we do this?” Everett had asked me, his face drained of color, right before the DJ was going to make the announcement that everyone needed to step away from the dance floor for a very special surprise dance number.
“Of course,” I said, with a big smile on my face. In truth, I kind of wanted to tell him no. I was actually feeling a little sick about the whole thing. In all the time I spent practicing, I’d forgotten one important factor about myself: I hate performing. I’ve never liked being the center of attention. I don’t want to let any part of my freak flag fly in front of anyone but my close friends and family.
But I’d practiced so much, and I didn’t want to let it go to waste. Plus, I was excited to see the look on Gwen’s face when my brother did something so unexpected for her. It was honestly a true act of love for Everett.
I plastered on a smile, and after the DJ made the announcement, Everett and I walked onto the dance floor and got in place. One look at Gwen, who was standing just at the edge, directly in front of us, covering her mouth in complete shock, and that was enough for me to think we’d made the right choice.
The music started, and Everett and I began our practiced steps. It wasn’t long before people were whooping and cheering us on, and I could feel the energy in the room. It was palpable. I watched the surprise on my parents’ faces, and my closest cousin, Amelia, jumping up and down, her hands in the air as she watched. The best part was Gwen, who was cheering and clapping and laughing. That euphoric expression on her face made it all worth it.
But then we got to the section that, even though I’d practiced, I was dreading. It was a part in the choreography where Everett and I were supposed to do some freestyle dancing, and as I have previously mentioned, dancing is not my thing. I don’t freestyle. I don’tanystyle. Yes, I went to school dances, but I chose to sit with my friends and only participate in slow dances and random mosh pits (because jumping as a collective group isn’t really dancing). So, including the stint when I was eight, this was only my second foray into real dancing.
I was completely immersed in this routine and had, so far, completely nailed every move, which you can see in the professional wedding video. I just wish they had stopped the tape before the next part.
I was feeling confident, so I really gave it my all with the freestyle part. I twirled and jumped, and the onlookers clapped and whooped, which only urged me on. It was at this moment that I got a little overly confident and mistakenly thought,You should really do a couple of kicks right now, Mila,which I’d never in my life attempted before.
My first high kick attempt didn’t go so well. In horror, I felt my block heel connect with the hem of my dress, and everything happened so fast, there was nothing I could do to stop it. I stumbled and instinctively reached out to grab on to anything that could prevent me from face planting. Unfortunately, the only thing I could grab was a large man who happened to be nearby. He was sturdy enough to take the impact; however, he was also holding a glass of red wine, the contents of which ended up spilling all over the bride, who was standing next to him. That’s right, all over my new sister-in-law, Gwen. The crimson liquid seeped into her dress, resembling a scene straight out of the movieCarrie.
I was horrified, of course, and Everett was so busy doing his freestyle dance, it wasn’t until a scream came from either me or Gwen—no one is sure—that he realized what had happened. The look on his face was burned into my memory forever. I had ruined his carefully planned surprise for his bride.
Gwen tried to comfort me, letting me know she was okay and that it wasn’t a big deal. But I’d single-handedly ruined her big day, and we both knew it. Everyone knew it. The other bridesmaids helped Gwen clean up as much as they could. But the pictures of the cake cutting and the bouquet toss all feature Gwen in her beautiful dress with a massive red stain down the front of it.
I should have realized right then and there that weddings and I were not a good combo. Unfortunately, there were more lessons coming my way.
Grayson
SHANE: DRINKS AT ROOSEVELT AROUND 6?
I huff out a breath after I read the text. It’s Sunday, and except for a trip to the gym, I’ve been working nonstop all day trying to troubleshoot a bug Vik’s team found, an issue with synchronizing real-time flight information from all the airlines’ APIs. It has the potential to hurt our release timeline if it isn’t fixed. Yes, I have people on my staff that could do this, but they don’t have as much riding on this app as I do, and my bachelor’s degree is in computer science, so I know what I’m doing.
But right now, I can actually feel my brain hurting. I’ve been working on this for so long. I could use the break. There’s also the detail that I need to let Shane know that going to his wedding won’t be possible, and I’d rather do it in person than over the phone. But taking a break isn’t really a luxury I have right now.
Balancing my laptop on my thighs, I lean my head back on my old black leather couch that I’ve had for over ten years now—the same one I’ve needed to replace for about nine years. The quality was subpar at best, and now it’s got so much wear and tear, it hardly looks like the one I bought all those years ago. Not to mention the springs are barely working at this point. Come to think of it, is this piece of crap even leather? I was going to buy a new one after TourSpotter hit big—and it did hit big. By all standards, TourSpotter was a success. It just wasn’t enough of one to get me a new couch or pay off all my debt.
