The Beard

"What's the story Mr. Peterson?"

"The Bobbsey twins go the brewery. Let's cut to the happy ending."

The weeks leading up to my Uncle’s wedding, I was a hot mess. My mom who had a last minute work issue had to stay home instead of attending the wedding with me. She had sworn up and down, bought her own ticket to Sarasota, Florida to go with me, and even booked us our hotel room. Then all of a sudden, BAM, like usual, I found myself dateless.

I have been to five family weddings in the past five years, and have never had a real date. I am fully aware my mother should not be titled my “date,” but she was all I had.

I only found out she was standing me up the week before. There were pros and cons to this development.

Pro: I get to stay in a hotel room all by myself.

Con: I’m scared of the dark.

Pro: I can watch and rent any cheesy movie or television show I wanted.

Con: Is there someone hiding in the shadows?

I am the family member whose grandmother stays in their hotel room because I am single and everyone else is in a couple. I love my grannie more than I love myself but wouldn’t it be smarter for her to stay with a couple? Aren’t weddings meant for single people to get laid and people in a relationship to re-examine if they love each other as much as the two people getting hitched right in front of them?

“I’m sure Katie would love for her grannie to stay with her,” my family would say, nodding, and forcibly pushing me towards her. I would reply that I would love nothing more, except maybe to not be cockblocked at yet another wedding.

It’s not surprising that the one nuptial I wanted a date so terribly was my Uncle’s wedding to his boyfriend. I think there cannot be a better place to meet a hot, single, heterosexual male than at a gay wedding. That’s when it dawned on me, I had to find someone and quick.

I had passed the concept around to my friend Josh about him flying down to Sarasota with me. We eagerly toyed with the notion for hours, him excited to be going to a gay wedding because he was brought up by two gay parents, and me excited people might actually think I had a boyfriend for once. I knew my grannie would rather the possibility of that, than to stay in another hotel room with me again.

After I dropped him off I decided to look up rates for him to join me. The cheapest I could find was a five hundred dollar ticket roundtrip. I closed the computer, leap-frogged into the armchair next to me, and pouted.

I moped for over an hour when my mom turned to me and said, “Oh for god sakes it’s only money right? You have all that financial aid; you live at home, and have a job. Just buy the damn ticket, Katie.”

I turned quizzically to my mother who was making get-up motions with her hands, and then pointing at my laptop. I never thought she would encourage me to spend that much money. I crawled out of the chair, opened the page, and clicked, “Add to Cart."

I did, however, make her press the “Finish and Pay,” button, while I cursed nervously nearby.

I called Josh and we both screamed with pleasure. Neither of us had been on a vacation in a while, and this was just the break we needed from school and work.

When people found out I was taking Josh they all jumped to conclusions.

“You two are going to hook up.”

“Oh my god, something is totally going to happen.”

“Weddings are too romantic for nothing to transpire.”

They seemed to forget that he was one of my dearest friends. He was also my ex’s best friend, and one of my best friend’s ex-boyfriends. But the more I heard it, the more I became fearful about the trip. What if “Unchained Melody,” led us to groping each other in passion?

That Wednesday, after my Writing for Online Publication course, I stopped by Josh’s house to give him his confirms and e-tickets. We smoked a cigarette and joyfully jumped about at the thought of our soon to be tanned bodies hitting the pool, and singing karaoke at a bachelor-bachelor party at a gay bar.

When we finally arrived in Sarasota the next day, we sat down for only a matter of minutes before we were rushed to go to the bachelor party.

Men, who had no business doing so, were walking around shirtless. All of the good-looking bartenders were fully clothed, while the bird chests walked around like they owned the joint, spitting in corners, and snarling at customers. Not only was the scene a conundrum and hilarious, I knew this was only going to make my time more awkwardly special.

The big thrill was that there was going to be karaoke and a drag show. Josh was excited because he’s a singer in a band, and always loves showing off. He also loves nothing more than singing songs by George Michael, Wham!, Prince, Michael Jackson, and Meatloaf.

“I think I am going to sing ‘I Would Do Anything for Love (But I Won’t Do That),’ by Meatloaf. What do you think?”

I smiled, “Go get ‘em.”

My other girl cousins were married or had been married. For years, I seemed like a lost cause. I saw them all find love, and my entire family had been completely supportive and happy for them. I wanted that.

Josh strutted in front of the microphone, immediately began tapping his foot, and started scanning the audience with his pointer finger. He unbuttoned his shirt with his other hand to reveal just a bit of chest hair, and wailed into the mic.

My uncle wobbled up to me and slurred, “This guy is fucking great! He’s amazing.” We would find out soon after, that we believed my uncle and my cousin were rufied during the party.

His boyfriend leaned in, “Seriously Kate, where have you been hiding this guy?”

Soon after, my cousins, my other uncles and aunts, it seemed the whole bar were giving me the thumbs up.

Meatloaf was the closest I have ever gotten to boyfriend praise for someone who is not even my boyfriend.

The following morning I woke up in Josh’s double bed. I turned seeing his face, and jumped from his bed into mine. I looked at him angrily, and he just laughed.

“We had a few beers with your cousin and your uncle when we got back, and you passed out. At about four am, you wandered into my bed. You were just sleepwalking Kate, don’t worry.”

I do have a pension for sleepwalking, but I could not help thinking that maybe his performance of “Careless Whisper,” by George Michael had even impressed me.

As we watched two people exchange vows that love each other more than any two could even try, during a sunset service on the beach, it became clear through my whispered tears that I wanted that kind of happiness for myself. Josh and I looked at each other and smiled, we both knew it just couldn’t be with one another.

As we shuttled back to the hotel for the reception, we all sat in a circle around the pool, eating and chatting, dancing and singing, happy that such an occasion could even happen. If anything I was there to see two men be joined together because they loved each other above anyone else, and others’ irrational views had no relevance on their commitment.

After a few glasses of wine, I retired to my room for a breather. I started to cry as I usually do near the end of wedding receptions (blame the cocktails), but instead I had a rational thought, and decided not to do this anymore. I would not cry about my singlehood at another wedding.

I marched back outside, and my uncle shouted, “Kate, if you come back outside you have to do an embarrassing dance!”

I shook my tush to the left and the right, and tried to do the twist on the splashed on ground. This apparently was not good enough.

All of a sudden Josh yelled, “Kate look out!”

And just like that my new uncle had thrown me in the pool. I splattered to the surface of the four-foot water, and looked at Josh who was wearing all white. He was soaked from head to toe, and his top, now completely see-through.

“I tried to warn you,” he smirked and leaned down to hand me a towel.

“It’s okay. It felt good.”

A few weeks later, my mom pulled out my suitcase from the wedding. “It’s time we clean this out, you are such a dirty girl!”

She pulled out a plastic bag from the weekend duffel.

“Oh my god, I totally forgot…” I trailed off.

“Totally forgot what? What is in here? Katie Ann, there is mold all over these clothes!”

She threw the entire bag in the trash, which included a swimsuit, a dress, and my favorite gladiator sandals.

As my mom muttered obscenities taking my garbage down to the garage, I recalled telling Josh I didn’t want the towel, instead I chose to wade in the water for an hour, backstroking from one side to the other, forgoing the revelry and the champagne, for one last lap with myself.