We met at Miami, in the symphony band. I played the oboe, very poorly and out of tune, and Beau played the trombone. I remember him vaguely from the class. I thought he was cute. He came to one of my Sketched Out shows and asked for my number afterward.
I felt like hot stuff that night. I mean, someone wanted my number. I gave it to him, excited that a guy showed me any interest. We started going on dates, and about a month in, I was head over heels. So, I did what any rational person would do: I invited him to my sister’s wedding, where I was the maid of honor. I wanted Beau to know that I viewed him as a serious boyfriend.
We weren’t on the same page.
By the time of my sister’s wedding, I should’ve known something was off. He skipped the rehearsal dinner and didn’t seem too keen on spending time with me. But I was clueless, even though he got a haircut, and in every coming-of-age film, that indicates a big change. At the wedding, I was so nervous about my own role as the maid of honor that I didn’t really talk to him.
Before the reception, my mom asked if I would go back to my house and grab the bridesmaid gifts, and I was ecstatic. I could be alone, looking super cute, with my boyfriend. I’d have a few moments to talk to him, and maybe, if I was feeling risky, I’d kiss him and tell him that I thought I was falling in love.
To be clear, this is not what happened.
We got back to my house, and he sat down in the rocking chair, far from where I perched on the edge of my couch. I thought it was weird and became fearful for the future. I asked him if he was going to break up with me that day, and he said no.
I felt some relief right there. Until I went a step further, and asked, “Do you promise?”
Questioning him was a mistake.
He looked at me and told me he couldn’t promise anything. He wanted to break up with me after the reception. All hell broke loose. I started crying and told him to do it before the reception. He obliged, telling me that he’d gone over our relationship and didn’t know what was missing.
I responded with, “Today, I was going to tell you I loved you.”
Yup, definitely not on the same page.
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He offered to stay until the end of the night, but I couldn’t bear to see him any longer. I sent Beau home with a hug and went to the reception alone. I sat at the bridal table in front of everyone and cried. My family asked where my date went. My aunt questioned why I was so upset about my sister getting married.
My mother realized that my heartbreak was getting attention and decided to fix the issue. She pulled me aside, told me to “shape up” and sent me out to the dance floor.
There were only a few issues with her logic.
First off, the song playing was “Single Ladies” by Beyoncé, and I didn’t want to be reminded of my breakup that occurred 30 minutes before. Second, no one was dancing. And third, these two facts led to me sobbing uncontrollably while slightly swaying my arms to a very upbeat song.
Everyone saw, and I will never recover from the embarrassment of dancing ALONE at a wedding of 130 people while crying about my heartbreak.
I wouldn’t have it any other way. Beau provided me a great story that gets laughs every time I tell it. And he was a nice guy, too —don’t get me wrong. Don’t worry about me, either. I recovered.
The next time I ran into him, I wore a bumble bee costume complete with a bonnet that plastered down sweaty bangs I cut for myself in a pre-exam panic. In other words, I was hot, and I didn’t ask, but I bet he was jealous.