August Cam
August Cam
“Okay, that’s it. I’m beat.” I brush my hand over my forehead and make an exaggerated “phew” sound.
The flower girl, fortunately, lets me off the hook. She’s had me literally spinning in circles for the last twenty minutes. I sit down as she pulls her mother up to dance. A slow song starts playing, but that doesn’t affect her energetic movements, and I chuckle.
On the other side of the dance floor, Darrell and his new wife, Keysha, are lovingly staring into each other’s eyes. Nearby, Justin is dancing with his new boyfriend.
This is the first time I’ve had more than a minute to myself all day, and I can’t help thinking of the fact that I always assumed I’d be married by this age. Not that I thought too much about the future—I mean, we have plans for our business, but that’s different—but I did idly assume that much. However, I’m not seeing anyone, and I haven’t dated for a little while. And as I step out of the big white tent, a sudden fear seizes me.
What if I missed her?
What if I was supposed to have met her by now, but I made a different decision that I thought was inconsequential at the time? Maybe I just left my apartment five minutes too late?
Not that I believe in fate, or that there’s only one person out there for everyone, but I can’t help wondering now.
Or maybe I should have danced with Darrell’s cousin, the one who seemed interested in me earlier?
I shove my hands into the pockets of my pants. Nah, that didn’t feel right, and I like to go with my gut.
I look up at the sky. There are more stars than I’m used to seeing. Darrell’s reception is at a brewery owned by one of our friends. It’s a little north of the city, and they have a lot more property than we do—it’s a better venue for a wedding reception than Leaside Brewing, though we’ve hosted a couple of small wedding receptions. As I’d hoped, it’s a beautiful day for a wedding. Not excessively hot and humid. Some clouds, but no hint of rain, and out of Toronto, the air seems to move better.
What if I missed her?
As I continue to look up at the stars, the thought won’t leave my head.
I try to picture a woman in my mind, but I can’t. I just have the general impression of someone who’s a little quieter than me, whose default expression is a little more serious—but she looks absolutely luminous if you make her smile.
I really don’t know what I’m looking for, but I hope I find it nonetheless.
“Cam!” shouts a high voice behind me.
I turn and see the flower girl.
“Mama’s tired,” she announces. “Will you dance with me again?”