Relevance

I woke up more knackered than I had been when I fell asleep. The curtains weren’t drawn and a wave of gratitude washed over me—the blinding sun would’ve been a terrible alarm.

I scanned the room with a parched mouth, looking for Georgia. When I heard noise coming from the bathroom, I rested assured. The bed was so comfortable that the last thing I wished to do was to get up. But I had no choice. I had already made a fool of myself by showing up drunk, and then by stealing her bed. I didn’t need her to see me in a pre-shower state, which consisted of morning breath, tangled hair and overused clothes.

I tip toed around to collect my shoes which were scattered in the room. With them in hand, I knocked on the bathroom door, praying to heavens she wouldn’t open it. “Hey,” my voice was a whisper, the words scraping my dry throat.

“Good morning!” I plastered my ear to the door to hear her movements. Her voice seemed to be distant. Good, I thought. “Did you sleep alright?”

I silently laughed to myself, finding amusement when that question came from the person who had slept on the couch. “Just fine,” my voice echoed laughter, “I’m sorry I stole your bed. I hope you slept fine.”

“It was difficult to get much sleep when you insisted on singing through the night,” she teased.

I shut my eyes and scrunched up my nose in a smile, feeling like the fool I am. “Hey, I never said I was perfect!” She chuckled on the other side and the sound of her voice became muffled when she turned the shower on.

The second I heard the droplets of water hit the ground at full speed, I backed away from the door, telling my mind not to dare think about the scene behind it. “I—,” walking backwards, I tripped over a pillow on the floor, “I’ve gotta go. Catch you later. Thanks again!”

My last words were a bellow into the distance as I closed the door on my way out. I spun around and rested my head on the door with closed eyes. If she was joking with me that meant we were okay, right?

I sure as hell hoped so. Yesterday, I came real close to screwing things up. This entire ordeal was getting more difficult the more the days went by. During my drive to the hotel last night, I tried to come up with ways to make this—whatever this was between us—work.

Two days with her were not enough. Thus far, I managed to write two songs and that wasn’t enough for an entire album. Everything was feeling like not enough lately. I needed to buy myself more time—we were all leaving tomorrow morning and the wedding would steal a significant amount of time today—, I had no idea how I’d do that.

I considered flying back with Jared to stay in Seattle for my break. Two weeks. Two weeks would be more than enough. But how the hell would I handle two weeks if in my second day, I had already messed up? I didn’t know where I should cross the line, what I should or shouldn’t tell her about me.

After it all, was I supposed to just pack up my things, never talk to her again and go record an album so she could someday hear it and put the pieces together? From the moment I saw her as someone other than a walking board of lyric ideas, I knew she’d hate me the minute she knew. I hated myself the minute she had marched to my room.

I left her door and headed towards my bedroom. Jared was looking at himself in the mirror, fiddling with his bowtie, when I walked in.

“Glad you could make it in time,” he said. With a finger pointed towards the armchair, he said, “That’s yours. Please wear clean shoes.”

I smirked at him, immediately hopping into the shower to wash away yesterday.

The wedding ceremony was in an hour, but we were only required to be at the reception two hours later. Since Kennedy would be going, the rest of us decided to tag along. I had been to a couple of weddings before, none of which were eventful.

I never had a date to accompany me, never knew the bride and groom well enough to be happy for them, never been sober at the reception. All of which contributed to pretty pitiful wedding experiences. For this wedding, I checked the first couple of boxes, but I wasn’t planning on checking the third one. I wouldn’t want to make a fool of myself on stage.

“Shall we go?” I asked Jared, feeling a bit nervous about the reception. Playing at a wedding was something new and daunting, especially since we were singing covers. With a nod of approval from him, we left to the chapel.

With its reasonable size, it could comfortably accommodate forty people. By the time we arrived, most pews were occupied. I found myself looking for Georgia before realising she’d only enter when the ceremony began.

Pat saved our seats in the fifth pew to the right. It had a good view with no heads blocking it. The groom was already on the altar, chatting with Kennedy whilst constantly glancing at his watch.

A melody of violins spoke up, and soon a piano joined in. It wasn’t that typical wedding rhythm most brides entered to. It was an original piece that if paired with slow-motion scenes, it’d look like the scene of a romantic movie.

The first bridesmaid entered and everyone spun their head towards her direction. She walked alone, holding a bouquet of lilies and a smile. She didn’t trip and when she arrived at her designated spot on the altar, her smile stopped twitching in nervousness.

I didn’t know who’d be next, but I wasn’t prepared for when she walked in. Her long strands were constrained in a braid filled with flowers. She kept on moving her gaze from the audience to the cameras, facilitating the photographer’s job. But what truly facilitated their job was her beauty.

Every strand of hair was in the correct place, her eyes were piercing, her smile never faltered. She wore a peach dress that hugged her body with delicacy. And when she passed our pew, her open back didn’t help me stop picturing the scene behind that door this morning.

After the bride’s entrance, the ceremony was rather swift. Within ten minutes, the whole thing was over. People began to swarm out the doors towards the reception hall, eager to quench their thirst for alcohol and dance the afternoon away.

We were the first ones out so we could do a quick soundcheck before any guests entered the hall. With everything in check, we helped ourselves to some drinks to help calm down the nerves. Lastly, the bride and groom entered as everybody cheered, clapped hands and whistled in celebration. We assumed our posts once they stood by the dance floor.

I tapped my microphone as a test, tuning my guitar as I spoke. “Congratulations Mr. and Mrs Greene,” the crowd applauded, “this is your song.”

I began strumming my guitar to a rhythm I had practiced so often, it felt like second nature. “Falling to the ground, I was anxious to be found. You can always go home, to the safety of your cloud.”

The newlyweds slowly danced as close to each other as they could possibly be. Nothing in this moment could swipe the grin off their faces.

“Don't let go, I need you to hang around,” I sang as I watched the couple. “I am so broke,” I found my eyes darting off to different directions, looking for a familiar face. “And foolishly in love.”