Illustration by Sarai Richards
Everything went downhill when Francis, who always shared Julie’s bad luck, found a date in her childhood sweetheart. Now it’s going to be the talk of the wedding: Francis and her first love, finding their way to each other on her father’s wedding day. And now, Julie sat at the bar, less than 48 hours before she had to face the fact that she’d be the only person without a plus one, sipping champagne at the kids’ table.
She told herself she didn’t care. She’d only needed to wait a little longer.
“Another round?” the bartender asked. Julie hated the pity in his voice.
“I’m waiting for someone,” she lied.
“Of course,” he said dryly.
“I really am. My date’s on his way.”
He cocked an eyebrow. Julie noticed that he was young, maybe a year or two older than her. “Do you usually pregame your dates?”
She deflated, laughing despite herself. “I wish I did.”
The bartender leaned closer, and Julie was able to make out the tiny writing on his cheap name tag hanging off the side of his black shirt. Alex.
“What are you doing here on a Thursday night?” he tutted.
It might have been the glass of gin, or Alex’s genuine interest without a trace of judgment, but Julie felt a sudden urge to be honest.
“I already told you,” she batted her eyelashes. “I’m waiting.”
He turned briefly to serve a man three seats away who was clearly eyeing Julie. Normally she’d allow it, inviting him to sit closer, flirting without actually meaning anything she said, letting him pay for her drinks, and maybe even inviting him to the wedding. Why not? Wasn’t it why she was here, to find a date?
But she didn’t want any of that now. She waited until Alex came back, standing deliberately in front of her.
“What’s all this waiting about?” he asked, refilling her glass.
Again, she felt an unnatural impulse to tell the truth. “I need a plus one for a wedding.”
He smiled at her bluntness. “When is it?”
“In two days.”
Alex whistled, laughing. “And you expected to find a decent guy in this shithole?”
A smile tugged on the edges of her mouth. “This shithole pays your bills.”
“Still a shithole.”
Julie laughed. “Yeah, maybe you’re right.”
They stayed silent for a moment. Someone waved to get his attention, but Alex didn’t move. When Julie looked up, he was already studying her in a debating, scrutinizing way.
“Ask me.”
Julie just gaped. “What?”
“To be your plus one.”
Julie shook her head. This was too fast, even by her standards. She was interested in him, sure, but not enough to bring him to the wedding. What would she even say to her family? I moped around a bar looking for a date, and a bartender finally agreed to go out with me out of pity.
She let out an uncomfortable laugh. “I can’t.”
“Why not? You’re not asking for marriage,” Alex chuckled. “You don’t want to go alone to the wedding, so just bring me along.”
Julie looked at him, surprised. This was nothing like picking out a man in a crowd, studying him like a target before she made her move. She needed to be in control, needed to seem fun and effortless, not desperate. Alex was threatening to take that away – her control, her decision, her mask.
The customer cleared his throat impatiently, and Julie felt pressured to answer.
“That’s too weird,” she muttered. “I mean, we’re not even friends.”
“We’re not?” he teased.
If only it was that easy for her to let someone in, decide to let them know her two minutes into a meeting. “You don’t even know my name.”
He hummed. “Names are overrated. They don’t tell you anything about the person.”
She had to admit that was fair. “Still, I’ve only met you five minutes ago.”
“That’s a start, isn’t it? Why wait and wait until it’s too late? Why not just be early to something?”
“You’re saying we can be early to our friendship?”
He smiled, charmingly. “Exactly. We can wait longer, see each other tomorrow, before the wedding – whatever. The result’s the same anyway, so why not skip ahead?”
“What if I won’t even like you?”
He shook his head. “You can be early for that opinion, too. Just say a word.”
Now was her way out. Julie could tell him she didn’t like him and end this strange little exchange. Or…
Alex moved off to take another order. “If five minutes isn’t enough,” he said before leaving, “then wait. Can you? Wait until I come back?”
Dumbfounded, Julie nodded. While he disappeared to the other end of the bar, she downed her drink. Julie wasn’t sure what she just agreed to, but her brain buzzed with energy.
Could she wait? She could. That’s all she did: waited to get picked up, waited for a cab, waited for the wedding, for her turn to be happy. What was another five minutes? 10? 20?
When Alex came back, expectant, Julie caught his eye. “What time do you get off?”
He grinned in the same conspiratorial way. “In two hours.”
“That’s when I’ll ask you,” she declared, in a voice that told both of them that time was just a formality. “It would still be my earliest friendship.”
He laughed then, extending his hand. “Good. I’m Noah.”
Julie raised her eyebrows in confusion. “I thought…” she faltered.
He followed her gaze, looking at the name tag. “Ah, that. It’s not mine,” Noah winked. “Told you names can’t say anything about a person.”
She laughed, genuinely for the first time this night. She shook his hand, feeling lighter. “I’m Julie.”
For once, she didn’t mind waiting.
