Eleven Eleven

or, The Emotional Hangover that Killed Me and Brought Me Back to Life

“You all need to move on. It’s getting SO weird.” She was correct, of course, my little sister- a mother of three children under 10 who’d been fielding “urgent” phone calls like this one for the past month and was speaking for everyone when she said she was over hearing about The Wedding and its fallout.

“I know, but-”

“No. You can’t go back to Neverland Haley. Everybody knows that.”

But she doesn’t understand… she wasn’t there with all of us under a blanket of stars in the Yucatan filling our bloodstreams with Don Julio and all the hormones associated with human connection. She doesn’t understand that it was supposed to rain that day- a 70% chance! And that instead it was so hot it melted away all the walls we’d built up and set the stage for an absolutely epic post-wedding pool party. She doesn’t understand that somehow, this wedding came at the perfect time. That all of us needed it in a uniquely specific way, and that we were so high on the intense, divine love we experienced in a Mexican town we’d never heard of that coming back to our normal lives threw us into withdrawals that we were desperate to abate.

And so we chased it all the way through the holiday season. Christmas didn’t exist. Only parties. Only ballgowns and suits and tequila and champagne and photos and drama and dancing. So much dancing. An exhausting amount of dancing. A glorious amount of dancing. But all parties must come to an end (sometimes at 10:30am with your heels in your hands and mascara on your cheeks) and so we kept breaking our own hearts.

It was all Callie and Michael’s fault. This couple that met way back in 2009 and spent the next decade cultivating a relationship before finally choosing to go all in on each other. They have a love that’s so pure and bright you almost can’t look directly at it. But that’s exactly what we did. We all looked directly into the face of the sun as a Mayan healer blessed the union, which in retrospect makes me wonder… was it a blessing or a spell? Both? Probably both. We all should have known we were completely fucked when Callie turned to the crowd in the middle of her vows to say that she wished their kind of love on all of us. But were we ready for it? Could we even handle it? Didn’t matter. It was 11/11, a date chosen specifically by the couple for its spiritual meaning. According to numerology, as well as new age spiritualism and angel numbers, 1111 signifies transformation and rebirth, union and reunion, divine intervention, and perhaps most appropriately, a celebration of finding one’s Twin Flame or soulmate. As a date, 11/11 is thought of as a portal to a higher dimension of being, one that is more aligned with the divine. There was no turning back. We’d all be sashaying through that portal whether we meant to or not.

Like many of the singles at the wedding, my aloneness was fresh. Most of us had envisioned being there with someone from our not-so-distant past, but found ourselves flying solo, left to figure out the unnecessarily complex taxi system at the Merida airport on our own. Weddings are notorious for fucking with the headspace of the recently uncoupled, which is understandable, but I was eerily calm. I had recently gone through my second breakup in nine months, and made a firm decision that I would be single for at least a year before getting into another relationship. This was the beginning of that journey, and I made a point of trying to shut off the part of me that was accepting applications for love or giving too much of my own away. My favorite author, Emma Forrest, wrote a whole memoir about being celibate and romanceless for the entire term of Trump’s presidency and said it imbued her with creative energy and freedom. If this woman who is a romantic like me and has just as colorful a past could wall herself off from love, so too could I. At least for a year. Not as symbolic, it being an election year though is it? I should be having all the sex I can in case shit goes sideways in November and women are no longer legally allowed to have sex for fun. But aside from all that, I was glad to be there alone to focus on Callie and my own experience, rather than worrying about someone else’s- a bad habit I will spend the next year breaking myself of.

I arrived at Welcome Drinks an hour late thanks to a rushed attempt at a cat eye (you must never rush a cat eye) and as soon as I emerged from the tiny elevator to the rooftop of a very chic boutique hotel, I knew that this was the beginning of something. The energy was almost disorienting. Everyone was both incredibly attractive and also warm. And also funny? And also sexy. And also very cool without trying. And so stylish. Even Michael’s parents. Especially Michael’s parents. It was an eclectic mix of folks ranging in age from 9 to 80, all vibrant in their own right.

As I floated through the sea of beautiful people, some familiar to me only from photos and others I’d known for as long as I’d known Callie, there were moments I felt like I was sinking. You know that feeling when you’re at a party alone and a conversation ends but you don’t have a new one queued up yet and you’re just standing there like, glitching out and wondering what to do with your hands? But trying desperately to look like you’re totally fine even though you’re kind of panicking? That’s where a plus one really comes in handy. Luckily that never lasted more than a few seconds because as previously mentioned, everyone was beyond warm and engaging. Plus I had a really good dress with big wispy marabou feathers on top- a great conversation piece. Always wear your most interesting dress to a party and you will never be alone, I can promise you that.

When it was time to go back to my room, I paused before I slid the key into the slot. I was v tempted to act out a Nancy Meyers-esque cliché, entering a silent hotel room with criminally bad lighting overlooking a long-neglected rooftop and weep as I struggled to unzip my dress, which I’d ultimately have to sleep in. But then I remembered my dress had no zipper and was quite easy to slip off. I had spent a month traveling alone in Europe earlier this year during which I happily spent three nights in a place that I’m pretty sure used to be a torture chamber, so I really didn’t have a leg to stand on. Instead, I went inside, took a shower, and crawled into the (surprisingly comfortable for a budget-friendly hotel) bed and went right to sleep.

Free Day

I pulled myself out of the room at 2pm and wandered the streets of Merida in a half-hearted attempt to find food, but 30 minutes later I was invited by the lovely Yesenia to join a crew that was going to a cenote. I had no idea what that was and didn’t bother looking it up before saying yes, and let me tell you- yes is the only answer when one is invited to visit a cenote. I won’t spoil it for you. Just get in the car.

By the evening, I had acquainted myself with more of the groom’s side of the guest list… A band of men, mostly artists in one form or another, and their partners. I noticed lingering glances from one of the solo travelers, but paid it no mind as we were at opposite ends of the millennial spectrum. We all met up later at a restaurant for a fabulous dinner, and when we walked outside it was pouring rain. Before I knew what was happening, I was off my feet and barreling down the street in the arms of Frankie, my admirer from the cenote. A loud and proud Bostonian, Frankie is tall and shockingly strong, a Great Dane puppy trying to figure out how to manage his limbs. I made no effort to encourage his advances but I did appreciate the spectacle of it. He set me down inside of a Mezcal bar/club, my silk dress now soaked and transparent, and ordered us two shots each.

I ended my night at 11:30 to make sure I was fresh for the next day… Not a popular decision, but perhaps one of my most mature. I am not known for leaving a party early, but knowing what I know now, this was just the appetizer.

I remember the day that Callie asked me if I’d like to join her to get ready before the wedding. As if I would ever turn her down. She didn’t have bridesmaids because she is a class act and we are all too old and too individualistic for that shit, but we are still girls, and girls LOVE getting ready with other girls. It’s primal. So I woke my ass up at 6:30 am, showered, and got on the shuttle. This is where I’d meet Annalisa. She had been standing outside of her hotel for a full 30 minutes waiting for the shuttle to collect her, only to learn that the shuttle had been waiting for her at a different hotel. I braced myself for saltiness when she came aboard (it was 7 am…) and instead it was like the cheer captain had finally arrived to rouse her troop before the big game. “Hey party people!!!!!!!!!” Roused we were.

It was about an hour and a half drive to the hacienda through towns that had actual grass huts and all the Jesus and Mary memorabilia you could ever wish for. Then a long stretch of dirt road through undeveloped land. I didn’t question one minute of it. I knew Callie well enough to know that this would be well worth it. And it so was. The hacienda was this sprawling, multi-building, indoor/outdoor masterpiece with a serene, Spanish-tiled pool in the center. It was at once warm and inviting but also modern and structural. There were ruins on the property and the breadth of textures was delectable. We were greeted with an amazing spread for breakfast, and then brought into the building where we’d be getting ready.

Callie already looked breathtaking and she hadn’t even started glamming. This is not news to anyone that knows her but I like to brag on my lil friend. The day was a blur because yes, we were all primping within an inch of our lives, but really we were waiting. Waiting for this night that we had no idea would be one of the most epic, holy, wild, sacred, magical nights of our lives. But we must have had some idea. It could be felt in the atmosphere like the rain that never showed up, thanks to a ritual involving a knife and some sand performed by some of the staff at the hacienda the day before. This is a typical sort of anticipation for the ones getting married, but it was never lost on me that it was something else entirely for the wedding party to feel it too.

Guests started to arrive and it was off to the races. All the hot people somehow got even hotter. And there were some new very symmetrical and interesting faces. Looking back it feels funny to recall my first impressions… to imagine a time that I didn’t know them. The ceremony was the most moving I’d ever witnessed. The heavenly officiant, Liz, was heart-felt and poignant. The bride and groom were totally present and looked blindingly beautiful. The vows were honest and perfectly stated. The Mayan healer Callie found by word-of-mouth scouting was the absolute real deal. I mean I’ve never met a Mayan healer before, but this guy did not feel entirely mortal. He gave a blessing in a language I didn’t recognize, and used the disembodied wing of an owl to fan the smoke from a smoldering bushel of leaves to cleans and protect us all. I looked around and noticed that everyone was completely mesmerized. Even in the heat, with mosquitos absolutely thriving on our blood, no one seemed to notice anything but what was happening in front of them.

After the ceremony had come to a close and Callie and Michael were husband and wife, I found myself rushing around saying hi to people and taking photos, doing my best to avoid drinking before my speech. Did I not mention? I was giving a speech that I started writing the minute after Callie called to tell me she was engaged. I kept notes on my phone whenever words or ideas would come to me in the shower or in the car or after hanging out with them. I practiced it in the living room, using a hair brush as a microphone. I performed a full dress rehearsal (wearing a gown my mother bought for a cruise in 1994) for my family the night before I left for Mexico. My 8 year old niece played the part of Callie and my 4 year old nephew played Michael (he had notes.) I knew it by heart and yet I was still so nervous.

Finally I gave in and went to the bar for one drink to take the edge off. I stood in line talking with a group of people when I was approached by Brendan, the guy who would become my partner in post-wedding existential revelation, holding a card and asking if I knew where he should put it. I was thrown by the question, as if he should know that I am not usually made privy to logistical information like this by the higher ups at parties. Typically I am given tasks that no one will ask about later. For instance, earlier in the day I was asked to collect interesting rocks to spice up the tables. So if he had asked, “Do you know where I can find the best rocks for spicing up the tables?’ I would have led him to the right spot. Later he would inform me that he found the gift table and that it was right there in plain sight, and we became instant friends. He told me of his plans to “stick to LA closing time” and leave on the 2 am shuttle. He didn’t know it, but I knew. He would not be getting on the 2 am shuttle. That was the shuttle for couples with young children at home, equally grateful to spend time in a quiet hotel room as a party in the jungle.

There was something about Brendan that I found deeply familiar, like I didn’t have to explain myself to him, nor he to me. Although he did anyway. Maybe it was that he was exactly ten years my junior, making him 28 which was a pivotal time in my life that I remember distinctly. I asked him if he had experienced his quarter life crisis yet. He thought for a second, then said, “No… I don’t think so.” I sipped my drink, wondering if I’d get to see him go through it. As someone experiencing her own life crisis, I had a sense for these things.

Dinner was expectedly beautiful, although I didn’t eat much. Instead, I waited for Serge, Michael’s friend and natural MC, to put me out of my misery and call me to the mic. Finally it was time, and I floated out of my body to give the speech that I was so glad I memorized. Rather than looking down at my phone, I was able to look Callie and Michael in the eyes as I told them how loved they are and how much we all appreciate them. “You guys have created something of such great value, not only for yourselves, but for all of us.” This line feels almost prophetic now.

After me, Thrills, a rapper/producer with a sweet, calm nature, brought the house down with a spoken word poem that absolutely crushed. I’m too savvy to consider him a rival. He was so effortless that I found myself hoping that we’d get to take this act on the road, me as his opener. If anyone’s getting married and needs to hire speech writers, we are not cheap but we are available.

Once dinner was over, the real party started. We danced and drank and laughed, fueled by carajillos (a magical coffee-based cocktail) that refused to let the party even consider ending. The thing about getting married at a hacienda in the middle of the Yucatan countryside is that there are no curfews or noise ordinances. Just tequila. I left the party momentarily to change into my third outfit of the evening - a tent of a onesie Callie brought back for me from Hawaii years earlier- and when I entered the staging area I found Thrills and Annalisa engaged in what can only be considered a full-on, two-years-deep relationship. I wouldn’t have thought anything of it, except that I remembered Annalisa saying she was single on the shuttle that morning, and yet here she was telling her boyfriend to plug her hair straightener in next to the mirror. Later she would cut her hand on a piece of glass and he would fall off of a ledge in unrelated accidents. They were miraculously the only ones who sustained injuries from the whole event and they have been together ever since.

By the time I came back to the party, everyone was in the pool. I looked over and saw Brendan in his boxer-briefs, with an American Spirit hanging from his lip. I bent down to let him know that the 2 am shuttle was leaving, and asked him for a drag of his cigarette. He offered it to me, and I plucked it from his hand with my teeth. The DJ booth followed the party from the dance floor to the pool, and Michael took over from there. Everything about Michael is understated, which gives him a quiet confidence, but when he is behind the DJ booth, he speaks through music and everybody listens. I stood surveying the landscape, noticing that you could no longer tell who was friend and who was family, bride or groom’s side. It was a warm, electric feeling. My heart was so wide open and I could feel that everyone else’s was too. Whatever heartbreak or baggage anyone walked into the wedding with was patched up or thrown out. Pure energy. Pure love.

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The Day After

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I woke up in my hotel room after a few hours of sleep, just as the next party was starting. We all congregated at yet another tiny and beautiful hotel for tacos and cocktails. As the party stretched out into the night, a big group of us wound up at a Mezcaleria where we danced aggressively to Latin music, and learned a move that changed the very fabric of our being. It goes, “Wash, wash, rinse, rinse, up, up.” You start with your hands down low like you’re agitating clothes in a bin that’s like… on the ground? Then you ring it out somewhere around your ribs. Then you raise the roof because yay! It’s all clean now. To the Mexican women who entrusted us with this infectious dance, you are my queens; I bow to you. I remember thinking, as I was being spun around from one wonderful human to the next and wash washing away all that ailed me, that this was one of the most fun nights of my life. My periphery blurred as I was pulled into the eye of a hurricane in the form of Frankie who was so clumsy and yet oddly graceful. As he spun me around, it was like when Jack takes Rose to a “real party” in Titanic. In that moment, I felt myself let go. All of my remaining walls came crashing down.

There’s a phenomenon that we’ve all experienced at least once in our lives: the moment that you finally start to move on is the exact same moment you hear from your ex. I checked my phone for the first time that night, and I had a text from my former fiancé whom I had barely spoken to since we broke up almost a year prior. To be fair, I’d reached out to him a couple times in the month or two before. I felt so heavy about how suddenly it ended and never having a real conversation about it… I was finding it very hard to move on. He was understandably resistant… not sure what the point was. Nor did I really. I just knew I needed something and I wasn’t sure what.

When I got back to my hotel room, so full of love and life and- of course- mezcal, I decided to FaceTime him. Even though I’d been drinking for three days straight, I wasn’t drunk. In fact I hadn’t really been drunk the whole time, which I attribute to sky high vibes and watered down drinks. So it wasn’t as reckless as it sounds. He answered, and I was shocked by how at ease I felt. Our conversation was warm and respectful, even when I brought up very triggering subjects and things that had happened over the course of our relationship. It was the style of conversation we should have had a million times in the eight years we were together, but it was only now that we had time and distance that we could approach each other the way we both deserved. I said everything I’d wanted to say to him for months and had been mentally and emotionally rehearsing all that time. But as I said them, I felt no anger or resentment. I could only feel deep compassion and reverence for this person who taught me so much and loved me as well as he could. And I felt grateful that he didn’t seem to have any hate or resentment towards me either. I was proud of us. I could tell him I loved him and mean it without it meaning that we should be together. My heart was wide open and I made no attempt to close it.

When I woke up the next day, I expected anxiety to descend upon me like vicious dogs, but it didn’t. I felt clear. I felt closure. And I felt excited to drive a group of 6 people in a van to Cancún, where we would all spend two days partying like Spring Breakers and ordering gluttonous amounts of room service at our all inclusive resorts. Frankie’s hand found mine on every dance floor, in every taxi, and beneath every table, and to my own surprise, I let him keep it.

It wasn’t until we arrived at the (v shitty) Cancún airport- two hours early- that the hangover started. By some miracle of science, I’d managed to avoid a physical hangover the whole time, even after having tequila poured straight from the bottle down my throat for way too many seconds on multiple occasions. No, this was a purely emotional hangover. I was going to miss these people I’d grown attached to and had some of the most fun nights of my life with. I was going to miss Mexico and its illogical way of getting shit done (or not). And I was going to miss who I had been: free and confident and self-assured, feeling so loved and supported the whole way. Everything up until that moment had felt like expansion, and now everything was contracting again.

I spent a significant portion of the flight home in tears. I felt totally emptied out. I felt… grief. It was stupid, really… It was just a wedding! Not even my own! Going home felt overwhelming. My normal had been a state of flux the entire year… moving back to my hometown from LA after a breakup, then moving out of my dad’s house a place of my own, then another breakup and oh, creating a brand new career from absolute scratch. There was something connected to this wedding that I wanted- needed- more of. It was love. I needed more love. New love. Wild love. Dance your ass off because you’re so goddamned excited love. Friend love. Crazy love. And I wanted it from the people I’d just experienced it with. I wanted to run back the clock.

And by the time I landed, plans were already in the works to do just that.

Leave it to Annalisa. As I was wistfully telling my sister about the wedding on the way home from the airport, my phone began blowing up. A text chain was in full throttle with about 20 people from the wedding, starting with a party invite from Annalisa complete with a style guide (reds, blacks, and whites, absolutely no silver or gold). I was truly surprised to see that I was not the only one experiencing wedding withdrawals.

Brendan and I stayed in near constant communication, filling each other in on the lives we knew almost nothing about, and wondering at the unlikelihood of our friendship. We supposed that our bond was either because of many past lives spent in each other’s company, or else we were just bored with our current ones and desperately needed the escape the Yucatan and all its visitors provided. But Annalisa’s party in the Hollywood Hills would have to work as a stand-in. He bought a new suit, which I teased him about relentlessly as I filled up my gas tank with hundreds of dollars worth of fuel to drop my life and travel to a city in which I do not live to attend a party.

We found ourselves at a mansion whose sole purpose was hosting parties like this one, eating sushi, drinking tequila, and reminiscing over the wedding. Callie wore her post-wedding wedding dress, and Michael wore his suit, so that they could finally feed each other cake- something they didn’t have time for in between the dance party and the pool party at their wedding. I wore a nude colored rayon gown that had been sitting in my closet for a decade, completely forgotten about until now. It was strange seeing all of the same people from the wedding in this new setting… I had no frame of reference for who they were in real life, just who they were to me in Mexico. Brendan seemed older than I remembered him. Frankie seemed younger. Frankie, who looked confused when he saw me for the first time. He said it was because he wasn’t wearing his glasses. Incidentally, he hadn’t been wearing glasses in Mexico either.

It was Annalisa’s birthday, a fact she concealed until a few days before, and a big celebratory moment was planned for her debut complete with pyrotechnics. A few of Annalisa’s friends work for high-end clubs and therefore have access to the kind of heavy duty sparklers used for parading bottles of Grey Goose to overpriced tables. The sparklers had to be smuggled out, an ordeal which was discussed at length in the group chat. A couple hours in to the party, murmurs started happening that it was time. I was eager to be of service, always trying to prove that maybe- finally- I could be trusted with more than finding the rocks. So I volunteered to be the lookout for when Annalisa emerged from a downstairs bedroom so that we could light the sparklers.

A makeshift tunnel was formed and the sparklers were handed out. I leaned over the precarious glass railing to watch the door below. I saw it crack open and a heeled foot step out. I ran to the group and stage-whispered, “It’s time!!!” Someone passed around a lighter and soon enough they were all lit. After an impossibly long time, a woman appeared at the top of the staircase. It was not Annalisa. One by one, the sparklers burned out, a mirror of what was happening for me internally. I sunk to my knees as others rushed around, scrounging for something else to light on fire. Luckily there were just enough sparklers left over to create the desired effect when she finally did emerge from below, and it turned out I did not rob her of her birthday joy. Thank fucking God.

Brendan saw that I was melting and pulled me outside for a regroup. I paused in the doorway, looking back to Frankie who was standing next to the DJ booth staring into his phone. The unbridled joy and abandon of his that was so infectious in Mexico had vanished as mysteriously as it came on. I assumed, rightly or wrongly, that it was about me. I caught his eye, and he quickly looked away. I felt like I was in junior high and the boy that had been calling me all summer pretended not to know me once school started. So I turned and joined Brendan outside.

My face was hot and tears filled my eyes. I remembered feeling so strong and capable and confident after my speech at the wedding… the applause and the raised glasses and the praise. The sense of connection and support. And now… this. How the mighty had fallen. The fireworks burnt out too soon. Was any of it real? Was all that “divine love” just a contact high from whatever it was the Mayan healer was smudging us with? I was incensed. My heart felt broken somehow… Why was everything, good and bad, affecting me in such a heightened way? I couldn’t reel myself in. My heart was wide open, an exposed wound, and I needed to let it breathe, but it fucking stung.

I pulled Brendan inside and we wash washed until we were too drunk and the lights were being turned on and Annalisa had to ask those of us hanging on by a thread to leave while she and her new long term boyfriend Thrills cleaned up. But I didn’t want to leave. Not until I felt the same way I did leaving the wedding. Instead I was put in an Uber in my soaking wet (God knows with what liquid) ballgown and cried to my driver all the way home. And then to Callie and Michael. Imagine having a wedding, and then all the people you invited go insane and you have to help them process their emotions about it. All while you’re trying to process your own and put your life back together after spending the better part of two years in perpetual planning mode. Sheer insanity.

I cried myself to sleep on Callie and Michael’s pull-out bed and told myself it was all cotton candy love… the kind that looks and feels amazing, then you put it in your mouth and before you can fully taste it or get a sense of its texture, it has dissolved, and now you’re left with a sugar rush and several cavities. It was time to put my heart back in her cage and see things for what they were. Time go home and get back to my normal life, whatever that was, and let everybody else do the same.

Brendan’s Party

The text came in while I was at my cousin’s funeral. “What are you doing on December 9th?” I ran to the bathroom- at the funeral- and called him. Before you go judging me, please know that my cousin was the MOST fun and would have absolutely insisted that I chase the fun. Brendan told me that he was planning a party at the gorgeous space in Downtown LA that would eventually become Florentin, the bar he and his business partners had been prepping to open all year. Over the course of many late night conversations, Brendan and I had come to the realization that we were in parallel life stages… both of us were in the process of forging a new and ambitious career path, we were both single by choice, and both of us felt like 11/11 ushered us in to our own personal renaissance. We thought we should fully embrace it, as any subtle change could throw us off balance. Careers would become serious and all-encompassing. Partners would eventually pull us out of each others’ gaze. We would move on to different things… different paths. But for now, we were confidantes, star-crossed somethings or others.

Brendan sent out the evite and I watched each day as the RSVPs tallied up and up and up, eventually exceeding the 160 capacity. It seemed that this would be the party to end them all. The wedding itself was only 100 people, and now the whole thing had been turned on its head and blown out of proportion, which is exactly what we wanted. We wanted the hard stuff.

And boy did we get it. SO much alcohol. Just. so. MUCH. Disco balls everywhere. Christmas lights and music and more ambiance than anyone knew what to do with, and so many beautiful people, including a whole cast of characters from Brendan’s real life whom I was delighted to meet. It may as well have been another wedding entirely for how easily I bonded with them and how much fun we had. My favorite part was watching Brendan swan about like Jay Gatsby… a guest at his own party. In my mind I saw a split screen in which the other half was him at the wedding before he started chainsmoking in the pool. The student had in fact become the teacher. There would be no talk of 2 am shuttles this time.

I was having an amazing time dancing in my sparkly dress I’d had sewn on to my body for that one occasion, and meeting new people and catching up with others from the wedding. On my way from the dance floor to the bar, I literally ran in to Frankie who forgot himself for long enough to lift me off my feet for a hug. I looked up at him, wondering where the light in him had gone. Had I somehow scared it away? I was surprised to learn that, after all this time, I am still just a girl standing in front of a boy, wanting him to not ghost me. We wound up hanging around a high top table talking about Merida with Zilla, an effortlessly cool woman Callie gifted us all with, when a silence fell upon us. “Can we just admit that we’re all chasing a high from the wedding?” Zilla asked with zero irony. Frankie’s face went ashen. Someone new had joined the conversation. “What do you mean?” Frankie turned to him stoically. “Imagine the highest high you’ve ever felt, and then it all just ends.” I started getting anxious. “Ok but why does it have to end? We’re all here! We’re all dressed up! It’s the SAME!!!” Everyone just sipped their drinks and waited for someone new to talk to.

Later I was heading to the dance floor to watch Michael DJ (he’s single-handedly turned me into a booth bitch. Kudos MA) and I stopped dead in my tracks. There was Frankie spinning me around just the way he had done in Merida, with his big warm smile and bright eyes that made me let go all my defenses against love, only it wasn’t me. It was someone else who looked like a mirror image of me if you had less than stellar vision. As I watched that girl laugh and smile as she was spun around the dance floor, possibly thinking to herself that she was having one of the most fun nights of her life, I felt ridiculous for ever thinking that any of it was real. That I had let my walls down, only to be proven that they were there for good reason.

I ran out just before breaking down in front of all the people that had spent the past month building me up, and Brendan followed. Like Gatsby, Brendan looked at me with one of those rare smiles that understood me and believed in me the way that I wanted to be understood and believed in. He put his hand on my heart and told me everything that he saw in me, and for once I just listened. And in that moment, something shifted. I realized that there was real love right in front of me. And all around me. And, it turns out, inside of me. I tossed the fur coat I was wearing to the side and returned to the dance floor.

As I danced to an epic Taylor Swift set that Michael played just for me so that I could scream sing at Frankie (which, to his absolute credit, he stood there and allowed me to do), surrounded by incredible women- some of whom I’d known forever, some I met at the wedding, and others I’d only just met at this party- I realized we were all in this together. That even Frankie was just doing what he could to recreate the feeling he had in Merida. That’s all any of us were doing. But we couldn’t in the end. What we did instead was create new experiences… new parties… new feelings… new relationships.

The Afters

“We all fell in love, no? I think I fell in love with a tree. I just figured it was a vacation high,” says Annalisa. She’s right. We did all fall in love. With Merida… with the Hacienda… with the Yucatan… and of course, with each other. And yeah maybe we were all high on life and yes, also some drugs, but if it was intended to be short-lived, the joke’s on us. It turns out that the love wished on us by Callie and Michael and that crazy mf Mayan healer is more potent than any substance.

“I’m putting a button on 11/11,” said Brendan a couple weeks after his party. I believed him when he said it, and a piece of my heart wanted me to protest. “But why?? We’re all still here! It never has to end!!” But after weeks of partying and thousands of dollars spent on all the things that make parties happen, not to mention the sheer exhaustion, he was right. It was time. We had talked about running it back one final time, one final send on NYE, but as the date grew closer it seemed like the moment had come and gone. I planned to spent the night at home alone, writing this. And then I got a FaceTime from Callie.

After listening to me go on about how it was time for me to rejoin the land of the elder millennials and finally let the party die, she told me why she called. A DJ named Fisher whose music had been scoring our lives beginning with the wedding was playing in DTLA on New Year’s Eve Eve and did I want to come? I called Brendan. “I’ll go if you’ll go.” Done. Run it back. Final send. THIS was the button on 11/11 that we all needed. Three months ago if you’d told me I would voluntarily attend an EDM festival, I’d ask you how much I was to be paid. But there I was, back in Neverland, dancing behind this DJ I didn’t know existed a month ago with the people I had come to know and love. And not just in a vacation way. In that moment I knew my heart was open and there was no closing it, and I didn’t want to. I’m not afraid of love. So what if it fucks up your whole life? Maybe your life needed a good fucking. It can be messy and make you do dumb shit, and you might lose yourself but you can always find yourself again.

Actually, I think the wedding expanded our capacity for love so that it won’t make us lose our mind or ourselves anymore. The more we extend it, the more of it we have to give, rather than hoarding it away or keeping it walled off. When Callie and Michael wished their kind of love on us, what they meant was free flowing love... Unconditional positive regard. Friendship. Defenseless, kind, dance your ass off because you’re so goddamned excited love. And that we did.

…

Throughout the wedding and its follow up events, a tradition took hold. Whenever there’s a toast, you replace the word “cheers” with “I love you.” We all did it so many times (there have been a LOT of shots) but it never became cursory. You look someone in the eye and you say “I love you.” And then you drink. This is one custom I will be keeping. Because I do.