On an Impulse

Author's note: This story has race and political conflicts as a minor plot point, from a leftist perspective. If that's not for you, please don't waste your time here. All the story's really about is two people who are deeply afraid they won't be accepted for who they are.

Content warning: ableism, racial micro-aggressions

"Look, Jo," Ultan Cassidy shouted into his friend's ear over the roar of the tiny, little club on Queen Street West. "If you didn't want a bachelorette party, you could have just said so. Dragging an introvert to a place like this makes me think you hate me."

"Come on, Ult," Jo shouted back, her face tipped right up to the side of his head. Her jet-black ringlets brushed along her skin, framing her smooth, russet face. "Everyone needs the excitement of downtown Toronto once in a while! What else would you be doing the night before my wedding? Taking more pictures of plants in the dark?" Ultan pushed his black-framed glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

"If I had to choose between the coyotes in the ravine behind my house or this, I'm picking the coyotes," he replied, just as the band up front launched themselves into the last verse of quite possibly the most shrill song he'd ever heard.

"Oh, be nice for once," Jo's massive hoop earrings tipped back as she tilted her head and rolled her eyes. She pursed her plum-shaded lips as Ultan reclined and crossed his arms, whereas everyone else in the crowd was on their feet. "Okay," she conceded, handing him her keys just as the band was wrapping up and the lead singer started thanking the audience.

"Go wait in the car or have a falafel or something. A friend of mine is up on stage and I want to talk to her. Are you sure you don't want to come with?"

"That honestly sounds like a low-key nightmare," Ultan deadpanned. He considered himself lucky that despite his neurodivergence, he could tolerate a noisy atmosphere and crowds for a while. Not a long while, but long enough to placate his friends.

"Really? She's the drummer and she's kind of cute," Jo drawled.

Ultan squinted at the stage, trying to look past the throngs of people crossing in front of him. The hazy, darkened room didn't help either.

"Redundant Contraption?" he asked, getting distracted by the logo on the bass drum. "That's their name?"

"You didn't even look at the stage once all this time?" Jo asked incredulously. Ultan rose from his seat and finally made out a lithe figure standing up from behind the drum kit.

"She's the drummer?" It slipped out before he could stop it.

"Yeah, and if you'd actually been watching the show all this time, you would have seen her killing it back there," Jo said, unimpressed. "Wanna meet her?"

She looked to be quite a bit younger than Ultan, with layered black hair that had violet highlights woven throughout, tied back in a messy ponytail. Her light jeans and black t-shirt sat snug against her dusky brown skin, and the way she took a swig out of her water bottle was reminiscent of '90s-style Cindy Crawford ads.

But as she casually pulled off her noise-cancelling protective earmuffs and tucked her drumsticks into her back pocket with all the coolness and poise in the world, Ultan deathly wanted to retreat back to Jo's car.

"No, no," he decided. "You're getting married tomorrow and I was dumb enough to agree to be your photographer. Shoulda just gotten you a toaster like a normal guest." Jo grinned as she fished her tinted chapstick out of her purse.

"Not only are you one of Felix's oldest friends, you're an art professor. I can't think of anyone who'd know the guests or the craft better than you, Ult."

"Adjunct professor," Ultan corrected. "Your fiancé is also an adjunct art professor, might I point out."

"Yeah, but he can't photograph his own wedding." Jo took his hands in hers and gave them a squeeze. "Felix and I truly appreciate it."

"You just appreciate that I'm doing it for free," Ultan said, pulling his friend into a hug.

"That too," Jo murmured against his chest. "You know what an adjunct art professor pays." She pulled back and stood on her tiptoes to look over his shoulder. "Oh, look, my friend's coming this way," she said. Ultan swiveled around to see the beautiful drummer sashaying toward them. "Are you sure you don't want to—"

But when she turned back around, Ultan had already disappeared into the crowd.

"Who was Bruce Wayne over there?" a familiar English accent called out behind her.

"Samaira," Jo went to hug her friend and boss. "I swear to god, girl, there is no way anyone would look at your office manager incarnation during the day and think, 'that chick can drum like thunder.'"

"Oh lord," Samaira rolled her eyes albeit with a smile. "You clearly don't know anything about drumming. If you did, you would have heard where I botched a couple of fills." She paused to take a gulp of water from the bottle Jo offered her, having finished off her own. "Also," she added, you don't have to say that just because I'm your boss, you know. I hired you a year ago and I relieve you of your ass-kissing duties."

"Ahh rah-leeve you of yoh oss-kissing dyoo-tees," Jo imitated while Samaira almost spit out her water.

"That almost went up my nose, you wench," she laughed as Jo apologised. "Now you get to help me take down the kit." She beckoned her friend over to the drums, where she instructed her on how to take apart the hi-hat while they continued chatting.

"So tell me... is there indeed a wedding tomorrow for which I must squeeze myself into that bloody bridesmaid gown, or have you taken up with Spike over there?"

"'Spike?'" Then Jo remembered Ultan's spiky brown hair and grinned. "I'm actually surprised no one nicknamed him that until now. No, no, that's my buddy," she said, passing Samaira a cymbal. "He and Felix go all the way back to high school, and he's going to photograph the wedding tomorrow."

"Why'd he run off? I mean, I know I'm sweaty as a boar after that session, but I would have kept my distance."

"Oh, it's not that. I'm pretty sure he thinks you're hot, but not in the way you mean." Samaira wrinkled her nose at that sideways compliment, then shyly looked down at the bass pedal she was detaching.

"Maybe you should tell him about my limitations," she murmured, only to be met with a glare from Jo's coal-black eyes.

"You're 5'8". He's 6'2". You're outgoing, he needs someone to pull him out of his cave. You're—"

"How old is he?"

"Samaira, seriously?" Jo asked, loosening the wingnut of another cymbal while her friend folded in the legs of the snare stand, blankly looking back at her. "Fine, he's 36 like Felix."

"And I'm 42. I've had two husbands. I have an 18-year-old who's heading into her first year of university at the end of the summer. Moreover, I never, ever want to get married again. The interest in my violet streaks wears off quickly in light of this other baggage, don't you think?"

"If this were the other way around, you'd think nothing of dating a guy six years older than you," Jo pointed out. "Besides, he's the softest, kindest guy you'll ever meet. Knowing him, he won't actually think anything you mentioned is a problem. He'll probably wonder why you think they are."

"Hey, Iqbal, you got yourself a roadie?" Liem, the lead singer interrupted with a sly smile.

"Relax, Hyun, she's being made an honest woman tomorrow morning," Samaira replied, grabbing Jo's left hand and flashing her engagement ring.

"Oh wow!" Liem's smooth exterior fell away and he gave a little hop. "Congratulations! Okay, this—" he gestured toward the drum kit, "—is not what you should be doing the night before you get married," he said. "You're going to the wedding, Samaira?" She nodded, hoping against hope for what she thought he might offer next.

"Both of you take off," Liem ordered. "Get your beauty sleep. Or go get smashed, either way. The guys and I will pack up the drums and take 'em to my place. Just be there Tuesday after work for practice, yeah?" Samaira kissed her bandmate on the cheek and quickly stuffed her sticks and earmuffs into her bag, aiming to be gone before Liem changed his mind.

"You really don't like packing your drums up, do you?" Jo laughed as her friend held on tight to her hand while bounding up the steps of the underground club.

"It's the bane of every drummer's existence," Samaira winked, taking a deep breath of the heavy air of that humid July night in downtown Toronto. The wind off Queen Street smelled like a mix of gasoline, kebabs, and vinyl records, if there ever was such an aroma. Samaira tossed her hair back and looked up at the sky, reveling in the serenity of the concrete jungle surrounding her.

"Keep doing that and my buddy is going to smudge the windows of my car with his face," Jo smiled wryly. Samaira quickly looked around, her eye falling on Ultan in the passenger seat of Jo's red hatchback. As soon as she spotted him, he slunk down in his seat and looked at his lap.

"That hardly seems like a man who's interested in anything more than his phone," she said to Jo, as they walked to her car. "Are you sure?"

"Maybe you'll find out for yourself tomorrow," Jo shrugged. "I'll obviously be busy but maybe the two of you will be able to talk at the ceremony."

***********

Ultan tugged at his shirt collar for what seemed like the hundredth time in an hour, wondering how he would get through the day while trapped in his suit.

"You're going to rip a hole through that thing," his friend, Sean, warned him. He casually leaned against the metal handles of the banquet hall's glass doors where he'd been posted.

"At least don't keep doing that at the door, man," he continued, cringing at how Ultan kept shrugging his shoulders to readjust his shirt. "I have to stand on guard here. You don't. You can just take that two-thousand-dollar camera and prance around the hall taking pictures of shit."

"It's really funny you said that, because I would love to be taking pictures of actual shit—like animal scat—in the woodlot by my house than at a swanky wedding with hundreds of people."

"It's only about 150," Sean reasoned.

"I'm rounding up." It felt like during the course of their brief exchange, the tag on the inside collar of Ultan's dress shirt had morphed into sandpaper. "Don't tell me Felix is making you do security or something," he said, in an effort to focus on anything other than the nape of his neck.

"That's me," Sean grinned, flexing a muscle and threatening to rip the seams of the suit jacket that barely contained his bicep. "For a low-drama couple like Felix and Jo, there are quite the number of people who threatened to crash this wedding." Ultan's eyes followed Sean's gaze down the steps of the banquet hall entrance and out toward the sprawling parking lot.

"And it looks like one of them actually followed through," Sean said flatly, whipping out his phone to call his wife, Tiffany, who was a bridesmaid. If only he could contact the dressing room quickly enough to outpace the auburn-haired woman who strode toward the hall with purpose. And who just happened to be wearing a mermaid-style, white wedding gown.

Ohhhhh, this is going to be bad, Ultan rued, while suddenly feeling like everything was speeding up around him. He knew this woman. He'd dated this woman. He'd dated this woman before Felix had dated this woman.

"It's a good thing you stayed, man," Sean muttered, ending the call after just one sentence. "Stand with me right here." Ultan mimicked Sean's stance that placed his feet at hip-width, then crossed his arms as the two men blocked the entrance. He wished he could mimic Sean's bravado as well, but the stance would have to do for now.

"Julia," Sean drawled with an easy smile. "Are you sure you were invited today, hon?"

"Cut the crap, Sean," Julia hissed. "And Ultan, you look good. Nice to see you dressed yourself today without putting on your pants backwards." Ultan felt his face burn, as that was exactly what he'd confided in her he'd done many times as a child.

"And now we know why you and Felix didn't work out," Sean stated. "Showing up dressed like a bride doesn't change the fact he's marrying someone else today."

"What's the big deal?" Julia sneered, as she slipped between the two men and through the banquet hall door that had been propped open from the inside. "All I'm going to do is sit there and be a witness like everyone else. Oh, and wait for that 'if there's anyone who objects to this union' part."

"Dammit," Sean swore, knowing very well he couldn't have laid his hands on her to keep her outside. "Ult, sorry man, but I have to stay here and wait for... other people who might show up. Could you follow her inside? I just called Tiffany, so Jo knows she's here."

Up the winding, carpeted staircase that presented itself just a few steps away from the front doors, was the bride's dressing room where Jo sat in her own white dress.

"I'm fucked," she announced, tears threatening to streak the expensive makeup job she'd just gotten done. "My wedding's ruined. Julia's downstairs wearing white and she's going to make at least one scene, if not several." Many pairs of heavily made-up eyes stared back at her in sympathy, including Samaira, her daughter Aalia, and Jo's other bridesmaids.

"This is Felix's ex?" Samaira asked, resplendent in her maroon gown, her black and violet waves cascading down her back. The dark satin hugged her breasts and fell like curtains around her long legs. "The absolute cheek she must have, showing up like this." A moment of tense silence passed before she exaggeratedly sighed, then reached for a wine glass on the side table.

"I don't know about anyone else, but I need a drink," she declared. Tiffany arched an eyebrow.

"I hardly think this is the time to relax and unwind," she said, judgment dripping from her voice. "Besides, that's a white wine glass you're holding." Samaira briefly glanced at the plump, blonde woman who wore an identical dress to hers. They'd only met that morning but she was already sure Tiffany didn't like her. That barely mattered, however, in the face of what she had to do right now.

"A glass is a glass," Samaira shrugged, "and this is actually the perfect time to relax," she cheerily added, filling the glass two-thirds deep with a red. The shade match between the Merlot and her dark pomegranate dress was uncanny.

"Samaira, whatever you're doing, you don't have to do it," Jo warned, unsure of what she meant even as the words exited her mouth.

"Whatever am I doing?" Samaira replied innocently as she turned the handle of the bridal room. "I'm just going to take a little walk and greet some guests." Aalia and Jo exchanged a worried look, but the corners of Aalia's mouth turned up just a touch.

"Mum doesn't drink. She's going to pull some epic shit, I can feel it," she said, scrambling for her phone and parking herself at the staircase's parapet.

For her part, Samaira flounced down the stairs, carefully balancing her glass of red wine while scanning the lobby before her.

There's the trollop, she thought, spotting a red-haired woman in a white dress. Who's she talking to? Her... date? Oh, no, it's Spike. As she approached the pair, two things struck her—one, that the man with brown, spiky hair and glasses she'd almost met last night was devastatingly handsome in a tux. Two, that he definitely wasn't the faux bride's date.

"Julia, just leave and there won't be a scene," he pled with her.

"Don't you have a list of things to forget to do, Ultan?" Julia rolled her eyes.

Ultan, Samaira repeated it in her mind, momentarily distracted from her mission. What a lovely name. Much better than 'Spike' anyway. But then she remembered herself and swayed her body a little more than she had just a moment ago. Honing in on Julia, Samaira increased her stride and let her ankle bend at just the right moment when she was but a meter away.

The glass she loosely held sloshed at the perfect trajectory, splashing down Julia's strapless bustline and streaking all the way down her once-white dress. As Julia shrieked, Ultan jumped back and Samaira faintly recognised an alarmed murmur arise from the 50 or so guests already in the lobby. But she maintained eye contact with the faux bride.

"You raging bitch!" Julia screamed. "What is wrong with you?!"

"I am so, so sorry, my dear," Samaira tried her best to sound tipsy, which was a hard sell considering she'd never even tasted alcohol before. "Weddings are hard for everyone, aren't they?" She leaned toward a shocked Ultan for support, who seemed to buy the act.

His warm palms wrapped around her upper arms in an effort to hold her up. Oooh, that's cozy, she thought, surprised at the tingle that shot straight up to her shoulders.

"You know what?" she slurred. "Lemon juice and a salt shaker will get that right out."

"There's not enough lemon juice in the world..." Ultan muttered by her ear, prompting a giggle to slip out.

"You think this is funny? You think this is funny?" Julia bellowed.

I do, and I'm tired of pretending it's not, Samaira smiled to herself.

"Was it lemon juice?" she pondered out loud, looking confusedly up at Ultan. For just a split-second, she was distracted by his mossy green eyes. "Maybe it's white wine and lemon juice?" Just then, she noticed she still had some wine in her glass.

"Lemme take a closer look," she said, lunging forward and slopping what was left down Julia's left arm. A second set of stunned titters rumbled through the room, to Samaira's satisfaction.

"Oh, my fucking god!!" Julia lamented as she turned on her heel and stormed off in the direction of Sean at the banquet hall entrance. He was all but disintegrating with laughter but held it in just long enough to open the door for Julia, whose dress left a trail of wine as she made her way to her car.

"Thanks for the help," Samaira whispered to Ultan, trying to ignore the few scattered bits of applause around her, "but you can let go of me now."

"Sorry," he stammered, not realising his hands were still on her. "Sorry, I—"

"The last thing I require is a handsome man apologising for touching me for too long," she said, looking right into his forest-green eyes. And then, to his chagrin, she was gone just as quickly as she'd appeared, hiking up her dress to hop the staircase back toward the bridal room.

That is not allowed, Ultan thought, her heart-shaped face etched in his head. He watched as Samaira was greeted at the top of the steps by a gaggle of women who were falling apart worse than Sean had been. She can't sound like that while looking like... well, that. His hands seemed to want to hold her just a second longer, but all they found between them was his camera.

As the other women went back into the dressing room, the beautiful bridesmaid with the English accent lingered at the railing, glancing over her shoulder to give him one more smile. And on an impulse, he snapped her picture before she disappeared.

"Can you effing believe that, man?!" Sean loudly whispered, abandoning his post for a minute. "Who is that woman? Do you know her?" Then he noticed Ultan looking down at the perfect shot he'd gotten of Samaira smiling triumphantly at him.

"Umm, no," Ultan cleared his throat. "She's a friend of Jo's, I think." He refrained from telling him about how he'd blown his chance to meet her the night before, and how he would probably do the same thing any number of times today.

"But you want to know her." Sean crossed his arms as Ultan refused to meet his stare.

"Come on, man, I'm not like you. I can't just talk to women. Or anyone, for that matter. And especially not her."