I want to laugh. Look around for the cameras, it’s obvious I’m being set up for some kind of prank here. I didn’t confirm the reservation for my childhood best friend’s bachelorette party for which she has flown all the way from Colorado to attend this weekend? That has to be a joke. I’ve never failed to confirm an appointment or reservation in my life. I’ve even called the dentist to check on my appointment when they failed to send a confirmation email two days prior. They had been backed up with reschedules due to the doctor being out sick and thanked me for my diligence. Where’s that reservation karma when you need it?

“That’s not possible.” I shake my head, only to realize a second later that it is in fact possible.

Shit. I know she’s right. I remember the voicemail now. I had missed the call that afternoon and had been checking my voicemail while I waited for the fundraiser check at Barrett’s office. I got distracted when he showed up and then forgot about calling the restaurant back to confirm. I have an overwhelming urge to scream. That wouldn’t help the situation at all, but it would relieve the rising anger I’m feeling toward Barrett right now. Logically, it’s not his fault, but the stress of the situation is taking over my brain. Whether it’s his fault or not, I have the desire to lump this misunderstanding in with all the other grievances I have with him. Like why does he look so good in a suit? How can his hazel eyes look both green and gold at the same time? It’s obnoxious really.

Forget about Barrett, I need to focus on the task at hand. There’s got to be a way out of this. It’s like getting a speeding ticket for the first time, they have to let you off with a warning, right? I’ve never had a speeding ticket, but I would hope that a clean record would allow me a pass for the first offense. I pause to put on my friendliest smile.

“I apologize for not confirming, but I’m here early to set up so if you could just add me back to the reservation that would be great.”

Without lifting her head, the hostess flicks her eyes up to me.

“I’m sorry, there was a waitlist for the space. We’ve already confirmed the next party on the list.”

“What?” I drop my gaze to the ground, where it feels like the floor has dropped out from underneath me. “You’re saying the space I reserved for the bachelorette party I’m throwing for my childhood friend, which starts in one hour and includes sixteen attendees, most of whom flew in specifically for this event, is no longer available?!”