“That’swhatIsaid!”I sputtered back at him, hoping to finally make sense of this mix-up. As startling as it was to wake up in my mother’s dress, I was grateful I had clothes on. At least nothingelsehappened!
“You knew about this?” Nick’s eyes—a hue so blue it twinned with the Adriatic Sea— sharply pierced into mine so hard it made my gut twist. Not in a dreamy way either, more like I felt it wise to pace to the side because he clearly looked like he was about to be ill.
“Um, maybe,” I said softly. Insecurity filled my soul as I didn’t enjoy seeing Nick upset at the thought of us being married. I hated it. “I mean, remember we talked about it. Right?”
“Right.” Nick paced forward, one eye on me and the other methodically sliding to the side, keeping tabs on the dog. “I don’t remember anything. Do you? Do you knowfor surewhat happened?”
Pulling my eyes away from his intense glare, I focused inward as I studied my memories. “The last thing I remember,” I paused while I decoded the images in my mind. “I remember we went with our new friends and we all got that special poinsettia champagne. You know, the one with those adorable pine needles for a garnish. It was so cute. Oh, and it had a stick of cinnamon or something on it, too.” I started to draw the length with my finger in the air. “It was brown and about this long. Do you remember that?”
“I remember the drinks—not with that much detail—but I remember making a toast and then clinking glasses with everyone and then . . . nothing.”
“I don’t remember the toast.” My lips pursed out thoughtfully. “What was the toast?”
Nick’s face dropped all color. The last time I had seen him that shade, was after he had gotten food poisoning from eating mystery chicken at a buffet. “We toasted to gettingmarried.”
Snorting sarcastically, like thatwasn’tthe biggest clue to solving this conundrum, I rushed to stifle his words with new words of my own, “Okay, um there’s a reason it looks this way but um, obviously we aren’t seeing some clues.”
“Right. This must be staged.” He went to run a hand through his hair, the way he always did when he got overwhelmed, but when his hand met the buffed side of his head, he stiffened. “Charlotte,” his voice rolled out smooth with obvious forced calm. “What is going on with my head?”
“It looks like you shaved it,” I quickly replied, not wanting to waste time discussing hair. Hair wasn’t as important as life-altering vows. My stomach had been tossed into a pit of quicksand, sinking lower with each new detail. I barely had time to think about hair.
He pivoted on his heel, rotating to face the mirror by the door. “I what?”
My eyes grew round, wondering how he could have missed what was happening with his own head. “You didn’t know?”
He blinked so rapidly, I thought he’d sprain his eyelids. “You knew!”
I rushed behind him, meeting his gaze in the mirror. “It was one of the first things I noticed when I woke up.”
His hands fled to the sides of his head, and he continued to rub it. “Why would I cut my hair?” He pressed his face to the mirror, turning his head in all directions, and ranted, “I have had the same barber for the last ten years, and I get a haircut at exactly every four weeks. I’m very precise about my hair. This should never have happened. Something is majorly wrong here!”
Lifting my shoulders, feeling lost hair was the least of my worries, I tossed out a reassuring, “It’ll grow back.”
Nick turned back to me, his face growing crimson, and his words were overly enunciated and broken. “What. Is. Going. On. Here?”
“Ah, let’s go back to your theory about this being staged . . .” I didn’t think anyone would stage something like this, but I wasn’t ready to accept the most obvious explanation for this situation. It wasn’t so much that I was upset that I might have gotten married to Nick, but more the thought that I didn’t remember anything.
Tears welled in my eyes. I had been looking forward to my wedding since I was a little girl. I didn’t always think I’d have a perfect day—though I dreamed of one—but I’d assumed I’d at least remember it. I paced down the little aisle next to the bed, away from Nick. “There must be a reasonable explanation for everything. Let’s come up with a plan to retrace our steps. Maybe we can find people who remember seeing us, and they can tell us what happened?”
“Right?” Nick blew out a frustrated breath. I tilted my head, taking in the fact he was wearing a baby blue tux, like the kind you see in old movies.That was odder than odd.I didn’t have time to bring it up, though because he rambled out an action plan, “The best place to start would be the chapel, right?” His eyes lightly treaded over my face. “I’m assuming if we got married, it would have been there.”
I rubbed the side of my cheek, visualizing how this would all go down while still praying it was a bad dream. “Just walk right in and ask if we got married?”
“I’ve never been in this situation before, but if you have a better idea, now would be the time to voice it.” He impatiently gestured to the dog, tacking on, “Because clearly, he knows what happened, but he isn’t speaking.”
I glanced at the dog, wanting to giggle, but I knew if I laughed, the amusement would quickly change to the fear that brewed inside me, and I’d start bawling. “No.” I didn’t want him to know I was feeling this way, so I quickly agreed. “Your idea is fine.” My eyes caught my reflection in the mirror, and all I saw was white. I tried to forget the memory of my dad, telling me to wear the dress. He didn’t mean towastethe dress on something so casual I can’t remember putting it on. “I, ah, should change first,” I muttered as I made my way to my suitcase and dragged it into the bathroom.
I shut the door with my flattened palm, and it wasn’t until I felt the click of the door shutting, I noticed my fingers trembling. Sure, on the surface, one could chuckle about waking up in a wedding dress and having no memory, right? It was like a country western song. However, underneath the obvious jokes, I was left wondering how this would affect our friendship. There was clearly a broken boundary.
Marriage isn’t a casual relationship.
I want to be married to someone I love. Sure, I love Nick but in a best friend kind of way. I’d never do anything to jeopardize that friendship. Joking about getting married had been so much more fun than waking up married. Since I don’t remember what happened, I have no idea how I was even supposed to feel about this. How was I supposed to move forward?
As I tugged my dress over my head, I pushed the niggling thoughts to the back of my head.
Now, I was left holding my mother’s wedding dress. Somewhere, in the time since my dad had given it to me, it had become a symbol of dreams not lived. This morning, as I clung to it and stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, I was now scared that everything had been pushed too far . . .
What happens when you force events that aren’t meant to be?
