“Nothing … Just … thank you.” Her gaze was soft.
“Do you need a maid of honor?”
“June, is everything okay?” She chuckled.
“Yes, why?”
“I don’t know, but I like it. Keep it up.” She gave me a soft smile that matched the look in her eyes after I’d hugged her.
Perhaps I didn’t only feel different butwasdifferent.
“It’s going to be just closest family, and Oliver doesn’t have much of a family, so it’s going to be mainly us. You’ll all be maids of honor and best men,” January said.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The week after, I received a new letter from Immigration, addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Marchesi.
I couldn’t even make it upstairs. I opened it sitting on the stairs next to the mailbox.
A gasp of relief and a sting of tears broke out of me as I read the contents.
I called him from the stairwell.
My voice barely carried me through the conversation. The sound of his voice, the images of him, even just picking his name from my contacts list, brought on the full brunt of longing I had been numbing. There were so many things I should have but couldn’t say.
I wanted to believe that my parting gift to him was sending him to live his life and fulfill his dreams and potential.
When my phone rang with an unfamiliar number a few days later, I picked up the call and agreed to meet Sam the accountant for a cup of coffee.
Maybe he could be an antidote. He ticked every damn item on my list.
But I had to tell him gently that I wasn’t emotionally available when he asked me out again at the end of our coffee.
My list had been shredded to pieces.
When January announced her wedding date, that was the date I gave him to come over. I wouldn’t be home, and he had the keys.
I spent the three days before the wedding in bed, running a hundred and two fever, exhausted, and vomiting everything. For the first time in my adult life, I was genuinely sick.
I lied to my mom and sisters, who were busy with wedding preparations, so they wouldn’t worry about me. Thanks to my sister’s preference for a small wedding, there wasn’t a rehearsal dinner to attend, nor a bridal shower.
Rio came up to check in on me.
“With all your education and experience, you should be the first to know that body and soul are connected.” She brought me another stomach-calming tea. “I don’t know what happened with Angelo, but you’re throwing up repressed and unaddressed feelings that found no other outlet.” Her gaze was piercing, as if she were angry with me.
Welcome to the club, Rio.
My response was to run to the toilet and hurl the tea, as well.
On the wedding day itself, I had no fever. I took a shower, got dressed, and threw my guts up only once.
34
Angelo
On a Sunday, this part of Ocean Avenue looked sleepy.
June’s shop was closed, and the building felt deserted. I had a strong feeling she had picked this specific date with the precision of a surgeon.
