“Are you sure we need dovesandbutterflies?” Romeo asked.
“Babe.” She smiled, but there was a clear warning in her eyes. “Ofcourse I’m sure.”
When the wedding talk reached a fever pitch, Romeo would zone out for a second. Not for long, just a quick dreamy wander to reset himself. Selby didn’t get it at all.
“Romeo!” she’d say, clapping her hands together with a loud crack to jolt him out of it.
Have I mentioned that I hated her?
Because holy crap, did I ever.
I prayed for bad things to happen to her. Terrible things. When they didn’t, I prayed for them to happen to Romeo. When that didn’t work either, I prayed for them to happen to me.
It didn’t help. Time marched on. Days blended into nights and cherries ripened on trees. I woke at two in the morning on the day of their wedding. I found myself sitting bolt upright in the dark, sweating, clutching at my throat and chest, fighting for breath.
It was a blue-sky day. Not too hot and not too cold. Selby looked resplendent in a white tea-length dress. She’d told me about it in confidence before the wedding, so I knew not to expect a floor-length gown. She said it was meant to be playful, to remind Romeo of the sundress she’d been wearing the day they met. She wore white gloves and a pearl choker, and overall, much as I hate to admit it, she gave Audry Hepburn a run for her money in the style stakes.
Romeo was heartbreakingly handsome in his suit and completely wrong at the same time. His hair was neat as a pin, which made me feel violent. His shirt was so starched it stayed up when he lifted his arms, making him look like he was wearing a straight jacket.
I felt like I was walking through quicksand.
“Are you drunk?” my dad asked twice.
“Absolutely not,” I replied, offended by the suggestion, though I was indeed very drunk.
“Are you okay?” asked Lexi and my mom, taking turns studying my face and then casting furtive glances at each other.
“Of course,” I replied, a little more unhinged each time. “Romeo’s getting married today. It’s ahappyday!”
Inside, I broke into pieces. Tiny pieces that shattered and splintered. So many pieces that even then, even on that terrible, hazy day when nothing made sense, I knew I’d never be the same again. By some miracle, I made it through the ceremony, the photos, and the canapés on the pristine lawns of the Alabaster Country Club. I even survived the doves and the fucking butterflies.
I watched as Romeo picked rose petals out of Selby’s hair, and I broke all over again. She ran her hands over his chest, straightening his shirt and tie, touching him like he was hers, and I broke more.
Selby had very clear ideas about wedding décor and no trouble communicating them. The Country Club ballroom had been done up to meet her exacting standards. There were flowers and candles on every surface that could tolerate having flowers and candles on them. Hell, there were some flowers and candles on surfaces that didn’t look like they could tolerate it. Miles and miles of fairy lights had been strung up, and believe me, I really do mean miles of the things. They met at a single point in the center of the towering ceiling and fanned out to give the illusion that we were in a wonderland tent—Selby’s words, not mine. Everyone loved it. I heard lots of people commenting on it.
To me, it was pure horror circus.
My speech went okay. I have no memory of what I said, just that no one looked shocked or appalled, and Selby didn’t have me thrown out, so my filter must have held out. Romeo spoke well. He was nervous, of course. His voice was hoarse and softer than usual, but he spoke well. Poetic, almost. He said some things about Selby that made bile rise in my throat, but it wasn’t until he started talking about Sal that the salt really started to burn. By the time he raised his glass, tears tracked down my face.
Fortunately, I wasn’t the only one. Everyone who’d known Sally had loved her. There was hardly a dry eyein the place. Selby looked at the ceiling during Romeo’s speech and dabbed at her eyes with a lace napkin I suspected had been bought for that very purpose.
I sat still, like a statue, until the dancing started. When most people were on their feet and the lights were low, I got to my feet and staggered out of the venue. I turned to look back when I got to the door, though I knew full well I shouldn’t. I couldn’t help it. I had a sickness, and even then, I believed Romeo was the cure. He was sitting back in his seat, watching me with a hard expression I’d never seen before.
Fuck him.
I made it to the parking lot, waves of nausea rising and getting stuck in my throat. It was a still night and it had rained while we were inside. The tarmac was wet and smelled like damp leaves, dark nights, and disaster. I’d parked near the exit, a wise decision, as I’d never been more desperate to leave anywhere. My car was packed to the rafters, boxes on the back seat and clothes that didn’t fit into luggage stuffed into black trash bags. The façade of the Country Club cast long shadows that bent and distorted across the hood. I struggled with my key, hands numb and trembling so badly I couldn’t make it unlock.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Romeo stepped out of the shadows, his face that of a stranger.
“You know where I’m going.” I’d been offered an internship at a well-known firm in Lower Manhattan. I’d mentioned it to him at least ten times in the run-up to the wedding. “New York.”
His mouth opened and shut several times and his eyes changed from thunder to something that looked disoriented and almost vacant. Disbelief, that’s what it was. The first murmurs of rage whispered my name.
“New York?” He said it as if it was a made-up place. A fictional place in one of the stories he used to tell me back when we rode dragons and I still believed in happy endings. “But, but…”
“Yes, Romeo. New York. NewfuckingYork. I got a job there, and per the multiple conversations we’ve had on the topic, I’m going. I’m leaving Alabaster. Moving.”
“But, but…you can’t go…”
