I shed an overwhelmed tear.
Wiping my cheek, I stole a glance at Chris, who beamed my way. I smiled back, soberly, wanting to feel the same way I used to about him. I wanted to look at him all gooey-eyed like Margo looked at lumpy George. Like I had in the beginning, before all our“breaks.”
I couldn’t muster the sentiment.
For the reception, we congregated under the dimming African skies around a roaring fire, large enough that a tribe should’ve been dancing around it. Finally, we had folding chairs. I kicked off my heels. The women who sang earlier presented a lush dinner, course by course, ending with a whole roasted wild pig with an apple in its mouth. Staring at its stitched eye, I could hardly eat my vegan option. Not to mention, the lingering heat had zapped my appetite.
Instead, I chose alcohol since there was plenty of it. Margo and George swayed by the fire light for ages. They were in love enough to jump in with two feet. Chris and I had been together for ten years, and I couldn’t even get him to dance with me. Barefoot, I boogied to the drums alone while my boyfriend chatted it up with the groom’s cousin, Tara, about her portfolio.
Yeah, right. Portfolio, my ass. I wasn’t dumb or blind. More likely, it was her ass rather than her assets he was after.
I downed my fourth drink.
I lined up as usual when Margo announced she’d throw the bouquet. This was not my first rodeo. I’d never caught one before but knew how I’d react if I did. I’d seen grown women go berserk when they caught the flowers, as if marriage was the whole goal of their existence. Sometimes I felt like one of those women because I expected to get married to Chris someday.
I hated the feeling.
Consequently, I made a point not to act the least bit excited. Even when the spray landed perfectly in my hands. Then I waved the bunch in the air, telling the wedding couple goodbye as they left on a freaking elephant’s back. They were heading back to their honeymoon suite. We’d see them again tomorrow if we stayed. I watched them fade into the sunset for far too long before walking back to Chris.
For the first time this evening, he sat all alone. Part of me wanted to snidely ask him if he’d had a good night talking to Tara but thought better of it. After all, he’d be going to bed with me, and I’d caught this bunch of flowers. Maybe it meant something.
I sat beside him, holding the bouquet awkwardly on my lap, not knowing if I wanted to lay them down and risk flattening them or try to save them. Silently, we both watched the fire. Waiting for the Jeeps to take them back, the party still lingered around it.
Chris scooted closer as I squeezed my feet back into my heels.
“Marry me, Jayne,” he said. It wasn’t a question.
With a jerk, I turned to him, the shock on my face evident.
Chris still stared at the fire, the light dancing in his dark eyes. He sipped his drink. But he wasn’t drunk, I decided. Never turning to face me, he went on, his voice flat, “This weekend. Here.”
I didn’t know what to say. Truly speechless, I bit my bottom lip, trying to imagine how I’d explain an elopement to my mother. Never mind the fact that Chris had never, ever talked about marrying me before—ever.
Never.
Ever.
Ever.
I could add about a million evers to it, and that wouldn’t be enough. I sucked in a breath, waiting. Was I about to be elated? No. Through my shock, I searched for some sort of euphoria. All I found was anger bubbling up. Returning my gaze to the fire, I opened my mouth and shut it. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Chris turn to face me.
He spoke as point-blank as before. “You’ll never settle down, Jayne.”
I opened my mouth to argue.
But things got worse as he shot out, “It’s best to end this now.”
3
I died and was dead for at least a minute before I resurrected. Looking back, it wasn’t just the years of breakups and half-assed apologies. It was how he talked to me, like I was always the one pushing. Like I was the problem for wanting more. He'd call me dramatic if I cried, cold if I didn’t. Gaslighting dressed in tailored shirts and double Windsors.
“Me?” I threw the flowers down.
He pointed at them. “You caught that bouquet like a robot, showing no emotion whatsoever. You never act like you want to marry me anymore.”
Laughing aloud, I sounded insane. I felt insane. People were watching us. It didn’t stop me from raising my voice. “Anymore? How long am I supposed to wait?”
With no response, Chris stood and walked off.
