“Do you know what carrying a bride across the threshold means?” Leon asks, sounding serious.
“No.”
Leon steps through the doorway and fills me in. “It’s a symbol of a new beginning.”
Without Huck in my life, I feel like I’m starting fresh. He was a financial burden. My best friends, twins Lucia and Sofia, whose brother, Jordan Miller, is a wingman for the Edmonton Eagles, warned me about him the night I introduced him to them. When they expressed their belief that he only needed a place to stay and someone to support him, I felt annoyed and didn’t talk to them for weeks. As time went on, I realized they were only trying to protect me from getting hurt. They were right about him all along.
I shake off my annoyance at myself for not listening to them sooner; instead, I pay close attention to everything Leon says.
“Some say,” he begins, “carrying a bride over the threshold brings good luck, while others say it’s to keep bad spirits away from the home’s entrance. But I think,” he gently lays my feet down on the marble floor and turns me to face him, “it’s about the groom protecting the love of his life.”
“Yeah?” I ask, staring into his bottle-green eyes, which I’ve always found mesmerizing.
“I might not be your groom, but as your best friend, I will do everything to protect you.”
I gulp when his hand cradles my face, and at the same time, he leans in and kisses my forehead.
Leon is handsy, but it’s usually playful and teasing. Caring? Yes, that too. But today he’s loving, which I find confusing but would like more of.
Stop it, Erika, not this again.
I rest my cheek against his chest, appreciating him more than ever as he holds me tightly, the steady beat of his heart comforting me.
“Use the shower in my ensuite; it’s the biggest in the house and has one of those massage heads you keep talking about getting for yourself.” He kisses the top of my head, then steps back, breaking the moment that I didn’t get the chance to fully grasp or understand.
“Okay,” I agree.
I lift the front of the wedding dress, being careful not to trip over the vast amounts of tulle, then gingerly make my way toward the sweeping staircase that will take me to the upper level.
I’ve been inside Leon’s house hundreds of times, but it feels like I’m seeing it for the first time again. It’s warm and inviting, just like Leon himself, and makes me feel at home.
When I asked the universe for guidance while running along the sidewalk in my nylon-covered feet today, Leon appeared as if by magic.
My knight in a shiny sports car.
He’s always there for me, and I’m unsure if he will ever fully comprehend how grateful I am for his loyalty and friendship.
“There is skincare in the top drawer of the vanity for you to remove your makeup.”
My forehead tightens with confusion. “Why do you have that? Is it yours?” That’s weird. Or maybe he has women stay over.
Yikes. That makes my stomach do an unpleasant tumble.
“I bought it just in case you were too tired to drive home after one of our movie nights and decided to stay over.”
My upset stomach morphs into something that feels more like butterflies flapping around. What a sweetheart. My lips curve upward, tears pooling in my eyes, slightly overwhelmed by his kindheartedness, and I stay quiet.
Leon unties his bowtie, tugging at it to loosen the knot and letting it hang around his neck. “I’ll lay some clothes out on the bed for you to change into. They’ll be too big for you, but it’s better than wearing a reminder of your day.” He points to my dress.
Washing away this awful day and leaving it behind can’t come soon enough. “Thank you for everything.” I step onto the first stair, the scratchy fabric now irritating my skin. If Leon wasn’t standing here, I’d be removing it from my body right now.
I feel the heat of Leon’s eyes on me as I climb the stairs, each step harder than the last, while my foolish dress, which I knew was wrong from the moment I agreed to it, trails behind me as if I’m carrying dead weight. Similar to Huck, whom I’ve been burdened with in our relationship and supporting for far too long.
I’m single again. How depressing.
At thirty-eight, who the hell is ever going to want an ER doctor working unpredictable hours and whose biological clock isn’t just ticking but is on its final countdown, flashing red lights and blaring a siren? No one, that’s who.
Screw it, I’d rather stay single for the rest of my sorry life than be unhappy with a wannabe rockstar who can’t pay the billsor even take me out for dinner, something Leon does at least once a week.
