Chapter 34
Wedding Day, January 31st 2008
Zach
“Oh, Shug. You look so damn handsome,” Mama whispers, fighting back the tears as she fusses over my bow tie. The damn thing tightens around my neck, the feather-weight noose that it is. I swallow thickly against the material as I watch our reflections in the full-length, tri-fold mirror.
“I haveta ask one last time. Are you sure this is what you want?”
No.
“Yes.”
She pats my arm, straightening the material as her hand glides against it. She comes to stand beside me and hooks our arms together, both watching our reflections. “It’s just one day, Shug. One day to get through. Then everybody will be outta your hair, and y’all can prep for my precious grandbaby and begin your lives.”
One day. One day can change everything. One day can destroy everything. Fuck one day.
I simply nod along. I no longer push back at the bullshit that spews out of people’s mouths. I’m resigned to my fate. This is what I deserve. Mama throws herself at me in a big Mama bear hug, burying her face in my neck, her shoulders shaking with the sobs wracking her body.
Quickly, she pulls back and looks me in the eyes. Her glassy ones searching my lifeless ones, she leans in and takes a deep sniff of my mouth. She jerks back, “Are you drunk, Zachariah?” she questions accusatorily. I shrug my shoulders, not really giving a shit at her judgment of how I choose to get through this day.
“It’s eleven o’clock in the morning!” She protests. Yes, I’m aware of the time . But the thing is, time is an inconsequential construct when your life is no longer worth living.
I yank my arm away from her and button the middle button of my tux jacket, “We best get goin’, Mama.”
She shakes her head, frustrated and clearly not done with the conversation. But she knows I’m right. I’m expected to be standing at the altar in exactly thirty minutes.
The midday sun is at a perfect arch, hovering over the altar placed on the lush green of Papaw and Mee-maw’s estate. The backdrop of Lake Wylie adds a serene element to the picturesque setup.
“You doin’ alright, son?” the priest asks in a muted voice so as not to carry to the spectators dotting the space in white linen chairs.
“Just peachy, daddio. Ready to get this show on the road.”
He chuckles, interpreting my disrespect as eagerness to get the nuptials moving along. And I am ready for that, not because I want to be married to Bex, but because I’m so goddamn tired of talking and hearing about this stupid fucking wedding.
The crowd hushes down all at once when the string quartet begins their rendition of Here Comes the Bride, turning in their chairs to get an unobstructed glimpse of the blushing bride herself.
My focus locks on the stunning red maple standing tall in the distance behind her. Its copper leaves flap gently with the slight breeze running through them.
In my peripheral, a vision in white begins to make its way down the aisle. The longer I stare at the grand tree, the hazier my periphery gets.
I can pretend it’s a different blonde walking towards me. The one I pictured this day with a thousand times.
She would carry a bouquet of Eggplant Calla Lilies dotted with Forget-Me-Nots because “roses are super lame. ”
She would be rocking a black wedding dress with silver accents that remind her of the night sky.
She would’ve streaked her blonde locks with hot pink, a tribute to her mama, who couldn’t be with us on this special day.
Savannah, not Grayson, would be walking arm-in-arm with her down that aisle. Her tall, slender frame would wear a silver tux to complement Little Bit’s onyx dress. This is a true representation of their life and friendship—one full of light, one full of darkness, both needing each other for survival.
A song would flow through the crowd, something about lying together to forget the world and chasing cars. Because Here Comes the Bride is “so cliche.”
A smile that rivals the most radiant jewels would beam at me as she hurries down the aisle. Our eyes would never leave each other, not for one split second. The love in her gaze would draw me into her light so our souls could reflect off of one another.
She would be fidgety and bouncy as we waited for the priest to get through his spiel. My little ball of anxiety doesn’t care for crowds or being the center of attention.
We would read our thoughtful, handwritten vows to each other. Hers would be sentimental and demanding, while mine would be funny and borderline explicit.
She would throw all forms of manners out the window when we had our first kiss as husband and wife by flinging her bouquet behind her and jumping up to wrap her legs around me as we devoured each other inappropriately before friends, family, and God.
She wouldn’t let people throw rice because she has a soft spot for birds. She believes they remember faces and would come after her if their kin died from ingesting the rice. So, people would blow bubbles at us as we ran to our waiting limo together.
Charlotte Belle Morris. Mine, forever.
“Pretty Boy!” A hushed command and an elbow to the ribcage pulls me out of my daydream. I narrow my eyes at Morgan. “What?” I quietly spit out at her. She simply nods her head behind me.
When I turn, it’s not the blonde I want. It’s her , the hollow vessel parading the guise of the one who should be standing here before me. Just the mere sight of Bex standing here in a wedding dress ignites a flame of rage that sears through the fabric of my being, fueled by the injustice of my life.
I mentally checked out through the whole ceremony. Ticking down the seconds in my head until I could be back on the couch with a bottle and a controller in each hand. Morgan had to repeatedly pull my focus back to the present so I could utter the I Do’s. I refused any type of vow beyond what the priest had me repeat back to him– not her, never her.
“Do you, Zachariah Thaddeus Morris, take Rebecca Louise Crowe to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
“Mhm.”
That’s all they get outta me.
* * *
My hand balls into a tight fist, gently pounding against the table top as I listen to the repetitive elevator on-hold music of the doctor’s office. It’s been well beyond the two weeks we were told that we would receive the results of the paternity test.
Exactly nine days passed, and twenty-four days since we sent them out. Bex hadn’t swapped the address on file with our shared apartment, so the results are being sent to her dorm address. I’ve been up her ass to check it daily, and so far, no test results.
“Mr. Morris, are you still there?” the receptionist’s squeaky voice asks as she returns to the line.
“Yup. I been here the whole—” I pull the phone away to check the amount of time I’ve been on the phone, “seventeen minutes.”
“I apologize for the long wait. I verified with the lab that the results have been sent out twice. Maybe there’s an issue with the–”
BANG
BANG
BANG
The loud knocking at the door startles me enough that I drop my phone. I see CALL ENDED across the screen when I bend to pick it up. My lip curls up at the door as I stick it back in my pocket. Motherfucker.
BANG
BANG
BANG
“Yeah, fuck. I’m comin’!” I shout at my impatient visitor.
I fling the door open, and a wide-eyed dude stares back at me. Sweat pours from his face like he ran a marathon before knocking on my door. We are about the same height, but he’s significantly less muscular.
“Where is she?” he demands, slapping a palm against my door to shove it open further. I broaden my shoulders, filling up the gap between the doorway and my body, and get in his face.
“Boy, you best settle the hell down and tell me what you’re goin’ on about?” I growl, leaving no room for debate in my words. His eyes are frantic. A desperate man stands before me. Those kinds of men are dangerous.
I quickly eye the baseball bat that I keep beside the door. I don’t wanna have to whack him, but I fucking will if he don’t calm down.
“Rebecca. Where is she?” he breathes out between the gasps for air. Rebecca? Oh, he must mean Bex.
“I don’t know. I ain’t her keeper. She comes and goes, and I don’t give no fucks either way.” I couldn’t give a damn who this guy is. He could be her fuck toy, and that’s perfectly okay with me.
“I need to talk to her now! She’s blocked my calls, and I haven’t seen her around campus.” He shrieks, flailing his hands above his head. Then, I see the crumpled notebook in his hand.
“Alright, bro, settle on down. What is it that you need with Bex?”
He curves his lip, and his face twists contemptuously, “Bex? No one has ever called Rebecca by anything other than her full name. She’d flip out if you tried to give her a nickname.”
I’ve never known her as anything but Bex. That’s what Morgs and Mel call her, too. This guy is off his rocker.
He shakes his head rapidly, “Wait, wait, wait. That doesn’t matter. Yes. Bex. Rebecca. Who the fuck ever, I need to see her, now. ”
Curiosity spikes within me now. Why would someone be so adamant about seeing Bex? I cross my arms over my broad chest, “Tell me why.”
“Who the hell are you?” he questions like he didn’t knock on my fucking door. Nu-uh, I’m not playing this game. He is the one who should be answering questions.
“Who the hell are you ?”
“Hunter.” He sighs and rolls his shoulders forward, making himself smaller. A subtle sign of submission.
“Zach.” I answer back, now that we can behave like civilized men. His eyes snap up to mine as soon as my name leaves my lips. His are wide, terror lacing every blink.
“Z-zach? Oh fuck. I need to talk to you too, man.”
I look over him with a curious eye. He seems fairly harmless. I could kick his ass if it came down to it. As long as he ain’t on that new AstraClara bullshit. Them Astra-naughts are crazy and will steal the metal right out of your pacemaker if you ain’t careful.
Deciding I could probably still take him either way, I open the door and step to the side, allowing him entry.
I offer him a chair at my dinner table. As we both sit, he places the notebook between us, with an open palm holding it to the surface.
“Okay, Hunter, lay it on me.” I start the conversation, trying to keep the impatience out of my tone. He seems pretty skittish.
He breathes out a long breath before looking me in the eye. The moment his question leaves his lips, it sucks all the air out of the room, “Do you know a girl named Charlotte?”