28. Adelaide
TWENTY-EIGHT
ADELAIDE
The dress clung to my body like blank pages clinging to letter-less words.
I couldn’t believe he gave me Eunbin’s dress. Why would he give this to me? His mother wanted his wife to wear it—his real wife.
It was exquisite.
Alida Soani weaved the material together to elegantly enrapture modernity without losing the value of the past. Delicate diamond designs covered the whole top of the dress, stopping right where the flare begins.
The perfect ball gown.
It shimmered underneath the fluorescent lights of the makeup parlour.
Umaima booked this studio for us, said something about the makeup artist being famous on Instagram. She wasn’t lying. The makeup was glowing with a high soft blush and dusky eyeshadow. I hesitated when she brought out the red lipstick, but seeing it on me now? The artist knew what she was doing.
The hair was another quest. When people told you how you should do something, it became hard to voice your own opinion. I was better at speaking up than before, but I hadn’t reached that level yet. If I were getting ready on my own, I would’ve tied my hair up—most likely in a bun. But the hairdresser didn’t agree with that, not one bit. Instead, she curled my hair and compromised by styling it in a half-up half-down.
My finger trembled at the feel of my hair down my back. It felt like covering your face with a weighted blanket and trying to hide that you were awake from your parents when they came to check up on you. Your heart would be pulsing out of your chest and all you could do was hold your breath, so they didn’t find out.
I hated that feeling.
There was nowhere else to hide.
“I have no words to describe how incredible you look right now.” Umaima caught my eye through the mirror. A big, obnoxious smile on her face. When I turned around, it got even wider, if that were possible.
I rolled my eyes. “Stop being dramatic.”
“No, I’m being serious. You look like a dream.”
“ Now you’re exaggerating.”
She moved closer and fingered the material of the diamonds. I didn’t know how much it cost Christian to add the gems to this dress. They were no knock offs; they were real esquire diamonds you’d only see on the royal family. “Did you really pick this dress?”
Chewing on my bottom lip, I answered. “It’s his moms.”
Umaima’s eyes widened out of her sockets. She opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “I’m sorry what ? The man gave you his mother’s dress and then says you should just be friends?”
From the thought of it, I cringed.
“Actually, I don’t think he was ever the one to say that.”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, babes. Addie, do you see what he’s doing for you?” Umaima made it a point to turn me back around to face the floor length mirror. “His mom’s wedding dress is no joke, that’s like the equivalent of marrying the love of his life.”
Profusely, I shook my head. “We don’t think of each other that way.”
Umaima didn’t understand that Christian was doing this out of obligation and responsibility. I didn’t know the details about Moonshine, but he had to be as desperate as me if he was working with Starlight for money and more fame. It’d make sense why he gifted me his mother’s old wedding dress—a ruse to protect his lack of money at the moment, right?
“Did you just say we don’t think of each other that way?”
The back of my neck prickled. “No, I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did.” Amusement trickled through her little giggles. “That was a confession, wasn’t it? You like the guy.”
No. I… No .
When you liked someone like Christian you noticed the way his nose scrunched when he was thinking too hard, how his mouth parted when you stared at him too intensely, how warm he felt when he pushed you against him, wondering why he tattooed your birthmark on his chest—right over his heart, and questioning why he flew all the way to Switzerland in a single day to buy you a ring from the most awaited auction. Liking him was wondering what he was doing right now if he was just as nervous as me. Liking him meant thinking about this morning and questioning how his demeanor changed when I brought up our breakup. Liking him meant telling him, and me…
Well, I didn’t like him.
People had their reasons for what they did. If Christian replicated my birthmark, he had his reasons. If he fought for a ring in an auction in Switzerland, he had his reasons. Who was I to question and conclude whether or not I liked him?
If he didn’t care, neither did I.
It was that simple.
“It’s all in your head, Umaima.”
She scoffed. “Don’t gaslight me, I heard it loud and clear.”
“Maybe you should get your ears checked,” I threw back at her. All I got in return was an eye roll.
“Maybe you should just shut the fuck up and tell me the truth.” When I didn’t reply and huddled into myself, into the same thought I’d been having. Umaima wrapped herself around me. “You know I actually think this is good for you. He’s been good for you. You’ve stopped doing that thing you do where you block everyone out.”
I pulled back but still kept my arms around her and gave her a deadpanned look. “I still block everyone out.”
“Oh yeah for sure, but with him, you don’t. You become the bull and he became the rider and all you’re focused on is getting him the fuck off.”
“Nice.” This time when I pulled away, I sarcastically gave a thumbs up. “Every girl in her wedding dress wants to be compared to a bull. Ten out of ten, best compliment ever received.”
“Thank you,” she whipped the hanging cloth from her hijab over her shoulder like she was proud of herself.
Despite packing the meaning of our conversation into a secret part of my brain to take out to analyse later, a sharp, relentless twinge twisted in my lower abdomen.
I doubled over in pain and grabbed tight onto Umaima’s hand.
“Adelaide,” she sounded worried. “What’s wrong?”
Another agonizing, knife-like pain.
“I think I just got my period.”
She got down to her knees and stared up with complete disbelief. “ Now ?” She swore under her breath. “You haven’t gotten your period in six months, and it decides to show up just when I was getting into all the nitty gritty of your relationship? Un-fucking-believable .”
It wasn’t just the pain, but the exhaustion that came with it—knowing what was to come next. Period for the next ten days. Multiple Leaked underwear. Crying over the lack of Polin scenes in Bridgerton season three for the thousandth time, and pain. Lots and lots of it.
Having PCOS was an unsolvable health issue. Doctors didn’t understand it, prescribing birth control pills and Metformin to solve the problem when it went much deeper than that.
Mine started with missed periods.
Then increased testosterone.
Weight gain, then weight loss, then weight gain, and repeat.
Never static, never-ending, always there even when I thought I’d get better.
For a while, my periods were normal. Until the stress of being CEO hit.
Any other day and I would’ve celebrated at the appearance of the devil’s favourite drink. But today was my wedding day. I had to put on a ruse, pretend I loved Christian— pretend, yeah sure —-talk to Harry…
Suffice to say, I wouldn’t survive. “Umaima, this isn’t good.”
Umaima’s quick disbelief vanished into a happy smile. “No, this is great . You should be happy you aren’t missing another month again.”
“Of course, yeah. But I don’t know if you forgot but I’m kind of getting married today.”
Umaima pursed her lips with a tilted head. Then she slapped a hand over her mouth, “Oh shit! Right.” She rushed over to her bag and dumped everything out on the floor.
“What are you doing?”
“I swore I packed some pads in here.” She stuck her head inside the tiny clutch. “Let me get you some pads— wait , you need the heavy kind from Costco, that’ll take me an hour. What the fuck do I do?”
“Umaima,” I put a hand on her arm to stop her from panicking. She was making me nervous, and I was already freaking out. “I have a diaper pad in my bag. It should be fine.”
It wouldn’t be fine. I’d get a big stain on my dress and have to explain why there was a stain on my dress to Christian, then explain to him why I wasn’t prepared but then he wouldn’t care because he doesn’t care about me and then everyone would know I have health issues and then the world would start spreading more information about me and people would hate me more and I wouldn’t know what to do about it. I’d stand there like an idiot while they’d talk about me, and Christian wouldn’t solve this problem because he wouldn’t know how to.
There were only so many ways to solve a girl and her period issues.
“This is terrible .”
“I’ll survive.”
We both stared at each other in pure girl to girl empathy.
It was one thing to get your period and deal with cramps.
It was another thing to get your period and deal with six months’ worth of cramps.
A knock sounded from the door and in came an ecstatic woman with a clipboard in her hand. She didn’t seem the least bit concerned about why the bride and her best friend were on the floor with junk dumped around us.
“Hey girls, just wanted to let you know it’s time to head out.”
Umaima and I stared at each other in horror.
Getting my period on my wedding day had to be some kind of bad omen, right?
I didn’t know whether it was the blood rushing out of my uterus, but my eyes watered the moment I got out of the car and stared up at the church.
The historic stone church stood beautifully against the backdrop of a disappearing blue sky, its towering spire soaring heavenward and ornamented with intricate carvings reminiscent of years past.
Many weddings, funerals, and prayers kept this place together.
When the driver told us it was outside of the city, I thought Christian secured a place twenty minutes away.
Twenty minutes turned into a worthwhile hour.
Because we were getting married at the same place my parents got married.
Umaima yapped her whole way up the stairs, but I took my time. Smooth stones met with the heel of my shoe, and I had a strong urge to take them and feel the steps against my feet.
It felt like my parents were here. They were watching me, they were in the cracked crevices of the church, rooting me on from afar.
The sky glistened with a hue of orange and pinks, and it mattered more than I could say when a small drop of rain fell from the sky and onto my forehead. If I had time, I would’ve stayed out here and skipped the ceremony all together.
There was no spiritual experience more religious than thinking of our loved ones.
“Addie,” Umaima stared down from the top of the stairs. One hand fisted into her dress and the other channelled me forward. “We should head inside before Christian thinks you ran away.”
Right.
Guests.
Wedding.
Plan.
Christian.
I almost forgot.
Quickening my pace, the U-shaped sheer French cape glittered under the setting sun.
The same woman from the salon stood in front of the door and instructed Umaima to head inside first. She was my maid of honor without question. After she strutted inside with her pastel green dress whooshing at her feet with utmost confidence, it was my turn to stand in front of the entrance.
My anxiety rushed to the surface of my mind, flooding out into different directions with different thoughts. I had no bouquet to hold onto, just myself.
I started counting to eight.
With clasped hands, I straightened my posture, and the moment the number eight traced the hem of my lips, the wooden arched doors opened in a sync with my beating heart.
Creaking, devastating, and… perfect .