28. Emma
28
EMMA
The morning of June and Damon’s wedding dawns brightly.
The sunlight streams through the balloons and draperies, casting an ethereal glow on the room overflowing with wedding finery I’ve ensured is set to be perfect. I’m standing in a corner of the venue, watching the guests arrive, taking a final stock to ensure everything is in place.
A frantic clicking of heels by my side shatters the serenity of the corner I’m standing in. I turn around to see Sarah, one of the bridesmaids, her face flushed and eyes wide. “Emma,” she pants, “June's asking for you. She's… Well, she's freaking out a little.”
I drop the bridal magazine I’m clutching in my hand, and my smile falters for a moment before I plaster it back on. Of course, June would be jittery. It's her wedding day.
“Thanks, Sarah,” I say, pushing myself off the corner. “I'll be right there.”
June has been the epitome of calmness throughout the entire wedding preparation. It’s a bit odd that she’s now on the verge of a breakdown. The thought sends a jolt of nervous energy through me. Taking a deep breath, I smooth out my bridesmaid's dress—a vibrant emerald-green that matches my eyes and fiery red hair—and make my way toward the room reserved specifically for the bride.
I push open the door, and a wave of nervous energy washes over me. June sits slumped in front of the vanity mirror, a crumpled tissue clutched in one hand and a notepad in the other. Her usually radiant face is pale, her eyes red-rimmed and glistening with looming tears. Her wedding dress, a masterpiece of intricate ivory lace, hangs limply over a chair in a corner.
Seeing her like this feels like a punch to the gut. I rush toward her. “June?” I call out softly, my voice laced with concern.
She looks up, startled, a flicker of despair flashing in her eyes before a watery smile replaces it. “Emma,” she croaks, her voice thick with emotion. “I can’t remember my vows. I don't know what to do.”
Rushing to her side, I envelop her in a tight hug, the smell of lavender and chamomile from her calming bath oil filling my senses. “Hey, shhh,” I murmur, rocking her gently back and forth. “It's okay to feel nervous, June. This is a big day.”
She pulls away, wiping her nose with the crumpled tissue. “It's not just nerves,” she confesses, her voice barely a whisper. “What if I mess up? What if I say the wrong thing at the altar? What if?—“
“Hey,” I interrupt, cupping her face in my hands, forcing her to meet my gaze. “Look at me. You are strong, June. You are kind, you are beautiful, and you are more than capable of getting through this. Remember all the talks we had about this day? About how it's not about perfection, it's about love and commitment?”
A flicker of her old spark returns to her eyes. “Yeah,” she admits, a shaky smile gracing her lips. “But still…”
“No buts,” I declare firmly. “You've come this far, June. You've planned every detail, overcome every hurdle. And let me tell you, you looked like an absolute warrior the last month.”
A small laugh escapes her lips, the sound like tinkling bells. “Oh God, don't remind me. There are times I wanted to break down, I just didn’t.”
“Exactly,” I say, squeezing her hand. “You are a warrior, June. And you'll conquer this, too. Just speak from your heart even if you don’t remember. Damon would be so mesmerized by you, he won’t even remember what you’re saying anyway.”
She laughs, and I join her. I hold her hand, and we sit there for a while longer, talking about everything and nothing, the air gradually clearing of pre-wedding jitters. June confides in me about her last-minute doubts. The fear of the unknown that always creeps in on such momentous occasions.
I listen patiently, offering words of encouragement and reminding her of the love story that has brought her to this point.
As the clock ticks closer to ceremony time, the mood in the room shifts. An excited energy replaces the earlier anxiety. The hairstylist arrives, adding soft curls to June's hair, while the makeup artist works her magic, setting her hair up in some French twist that lets down some curls that highlight June's natural beauty.
I help June into her dress, the delicate lace whispering against my skin as I fasten the intricate buttons at the back.
When June finally stands up, a vision of ethereal beauty, a collective gasp fills the room. Tears well up in my eyes, a mixture of pride and a strange, bittersweet pang in my chest.
“June,” I whisper, my voice thick with emotion, “you are stunning.”
She turns to me, her eyes glistening. “Thank you, Emma. For everything.” She pauses, then adds, a hint of sadness in her voice, “I know you've worked so hard to make this day perfect, and I can't thank you enough. But when it's your turn to walk down the aisle, Emma, I hope I can be there for you, holding your hand through it all, just like you've done for me.”
Her words strike a chord deep within me. The smile on my face falters for a moment, the hollowness in my chest expanding. My turn? Is there even going to be a “turn” for me? With Liam? That seems even more impossible now than when we first started this fake relationship.
Pushing the thought aside, I force a smile. “Don't worry about me,” I say lightly. “Today is all about you and Damon. Now, come on, let's get you married!”
With shaking hands, I help June adjust her train, the weight of the fabric matching the weight of my own unspoken emotions. We emerge from the dressing room, butterflies fluttering in my stomach.
The hallway is already bustling with activity—a line of bridesmaids hang around adjusting each other's dresses. Some of the groomsmen are cracking nervous jokes. And then I see him.
Liam stands beside Damon, a picture of composed elegance in his black suit. He is tall and broad-shouldered, his dark hair neatly styled, his jaw clean-shaven for the occasion. But it is his eyes—usually warm and inviting—that hold me captive.
Today, they are distant, guarded, reflecting the emotional wall he's built around himself.
Our eyes meet for a brief moment, a silent exchange passing between us. A flicker of pain crosses his features, mirroring the ache in my own heart. Then, he looks away, the fleeting connection severed.
A bridesmaid nudges me gently. “You alright, Em?” she whispers, concern lacing her voice.
I plaster a smile on my face. “Yeah, just fine,” I mumble, my voice tight. Fine. That is the operative word today. Fine for June. Fine for Damon. And most importantly, fine for Liam.
We reach the double doors leading into the ceremony venue, the music swelling to a crescendo. Taking a deep breath, I offer June a reassuring smile. “Ready?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
She squeezes my hand, her smile radiant. “As I'll ever be.”
With a deep breath, I step aside as June's father, a burly man with a heart of gold, takes her hand. Tears well up in his eyes as he beams at his daughter.
“Thank you, Emma,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “You've been a true friend to June.”
I squeeze his hand back, a lump forming in my throat. “It's my pleasure, Mr. Lee,” I choke out, fighting back the tears.
As the doors creak open, revealing a breathtaking scene bathed in soft light and adorned with cascading flowers, June takes her father's arm, her face a canvas of pure joy. I follow close behind, holding the train of her dress, my heart a tangled mess of emotions.
The ceremony is everything June has ever dreamed of. The minister's words are heartfelt, filled with wisdom and love. He speaks of commitment, of building a life together, of weathering the storms that life inevitably throws your way. His words strike a chord deep within me, a stark contrast to the emotional wasteland that is my current relationship with Liam.
As I watch Damon and June exchange vows, their eyes lock in a silent promise, a yearning for a love that mirrors the one I crave deep down. Tears well up in my eyes, blurring my vision. This is what I want. A love that is fierce, unwavering, a love that promises forever. A love that Liam, with his walls and his jaded outlook, could never offer.
Ethan waddles up the aisle with the rings, his bright eyes shining with excitement. He presents them to Damon and June, a giggle escaping his lips as they slip them onto each other's fingers.
The ceremony reaches its climax as the minister declares them husband and wife. Cheers erupt from the gathered guests, a wave of joy washing over the room. As June and Damon lean in for a kiss, the weight of my own loneliness presses down on me, a suffocating sensation that threatens to consume me.
Forcing a smile onto my face, I join the jubilant crowd, offering congratulations and well wishes. look over at Liam again, and our eyes meet once more. There’s so much unsaid between us, so much pain and confusion.
As the newlyweds walk down the aisle, I follow behind, holding June’s train. The guests throw petals and cheer, but I can’t shake the heaviness in my heart. I want to be happy for them, and I am, but I can’t ignore my own pain.
We reach the end of the aisle, and June turns to me, her face glowing with happiness. “Thank you, Emma. For everything.”
I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. “You’re welcome, June. I’m so happy for you.”
She hugs me tightly, and I hold her close, my emotions swirling. I glance over her shoulder at Liam, who’s watching us with an unreadable expression. Our eyes meet once more, and I wonder if he feels the same turmoil I do.
As the guests start to mingle and the reception begins, I step aside, needing a moment to myself. I find a quiet corner, taking deep breaths to steady my emotions. The day is beautiful, the wedding perfect, but inside, I’m a mess.
I watch from a distance as June and Damon greet their guests, their faces alight with joy. I want that for myself, but I don’t know how to get there. My heart is tied up in knots, and I don’t know if I’ll ever untangle them.
The day wears on with a blur of activity, laughter, and emotion. Despite the heavy weight in my chest, I power through the ceremony. Every step, every smile feels like a performance I must perfect. June deserves nothing less.
The reception is in full swing, and the sound of clinking glasses, chatter, and soft music fills the air. I take a deep breath and step up to give my toast. The spotlight feels too bright, the eyes on me too many, but I plaster on a smile and raise my glass.
“Good evening, everyone,” I begin, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside. “For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Emma, June’s best friend and Damon’s little sister. I’ve known June for years, and we’ve seen each other through all sorts of situations—most of them amusing, to be honest. But I want to share a particular story tonight.”
The crowd quiets, eager to hear. I glance over at June and Damon, their faces glowing with happiness.
“One day, years ago, June followed me home from school. She was a bundle of energy and curiosity, and she didn’t know when to stop talking.” The crowd chuckles, and June laughs, shaking her head. “I brought her home, and as soon as she walked in, she tripped over the threshold and landed face-first in front of my brother, who was carrying a tray of his beloved cookies that Mom makes and he never used to share. Of course, my brother got mad, and it was an embarrassing situation for my friend, but June, in true June fashion, got up, dusted herself off, and immediately asked for a cookie.”
Laughter erupts from the crowd, and I feel a small sense of relief. “I’ve never seen Damon so dumbfounded. Little did I know that years later, that same resilient and determined girl would be marrying the man she ran into on that threshold that day. June and Damon, you’ve faced your fair share of embarrassing situations, but you’ve always come out stronger and closer. Here’s to a lifetime of love, laughter, and cookies.”
The crowd hoots and applauds, but then someone shouts, “Emma’s next!” I try to wave it off and laugh, but another voice chimes in.
“I saw her and Dr. Miller Junior in each other’s arms the other night!” There are more laughs and some cheers. I feel my cheeks burn, but I keep my smile fixed.
“When should we expect the wedding?” another person screams, and I feel a knot tighten in my stomach.
I wave my hand dismissively. “I can’t tell you anything about that. Today is about June and Damon.” I quickly end the toast, my voice catching slightly. The cheers and applause continue, but I can’t bring myself to drink the champagne in my hand. For the past few days, I’ve been feeling off. I chalked it up to the stress of the wedding, but now, I’m not so sure.
Throughout the reception, I stay busy. I move from one task to another, ensuring everything is perfect. At one point, Dr. Miller, the senior one, approaches me.
“Are you okay, Emma?” he asks, his eyes full of concern.
I manage a smile, though it feels forced. “Yes, Dr. Miller. Just a bit tired, that’s all.”
He nods, but I can tell he’s not entirely convinced. “You’ve done an excellent job with the wedding. June and Damon are very lucky to have you.”
“Thank you,” I say, my smile a bit more genuine. “That means a lot.”
I move on, but my stomach churns. I can’t seem to eat any of the food, no matter how delicious it looks. I focus on keeping things running smoothly, pushing through the nausea and fatigue.
As the evening draws to a close, it’s time for the bouquet throw. I stand with the other bridesmaids and groomsmen, watching June prepare. My heart races, a mix of excitement and dread. I’m a romantic at heart, and I believe in the myth that catching the bouquet means you’re next to marry. But right now, the idea terrifies me.
June turns around and throws the bouquet into the air. It feels like everything slows down as I watch the bouquet sail, my heart pounding in my chest. I’m scared it will fall toward me, that it will seal a fate I’m not ready to accept. But then, I see it drifting far away from me.
For a moment, I feel a pang of disappointment, but then the crowd roars. I turn to see who caught it, and my breath catches in my throat. It’s Liam. He stands there, holding the bouquet, a look of surprise and amusement on his face.
The crowd erupts in cheers and laughter, and Liam raises the bouquet triumphantly. Our eyes meet, and for a moment, everything else fades away. There’s a connection between us, a silent understanding of the complicated emotions we’re both feeling.
Liam walks over to me, bouquet in hand, his expression serious. “Emma, can we talk?”
“No!” I walk out quickly toward the back door. I hear him following me. I whip around with force. “Leave me alone.”
Suddenly, my head swims around. The walls and the people around start spinning in a dizzying circle. What’s wrong with me? I didn’t even have a drink, so I can’t be drunk, right? I stagger to my left, reaching out my hand to grab a wall and stabilize myself.
“Emma, are you okay?”
“Yes—”
Before I can finish the words, everything around me descends into darkness.