The Wedding Day
I would much prefer my alarm to wake me up this morning, not a wave of nausea, my stomach churning like a stormy sea. My throat suddenly tightened, my mouth filled with saliva and a cold sweat broke out on my skin. Was I—I clamped a hand over my mouth, springing from bed—going to be sick?
Nearly tripping over, as fast as lightning I ran for the bathroom.
Was that —my eyes caught a fleeting glimpse— Miles sleeping in the chair?
Was it a hallucination? Was I still drunk?
I dropped to my knees, feeling an uncomfortable knot forming inside me that steadily rose up, and then every muscle in my body tensed as I couldn’t hold it back any longer.
A sour taste of tequila shots and greasy kebab flooded down the toilet. “Oh, God!” I gasped, quickly flushing as my vision blurred with tears.
Just as I was about to curl up on the floor and let death take me—okay, perhaps a tad melodramatic—the door slowly opened with a knock. Alright. So, not a vision. Miles stood in the doorway, a sleepy expression on his face.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“What are you doing here?” His voice was drowsy as he spoke.
Confused, I glanced around the room, then back at him as I remembered last night.
I had walked down the hall, suddenly feeling lonely and missing him very much.
I wanted to be close to him but he wasn’t here, so an idea came to my mind and I snuck up into his sheets, hoping I could seek some comfort there.
“Oh!” I sighed, slightly relieved. “When did you get back?”
“Last night,” he mumbled, taking a few steps closer. “Are you feeling okay?” He sat next to me, his voice concerned, yet the coldness in his tone remained.
“I hope so,” I breathed. “You,” I turned to face him, “you slept on a couch?”
“Well, you occupied the whole bed diagonally, sprawled like a starfish, so I kind of had no choice,” he said, his voice softer, his hand outstretched, fingers wiping a wet trace on my cheek.
“Oh.”
Suddenly, my stomach clenched again, and I pressed my palm against it.
“You think you’ll be sick again?”
I shook my head. “No,” I mumbled, but the words were barely out of my mouth before the remains of kebab in my gut surged up, flooding the toilet along with more tears.
“Easy there,” Miles murmured, his palms rubbing soothing circles on my back.
“I’m so sorry,” I managed between gasps.
“Shh.”
I straightened up, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. Jo’s wedding was a few hours away. “I think I need a cold shower.”
***
The cool spray helped immensely, and while the nausea in my stomach hadn’t entirely subsided, at least the fog in my head finally lifted. Now I had two priorities: survive the wedding day—at least past the part where Jo and Mark said ‘I do’—and…talk to Miles.
“Florence?” I suddenly froze at the panicked voice coming from Miles’ room. “Is she here?” Phew . Relieved it was my sister, I quickly grabbed a towel and wrapped it around myself before my hand clutched the handle.
“Josephine?” She stood just outside the bathroom door, her eyes wide with alarm.
“Oh, thank God.” She let out a deep exhale, nearly welling up. “Wait.” She furrowed her brow in confusion for a fleeting moment, glancing between me and Miles, then back at me, cocking her brow as her gaze swept down my body. “I take it you finally told him?”
“Um,” I momentarily tensed, pressing my lips together in a thin line. My eyes briefly met his, a look of surprise and confusion crossing his face as he registered Jo’s words. Thanks for that, by the way! I quickly shook my head and stepped closer, noticing the veil in her hands. “What happened?”
“Oh—” She changed her focus back to why she came here, unfurling the delicate fabric in front of me. “—this is a disaster!”
“Er,” I suddenly gasped. “But how?”
A huge hole in the middle of the fine netting tulle, large enough to put my hand through.
“I-I don’t know,” she stammered. “What if,” she whispered, “it’s a sign?”
“A sign?” I whispered back. “A sign for what exactly?”
“That I’m making a mistake,” she mouthed at me.
“Jo?” I stared at her, confused. This was the first time I heard her doubt her choice. I thought Mark was everything she wanted.
“I don’t know, I have these weird…butterflies? Cramps? Down in my stomach.”
“Maybe you’re just nervous? Or sick? You know, after yesterday?”
“That’s not it, Lore. I have no idea what I’m doing,” she breathed, clutching the veil in her palms so tightly that it would need not only fixing but a proper pressing too. Was she really having second thoughts about marrying Mark?
“Hey,” I murmured, gently taking the tulle from her.
“Just calm down. Breathe. It’s all fine,” I said, placing a comforting hand on her arm.
“It’s the rush, the anticipation, okay? You and Mark love each other.
He’s your other half, yeah?” Right? I tilted my head to look at her, registering Miles’ knowing nod behind her as he left the room to give us both a moment.
“You do love Mark?” I found myself asking, seeing more doubt and confusion in her eyes.
Then the strangest thing happened. The lost expression my sister had a second ago suddenly vanished with a quick head shake.
“Um…” She swallowed, knitting her brows together and, just like when we were kids and she was about to trick me in a card game, she blinked rapidly and fiddled with her hair.
“Of course,” she muttered. “I probably am nervous.” I knew my sister well enough to know she was lying.
But why? I knew she loved Mark, but…did she love him enough to marry him? What was all this?
“Wait, Josephine?” I looked at her, a new, subtle expression crossing her face. “Are you sure?”
“Well, that’s what is expected from me,” she muttered, glancing at the veil. “Um, you can help me with that, right?”
I wasn’t sure I could, but I nodded my head in response. “Hold on.” I stared at her. “What do you mean by ‘expected from you’? Do you actually want to marry him? Is that what you want?”
“God, Florence, did you not grow up in this house?” she rasped at me.
“I’m not you! The only person who is allowed to be selfish about what she wants is you.
And I’m so, so happy you are the one who managed to get that opportunity, but I cannot be like that with myself and just leave everything and do what I want. It’s not me, Florence. It’s you.”
“Josephine?” I felt my breath tightening in my throat. Where was all this coming from? Why didn’t she ever say that before? Why didn’t I know she was unhappy? Well, how could I? I did leave this place and then I barely even looked back. I left her all alone in this madhouse.
“There are two roles for us in this family,” she said with a sigh.
“You grabbed yours the second you could and I picked up what was left for me, Florence.” My vision blurred as I stared at her, speechless, a cold sweat breaking out on my skin from the unexpected twist I should not only have seen coming, but also the truth that I had been so blind to.
“So do me a favour and stick to your role, Florence. Be happy. And I will stick to mine. With a man who loves me.”