Bash
Thinking about an ex at a wedding is normal. A romantic occasion is a natural setting to appraise your own love life—past, current, and future.
Less typical behavior? Repeatedly scanning rows of pews for a glimpse of a woman you haven’t seen since high school and never technically dated, thanks to your own idiocy.
Assumptions are irritating. My entire life, I've had to endure people presuming who I am rather than bothering to discover the truth themselves. I’m rich? Must be spoiled. I’m the youngest? Must be immature. I try to avoid hypocrisy, not making selective determinations about other people, and yet …
I assumed she’d be here.
“Bash.”
I turn, happy to have a distraction from my simmering annoyance and unwelcome disappointment.
My brother approaches with his hands tucked in his pockets. Kit tugs one palm out to cover his yawn before adding, “She’s ready.”
I nod, glancing back to survey the church one final time.
Flowers are everywhere. Bunches of orange and crimson and golden blossoms hang at the end of each aisle.
A giant floral arch is arranged behind the altar.
Votive candles in antique glass holders line the steps.
Potted saplings are spaced between each stained-glass window, their branches stretching toward the arched ceiling—a nod to Lili’s career as a landscape architect.
Seated guests are pointing at and admiring the decor I’ve heard about for the better part of a year. The last Kensington to get married was my uncle Oliver. My siblings were there, but I wasn’t born yet.
The pews are full. The exterior doors are shut. No one else is arriving, aside from the wedding party that I’m part of.
I really thought she’d be here. I exhale, then turn to follow my brother down the nearest hallway.
I don’t recall the last time I was in a church for any occasion, let alone such a significant one. Before today, I had no clue a maze of hallways and rooms existed behind the altar I was just observing.
The silence back here is unexpected, considering the chatter I was just witnessing. The building must be well insulated.
Kit yawns again as we walk.
“I’m tired too,” I say. “Only got eight hours.”
My brother glowers at me. “Dylan’s bear got left behind by accident. Every time he woke up, he asked for it.”
“Buy a new bear,” I suggest.
Kit sighs. “It doesn’t work like that.”
“Good thing you’re almost through the toddler phase—oh, wait. You’re about to do it all over again.”
This time, Kit’s glare is accompanied by a gesture I doubt Jesus would approve of. “You sound like Flynn. If Mom and Dad hadn’t decided to go through it three times, you wouldn’t exist. Have a little respect for the parenting process.”
“I respect it when I’m in LA and I don’t have to deal with your crabby ass,” I tease.
Rather than joke back, Kit asks, “So, this move is going to stick?”
I swallow. “So far.”
We turn another corner.
Mom and Dad are waiting outside a shut door, whispering to each other. They step apart and smile when we approach.
Mom’s gaze goes straight to my tie. “Come here.” She motions me closer, tugging the knot free once it’s within reach.
There was nothing wrong with my tie.
I don’t wear one as often as I was obligated to when I was younger, attending galas and fundraisers that were mandatory events for a Kensington living in New York, but it’s muscle memory by this point.
I don’t say so. I let Mom fuss over me because Lili moved to England and I’m in California and her only kid who’s close by is Kit, who has his own family.
Mom finishes “fixing” my tie, surveying me with a proud smile. “It’s so good to have you home, honey.”
“It’s good to be home.” Not a lie, not entirely honest.
Many assumptions were made about what I’d do after graduating from Dartmouth.
Surprising everyone wasn’t satisfying. It sucked.
I knew this celebratory weekend would involve talking to a lot of people with opinions about my decisions.
What I did not know was that the one person I wanted to talk to most wouldn’t be here.
Forget her. She forgot you.
The door opens. Rory, my cousin and Lili’s maid of honor, sticks her head out. She smiles when she sees us all gathered in the hallway. “Come on in,” Rory says, stepping back so there’s space to enter.
By silent agreement, Kit and I hang back, letting our parents enter first.
Lili is the first of my siblings to get married.
Up until she met Charlie, I would have guessed she’d be the last. Lili is headstrong and contrarian.
She avoids—avoided—doing what’s expected.
Kit was similar, although I think his negligence of responsibility was genuine, not an intended statement.
Until, in the span of a year, he gained a corner office at Kensington Consolidated and a kid, essentially transforming into our dad overnight.
Ahead, Mom glances left, then freezes. “Oh, Lili …” she whispers.
Beside her, Dad is still and silent.
My parents are openly affectionate, but I wouldn’t categorize either of them as exceptionally emotional. They’re confident and driven. Two people who seize control of situations. I’ve rarely seen either at a loss for words. The last time was when Kit’s son was born and they became grandparents.
I quicken my steps, increasingly curious about what’s waiting inside.
The room is large. Bigger than I was expecting.
There’s a long table, covered with more beauty products than a salon, plus a couple of empty bottles of expensive champagne.
Lili’s bridesmaids are lounging on white couches that face the lancet windows and the floor-length mirror that my sister is standing in front of.
The women stand and slip out of the suite once Kit and I enter, subtly giving us some privacy. Only my cousin Wren remains behind.
It takes me approximately three seconds to realize what has my parents so stunned. Every desk my dad has ever worked at—in New York or in California, at home or inside an office building—has displayed a framed photograph of my parents’ wedding day.
Lili is wearing my mom’s wedding dress.
“Uh, what happened to your dress?” I ask since no one else is questioning the missing custom gown that had to be transported from the airport in its own car with the back seats lying flat. Guess who was assigned to handle that task.
Lili smiles. “It’s fine. Not even a wrinkle from the trip. I just—” She clears her throat, adjusting her veil. “I wanted to get married in this. If that’s okay? I wanted it to be a surprise. I’ll change into the other dress for the reception.”
My sister’s uncharacteristic uncertainty seems to unfreeze my parents.
“Of course it’s okay, sweetheart,” Mom says. “I hadn’t considered—I wasn’t expecting—” She glances around the bridal suite, sniffing.
“Here, Scarlett.” Rory passes my mom a box of tissues, which she accepts with a grateful smile.
Dad beams at Lili. “You look absolutely stunning, sweetheart.”
“Thanks, Dad,” Lili whispers, quickly reaching for one of the tissues in the box Mom is holding.
“Dad’s right,” Kit agrees. “Charlie might pass out when he sees you.”
Lili releases a watery laugh. “He’d better not. If he knocks over a candle, the whole church could go up in flames.”
“I’ll catch him and avoid a conflagration,” I promise.
My sister laughs again, dabbing at her eyes. “What time is it?”
Kit checks his watch. “Five of.”
“Okay.” She lets out a long exhale. “Don’t want to be late!”
“Charlie will wait. He won’t give up on you.” Mom glances at Dad. They share a smile before she passes him a couple of tissues.
Kit hugs Lili, then asks her, “Did it occur to you that you might have been conceived while Mom was wearing this dress?”
“Christopher!” Mom chastises.
Behind me, I hear Wren laugh.
“I can do simple math, Christopher,” Lili says in a tone that’s remarkably similar to Mom’s.
“So, it did occur to you.” Kit yawns again. “I’m too tired to do simple math.”
“I wasn’t born nine months later.”
“Your mother flew to Paris on our wedding night,” Dad says. “For a meeting. With Jacques Deux.”
“The kids don’t need the details, Crew,” Mom says quickly.
“Mom fled the country?” Kit questions. “Sounds like you had no game, Dad.”
Dad grins. “Well, Jacques Deux had a yearslong waiting list. Couldn’t compete with that. Your mom liked me enough to surveil me through her security system while she was gone though. She had me move into her penthouse because it was nicer.”
“It was nicer,” Mom insists.
“It was,” Dad agrees. “Although I would have lived in a shoebox if you’d suggested it, so I wasn’t exactly an impartial judge.”
Mom rolls her eyes, but her expression is soft as she stares at Dad.
My parents have always been … my parents. An indomitable duo. It’s strange to think of them as separate entities, to realize they had entire lives long before my siblings or I existed.
I hug Lili next. “Love you, sis,” I murmur.
“Love you too,” she whispers back. “I invited all the Alcotts.”
I have time to fix a smile on my face before we separate, nodding so Lili knows I heard her.
She and Charlie only invited a small fraction of the people who would love to attend their wedding, but there are enough guests that I doubt she’ll notice all the Alcotts didn’t show up.
Even if she does, I’m not going to burden my sister with my mistakes on her wedding day.
The door opens. “Is this a restricted area?”
Flynn Parks, Kit’s best friend, strolls into the room without waiting for an invitation or an answer. He whistles, long and low and admiring.
Flynn isn’t looking at the bride. He’s staring at Rory, who’s blushing and playing with the ribbon tied around her bouquet.
I found out last night that they’re dating.
Selflessly, I’m happy for Rory—and Flynn, who’s practically a second cooler brother.
Selfishly, I’m realizing their relationship makes me the ninth wheel amid my cousins and their significant others.
Lili is about to be married. Kit is practically married and has one kid, soon-to-be two.
Wren is only twenty-one, but she and her boyfriend, Sawyer, seem awfully serious.
I was one of two standing solo in the family photos last night.
The other bachelor, my grandfather, had lost his first wife, Elizabeth—Lili’s namesake—when my dad and uncle were little.
He divorced his second wife, who I never met, and hasn’t dated since, as far as I know.
I don’t make a point of inquiring about my grandfather’s love life.
“You already saw my dress,” Rory says, noticing where Flynn’s gaze is focused.
“I’m not looking at the dress, Florence.” Flynn winks at Rory, then glances at my mom, who designed the bridesmaids’ dresses. “No offense, Scarlett.”
“None taken,” she returns, smiling as she glances between them.
I’ve never seen Rory so flustered. She’s always prepared and responsible. She and Flynn make sense—her calm collectedness and his wild chaos balancing out.
“Oliver sent me to make sure we didn’t have any sort of runaway-bride situation brewing,” Flynn states, finally looking at Lili.
“Just making a dramatic entrance,” she replies. “We’re ready. Right, Dad?”
“If you are,” he tells her.
“All set,” Lili tells Flynn, whose gaze has traveled back to Rory.
My cousin is oblivious, tidying up the table.
Activity suddenly surrounds me. Wren joins the other bridesmaids. Kit takes Mom’s arm to escort her to her seat in the front pew. Rory adjusts Lili’s veil and train, then heads into the hallway. Dad and Lili follow, bringing up the rear of the procession.
I remain in place. Abruptly alone amid garment bags and champagne flutes and cans of hair spray.
I reach into my pocket, pulling out the carefully folded piece of paper that’s normally tucked in my wallet. I stashed the ticket there this morning so I’d have easy access after leaving my belongings in the room assigned to the groomsmen.
I scan the lines of text. I can’t believe I was actually going to show this to her in some pathetic appeal.
I take a few steps toward the trash can.
Hesitate with my hand outstretched. I’m not second-guessing tossing it.
This just feels … anticlimactic. I’ve carried this ticket around for six years.
I should burn it. Let it disintegrate in the Atlantic.
Throw it out the car window during the drive back to the airport and let the wind decide its fate.
“Bash! You coming?” Wren hovers in the doorway, open curiosity appearing on her face when she sees I’m holding something.
Hurriedly, I withdraw my hand and tuck the paper back into my pocket. “Yeah. I—this—I was just—nothing.”
She smiles. “Yeah. I’ve got a stack of nothing that’s racked up a lot of frequent flyer miles.”
I raise a questioning eyebrow. “Uh, what?”
“Sawyer used to send me letters,” she explains. “He still does sometimes, and I’m paranoid about losing them. So, they travel with me.”
“I’m not—that’s not what this is.”
“Whatever you say. It’s chic for the bride to hold up the wedding. Not so much when it’s her brother.”
“Shit. Yeah, I’m coming.”
I hurry out of the room after Wren, rushing down the hallway until we reach the rest of the procession.
And as the organ music swells, signaling the start of the ceremony, I promise myself that was the last time Margot Alcott would ever distract me.