Chapter 28
Chapter twenty-eight
Bex
Sitting on the old, worn sofa, I stare at the pink and white envelope. I know what’s in it. Amy warned me earlier. She and Terry received their invitation today as well. Being a couple now, they get lots of joint requests. I’m thoroughly the lemon of our little threesome.
Living with them is depressing. They don’t mean to be hard to live with, but it’s becoming increasingly impossible to stand being around them.
All the touching and kissing is sweet, but after day one hundred forty-five, it’s very irritating.
I wonder if that’s how Amy felt living with Ben and me. If she did, she never let on.
My focus falls back to the envelope, challenging me to open it. To confirm what I already know. Hand-drawn pink flowers wind along the edges of the expensive white paper, and my name is scrawled in fine black calligraphy across the center.
I slide my finger under the flap, and it pops open.
I extract three pieces of thick, white cardstock: the invite, the menu, and the reply form.
There’s also a self-addressed envelope with a stamp to make replying as simple as possible.
More pink flowers decorate every section of the invite.
I mean, who the hell has time to draw all that?
Mr. she accepts it, and he leads her onto to the floor.
The music starts; it’s a classic love song, but I can’t quite place it, as the wine has started to cloud my brain.
They move to the slow beat, and I realize it’s a practiced routine.
The dance finishes with him lifting her in the air.
They both laugh, and the crowd erupts in applause.
The knife twists in my chest, letting the blood drain from my body. This wasn’t closure. It was just one more attack. Another reminder that life hasn’t turned out how I hoped, and this is what I’m missing.
I sit at my table of ten, but I’m the only one still there. The reception ended hours ago. I’m still hanging with good old cava. My familiar friend and faithful companion. We keep each other company when times are tough.
My sexy black dress is ruined. I think the dark stain down the front is from a bottle of red I tried, and failed, to drink with grace.
Amy begged me to go back to my room after the band finished playing, but I refused.
Tonight was a night of hell, but I made it to the end.
She told me I needed to be here. To see this. Well, here I fucking am.
But when the band played the final song, wishing the happy couple a wonderful honeymoon.
I cracked. Watching from the safety of my chair, they were hugged and kissed repeatedly, told to get a move on and make some babies.
Ben’s eyes had met mine a few times over the day.
But he never approached me. Never said a word.
He kept his distance and looked at me with a coolness I didn’t recognize.
He’s probably heard all about my recent behavior.
Monday to Friday, I’m a professional English teacher working my way up the ladder. But, come the weekend, I disappear. Losing myself in alcohol. Amy’s begged me to get help, but from where I’m sitting, it’s too late.
Tomorrow, the newlyweds will wake up wrapped in silk sheets somewhere. I’ll wake in this dress. Still stained. Still broken. They’ll have a sunrise. I’ll have a hangover.
And the ache of being nothing to the one person I’ll never forget.