Chapter 7
CHAPTER
SEVEN
FARRAH
It’s Friday afternoon, the day of our first wedding event, arrives. Nella is taking her afternoon nap, and I’m taking advantage of the quiet time to pipe the finishing touches onto the gorgeous tiered cake that’s nearly as tall as Mel. Once it’s finished to perfection, I place it in the fridge. The S’mores flavor turned out incredible. I made a mini cake a few days ago for me and Amber to taste—and Nella…she had to have a taste, too.
The formal wedding is taking place at a large Catholic church in the historic district of Alexandria, one with old brick and stained-glass windows that will look so pretty in pictures. I had a grand wedding once, and if I ever get remarried, I’ll do it all differently. I’d only invite a small amount of people, only the ones who mean the most to me. I wouldn’t care so much about how I looked, or how the photos turned out. Instead I’d focus on the groom. I’d pay attention to how he acted and whether he cared about those around him. I’d watch to see how he treated the people helping plan everything, looking for signs of him brushing them off or brushing me off. I don’t think I’d care about any of the details—except maybe the cake—because I’d want to be so enamored with the man I was marrying that everything else faded. Nothing else mattered. If I wouldn’t marry the man wearing a paper bag in a grungy back alley as the venue…then he’s not the one, babe.
I think of the couple getting married today and how in love they were, constantly looking at each other and touching the whole time we discussed cake options. I wonder if the groom is as nice as he seems, or if their marriage is doomed like so many others. But I don’t think so. He seemed so eager to do whatever it took to make his bride happy. I hope the best for them, I really do. I don’t want to be one of those women who turns cynical about romance and marriage—I’ve watched my parents love and support each other over my entire thirty-two years of life. I know real love exists.
The memory of my own wedding makes me think of my friend Megan, one of my bridesmaids and my closest friend in Ohio. Once she got married, Connor and I would go on double dates with her and her husband, and then over the years we added a few other couples to our group, as well.
I pull up my phone and shoot her a text.
Farrah
Hey Megan! We haven’t talked in ages. How are you?
To my surprise she responds right away. She’s been hard to get a hold of lately.
Megan
Good! Just been super busy.
That’s it. There’s no how are you? No kind of leading question or statement to keep the conversation going. Feeling strange about it, I pull up her Instagram page to see if she’s posted anything. At first, I see nothing new on her page, so maybe she really has been busy. But then I click to see photos she’s been tagged in. Her familiar smile, the same one from my old wedding photos, appears in a group photo. I smile at the photo until I see who else is in it…it’s from last weekend and it’s our old group, including Connor. Connor has his arm wrapped around a very young looking blonde, and she’s nestled against his side. It’s not Connor with another woman that sends a chill down my spine, but that everyone looks so comfortable together, like they’ve hung out a million times. Like they couldn’t care less that I’m no longer there…that I’m easily replaceable.
The woman on Connor’s arm is the one who posted the photo. I tap on her profile and it’s private, but all my friends—former friends, I guess—are following her.
Exiting the app, I lock my phone screen and lay it on the counter. I can’t shake the feeling that my friends chose Connor over me. I don’t know if it’s simply because he stayed in Ohio and I didn’t, or if they always cared more about him than they did me. Either way, my heart is beating unsteadily, and I have to sit down to calm the ache in my heart. These couples were my friends for years. Megan was my bridesmaid…my confidant.
Soon the monitor on the counter comes to life, alerting me to Nella standing in her crib and smiling at the camera. “Auntie, I’m hungwy!”
Her smiling face is just what I needed to erase that Instagram photo from my mind.
I rush upstairs and lift her from her crib, then change her and we walk back downstairs to have a snack. I grab some grapes from the fridge and slice them up for Nella. The utility room door that connects to the garage swings open, and my brother walks into the room, his hair damp from his post-practice shower and wearing comfortable athletic wear.
“Hey, Farrah.” He smiles, then spots Nella and truly lights up. “Hey, Nells. How’s my girl?” Nella claps her hands together for her favorite person in the world. “Daddy’s home!”
Watching these two makes my heart feel warm and full. Proof that you can love a child who’s not your blood just as much as you would a birth child. It fills me with hope and promise and joy that momentarily erases the photo of my old friends from my head.
As Remy draws another giggle from Nella, I laugh.
If I met the right guy, maybe I could fall in love again? And if that happened, I’d love to experience pregnancy and nursing and all the mom things. But experience tells me it will take a while for me to get pregnant with PCOS. I’m already in my thirties, and there’s no man in my life. But either way, even if I could get pregnant, I’d really like to adopt too. There’s something precious about bringing a new person into the world with someone you love. It’s a new life that’s equal parts of you both. But to give a child who’s waited their whole life to experience being someone’s entire world… to be surrounded by love and comfort? That seems so poignant to me.
“How was today?” Remy asks, drawing me from my thoughts.
“Good,” I say. “Nella and I went for a walk, and we saw lots of birds today. You know how she loves birds.”
Remy chuckles and nods.
“Then she napped while I finished the cake. And now I need to go make myself presentable.” I use one hand to gesture at my dog-hair covered leggings and oversized tee.
My brother smirks. “I hear ya; get out of here. Nella and I are taking Amber on a surprise date tonight.”
I grab my phone off the countertop. “Really? What are you guys doing?”
“Well, it’s kind of a date for Amber and Nella,” he admits. “We’re going to see Disney on Ice.”
“Oh my gosh, they’ll both love that.”
He smiles. “I hope so, I got VIP tickets so we can meet the characters after the show. I’ll say hi to Kristoff for you.”
I laugh. “Thanks, bro. Will you get his number for me?”
Remy wrinkles his nose. “Absolutely not.”
“Rude. I’ll see you later…you guys have fun.” Kissing Nella on the top of her head, I say goodbye and head out the front door and follow the path to the side of the garage where a set of white stairs leads up to my apartment. Once inside, I turn on the Frozen soundtrack, just because the conversation with Remy made me want to listen. I do listen to other music…sometimes.
While I do my makeup my mind wanders to my text conversation with Bruce last weekend. A rush of pleasure shoots through me, just as it did last weekend when he texted asking how my date was. I shouldn’t like the attention, and I shouldn’t be encouraging it by texting him back. It’s madness, and irresponsible. But I’d be lying if I didn’t admit it’s nice to have the attention of a handsome and talented man. A man who commands the attention of an entire bar without knowing it, a man whose charisma and charm makes everyone want to be around him. And to have it all directed at me? Heat rushes to my cheeks.
He acted jealous . Bruce McBride, who can have any woman he wants.
Connor never acted jealous. Ever. I always thought it was a good thing, that it meant he trusted me. But I think he just didn’t worry because he didn’t believe I could ever attract the attention of another man.
I chose to ignore so many signs of his lack of kindness I chose not to see. Like how it bothered him that I gained weight while we were trying for a baby. Every month we didn’t conceive, I got a little sadder and little curvier. Not only did he give me the German meat pie nickname, but he once bought me exercise equipment for my birthday…and I told myself he simply cared about my health. Any treats I bought would magically disappear—I thought he just finished them himself. And our last Valentine’s Day together, the man gave me a size four dress and said he couldn’t wait for me to wear it. And I stupidly convinced myself he must not have known my actual dress size.
With a sigh, I push thoughts of my ex out of my head. He doesn’t deserve any space in there any longer. I slip into my new black skirt, it’s a stretchy pencil skirt number that hugs my curves perfectly. I pair it with a collared, black button-down shirt, tucked in and secured with a black, leather belt around my waist. I look in the mirror and like the final result. I’m finally enjoying dressing up the way I used to and feeling good in my own skin. I’m not an itty-bitty teenager anymore, and that’s okay.
Sliding on my black flats, I head back to the bathroom for a hair clip, so my long hair won’t get in my way while serving cake tonight.
Finally ready for my night, I head back to the big house to load up the wedding cake.
“What do you mean you can’t make it?” I ask, pressing my phone to my ear so I can hear Mel more clearly over the crowd of weddinggoers.
“I’m so sorry, Farrah,” Mel says, her voice small and weak. “I was setting up everything for the wedding all day and started getting tired. I thought I just needed a quick rest, but I must have a stomach bug because I can’t stop throwing up.”
I soften at her words, knowing Mel wouldn’t leave me to run an event by myself if she could help it. “Hey, it’s okay. Is West home to take care of you?”
“Yeah, but I’m sending him over to help with the wedding.”
“No, he should be there with you. What if you need something?”
She whimpers like she’s about to be sick. “I’ll be fine.”
I sigh. “Mel, stop. It’s okay. I’ll call Andie and Noel; I’m sure one of them can help.”
“Are you sure?” Mel asks.
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“Call me back if anything changes!”
“I will,” I tell her. “I promise. Don’t worry, everything will be okay.”
We hang up, and my hands shake with nerves. Our first wedding event and I’m all alone. Everything is not going to be okay.