28. Chapter Twenty-Seven Gloria #2
“London,” I start, before I stop. What is there to say? I can’t save his family any more than he can, and I see the cracks in his foundation slipping. He can’t keep this up any longer than he has already. Can’t keep being the glue that forces them all together. Sooner or later, he’ll break.
“Let’s find our seats. Don’t worry, I asked Sav to seat us at a different table than the rest of my family.”
“You’re ashamed to be seen with me?” I ask. It’s half a joke, but I still remember the words his mom said to me all those years ago.
London grips my hand, almost so tightly that it hurts. “No. Never. Ria, you’re the brightest star in my life, and I could never be embarrassed to be seen with you. If anything, I’m embarrassed you have to see my family. ”
“I was only teasing.” I reach a hand up to cup his cheek. “Come on. I think they’ll be serving dinner soon.”
We take our seats next to a bunch of Savannah and Micah’s friends, who all know each other and talk amongst themselves, leaving me and London in our own little bubble.
If only it wasn’t a bubble that pops every time he hears one of his parents’ voices.
I swear he has to hold himself back whenever his mom rolls her eyes at the table next to ours or his dad makes a disparaging comment.
The dinner is a cornucopia of opulent Chinese dishes: jellyfish with duck feet, abalone, fish maw soup, Peking duck, and lobster on a bed of fried noodles. By the end, I can only take a nibble of each before passing my serving to London.
When we finish eating, his parents get up and give speeches about how Savannah survived being the only girl amongst four brothers and how Micah is her perfect match. Then there’s the endless toasts by the maid of honour, the best man, and any other friends or family who want to say a few words.
I feign a yawn, shifting in my uncomfortable chair.
The real reason I’m pretending to be tired is that London looks exhausted.
Not just physically but emotionally. The dark circles under his eyes and the way he fiddles with his cufflinks while holding back his own yawns make my heart hurt.
I wish we could lie down on a comfy couch and watch old movies until our problems disappear.
When the last toast has been made and we’ve had too much champagne, or in my case, sparkling apple cider, I nudge London. “Do you think anyone would notice if we snuck out of here?”
He gives me a smile that’s a ghost of his usual vibrant one. “I hope not.”
We slink out of our seats as the lights dim and the gentle strains of the couple’s first dance song starts playing. Savannah and Micah walk onto the dance floor holding hands, her ballgown swishing around her in a perfect circle.
While Ed Sheeran plays over the speakers, London watches them for a brief moment. I wish I knew what he was thinking, but I’m not so sure I want to. What if he’s thinking about how he doesn’t want to be in a relationship because of all that his family has put him through?
London and I discreetly make our way towards the exit, slipping into the hallway.
But we must have gone through the wrong door, because far from being the hotel lobby where we first entered, a service elevator greets us.
Next to it is a room with the door cracked open and people’s voices filtering through.
Just as we’re about to turn around and leave, the voices rise. Not just to a normal volume—but louder. They’re still wearing their microphones. But this conversation definitely isn’t meant to be publicly broadcasted throughout the ballroom’s speakers.
“You couldn’t even be bothered to dance with your daughter on her wedding day?” A woman’s tear-soaked voice, shaking with fury and indignation, reaches our ears. It’s London’s mom. “Or with me?”
London goes still next to me. Frozen.
“I’m not interested in pretending anymore,” London’s dad yells back.
“Funny, because you’ve been lying to the kids and to me for ages. Acting like we’re a happy family out in public, just to go home and complain and argue all the time.”
“ Lying to you and the kids? If that’s how little you think of me, then I’m glad we’re getting a divorce.”
“Getting a divorce?” London’s mom repeats with a scoff. “When’s the last time we were really together? When you weren’t working and I wasn’t busy with the kids? We don’t even sleep in the same bed, for Christ’s sake!”
“And whose fault is that? You’re the one who tells me I snore too loudly! ”
“Well maybe you just wanted to put distance between us so you could watch porn at all hours of the night.”
“And you wonder why we’re getting a divorce, with your nonstop nagging.”
The word divorce drops like a wrecking ball, shattering whatever semblance of peace was left in this wedding.
We should go in and tell them that they’re still wearing their lapel mics from when they were giving their speeches. Someone should fiddle with the sound system and fix this.
But London is still rooted in place next to me. Moments later, Savannah and Micah storm in through the door behind us, Savannah’s cheeks tear-streaked and Micah white and shell-shocked. The rest of London’s siblings file in shortly after behind them.
Savannah doesn’t even glance at London, just marching up to her parents’ door and shoving it open.
“Mom, Dad?” Despite her hands on her hips and straight spine, her voice is shaky. “Your mics are still on. We heard everything.”