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BRIA
In a haze, we pack our luggage and grab two sandwiches from the bakery on the corner. All the while, Damien sticks to me as if he needs to reassure himself that I’m still here, still loving him. His quietness persists, and I sigh. Not everything is back on track. Something is off.
We reach the jet, embark, greet everyone, and the plane takes off. I can’t keep thinking about what’s wrong with him anymore as our mothers separate us the moment we enter to discuss the wedding. I keep seeking his gaze, but his face is cocked toward the window, avoiding my gaze. It disconcerts me.
“Honey, there are a few details we would like to discuss. It’s your wedding, and we want it to be perfect for the two of you.”
“But you’re far better than I am with such things.” I sigh. I have other things on my mind right now.
“Bria, we’ll make it easy on you. I promise.”
I’m sure my mother and I have two different definitions of “easy,” but I still nod and rest my face in my palm.
“I imagine a white pavilion with elegant drapery and crystal-cut chandeliers overhead. White decorations and flowers, bunches of bright white roses, also hydrangeas and orchids. Everything should be white and, on every table, a big, white candle, vintage lace tops and chair covers.”
“That will look fantastic. Elegant, but still glamorous. I love your idea.”
I visualize it to myself, us taking our first dance as Mr. and Mrs. du Sky. Sweet, scented white roses and dim candlelight surrounding us. I hope they’re done when another round of questions follows, and I growl on the inside.
“The cake also white with two different fillings, one-half chocolate, the other vanilla cream and raspberry.”
“I thought you would like to test it.” I refrain from telling them I know how it will taste. We have ordered our cakes from the same bakery since I was a child.
“I trust you two.”
“And the venue?” Now, they just want to irritate me.
“Likewise.”
“Music.”
“I guess you’ll hire the best you can get.” I offer a fake, bright smile, and their faces turn to slight irritation.
“Bria. Have you any idea how many little things one has to cover for a wedding?”
“I’m sorry I am being difficult, but you have Sarah, she knows what I wish for.” I am more excited for the whole after-wedding life, but I guess I can’t escape the ceremony.
I want the man, the life with the man. The ceremony is a means to an end. They keep trying to win my interest over, but it doesn’t work. I plead with my eyes for Sarah to help me out, and she takes over the discussion. I’m too deep in thought, so I feign sleep. When we land, I breathe out.
We depart and agree on a Sunday lunch. As Damien drives us home, I let the familiarity of the city warm me. There’s no place like home. Every place on earth has its magic, but one always finds their way back to their roots.
“We talked about the wedding.” I try to gain his attention, and he crooks his head to me.
“How are things progressing?”
“Nothing to worry about.”
He nods, and the sentiment that something is off with him lingers. We drive to our penthouse in silence. I slump my bag on the floor, stomp in front of him, and question him.
“What’s wrong?” He massages his temples, inhales a lungful of air, sees through me, and deadpans.
“Nothing.”
I huff and raise my hands in the air.
“Damien, you’re distant.”
“I’m distant?” He shoots right back, pointing at himself. I turn on my heel and stomp away. “Back to square one again?” he counters to my back. I wave him off.
