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I shrugged. “I don’t really have a choice,” I said. “Do I?”
Heather wrinkled her nose. “The wedding is two months away,” she said slowly. “So no, not really.”
I gave her a dark look. “That’s exactly what I thought.”
3
Beth
When I left the mall, my belly was full of frozen yogurt and my head was full of doubts. I’d thrown the bag containing the fateful lingerie into the backseat, like it was a piece of trash, but even that didn’t help me feel better. I had no idea what I was going to do – wasn’t it normal to feel like this?
Suddenly, I wished I had a mother I could call and ask for advice. My mom had died when I was a little kid. She’d gotten pneumonia and had an allergic reaction to the medication. It had been horrible and unexpected. My dad had mourned her for years, but I was never allowed to talk about her. Looking back, I knew that couldn’t have been healthy. But what was I supposed to do? Walk up to my dad and tell him that I needed help?
I talked to my mom in my head all the time, even though I wasn’t sure she was listening. When I’d been younger, I’d been a big believer in God and the afterlife. But now I wasn’t so sure. Sometimes, life just seemed so unfair, like some kind of horrible punishment meant only to affect those who deserved it the least. My dad had been a perfect example of someone who suffered without ever deserving it – he’d been a selfless, kind man. When he’d remarried, eight years after my mother passed, his wife had cheated on him with someone younger and tried to divorce him and rob him blind not a year after the wedding. Dad had won the court case, but his lawyer had taken his retirement savings. Now, at fifty-two, he worked long weeks in the hopes of making enough money to retire by seventy-five.
It broke my heart. And it also made me feel like I couldn’t talk to Dad about anything – I had the feeling that because he worked so hard, all of the problems I had by comparison weren’t really anything to sneeze at. I felt like if I called him and said, Daddy, I’m really struggling, he probably wouldn’t even know what to say. Dad and I were kind of close, especially for an adult woman and her father, but we’d never been comfortable talking about intimacy of relationships. He approved of Michael, of course, because Michael was rich and never mistreated me.
So I had no idea how to begin talking about my relationship. Daddy would probably just tell me to button up and deal with it – he’d tell some anecdote about not being sure about my mother before their wedding, probably, but knowing that everything would be okay in the end. Dad was a big saying of things like that – he wasn’t very confrontational, and he liked to avoid as many problems as possible.
Sometimes, I wished that I was more like him.
By the time I got home, I was in a really black mood. I threw the bag with the lingerie in the back of my closet, not even caring whether or not Michael saw. Would he be happy that I was getting ready for our wedding?
Or would he be upset that I hadn’t bought more?
I sighed as I walked downstairs and jogged into the kitchen. It was getting late, and despite the fact that I’d eaten a giant size of frozen yogurt at the mall, I was starving. I glanced in the fridge and saw that w
e had some leftover marinara sauce, along with hot Italian sausages and some pasta.
I hummed under my breath as I started the water to boil. Soon, the kitchen smelled starchy and delicious. I could barely wait for Michael to come home – it was tempting to dip a spoon in the pot and lick everything up myself.
When the door banged, I forced myself to smile. I ran into the foyer and threw my arms around my fiancé. Michael was tall, with thinning blonde hair and a ruddy face from years of being in the sun. He smiled, just barely – the corners of his mouth lifting up for a second. After four years, I was used to his lack of warmth. But it was starting to bother me more and more with each passing day.
“Hi babe,” I said politely, extracting myself from around Michael’s neck. “How was your day?”
Michael sighed. He worked at Magnate Shipping, his father Douglas’s company. The company was Michael’s inheritance, and he spent more than fifty hours a week slaving away in the offices with his father. I knew Douglas and Michael had a cordial but strained relationship. Douglas was a complete workaholic, and I had a sinking suspicion he was always disappointed because Michael valued his time off, as well as his time alone.
“It was long,” Michael said after a pause. “How was your day?”
I squirmed uncomfortably, reluctant to admit that I’d spent practically the whole day doing nothing with my best friend.
“I cleaned the living room,” I said, lying only slightly. Before I’d left for the mall, I’d dusted and rearranged the bookshelves…but I hadn’t done any of the deep cleaning Michael had asked for, such as dusting the baseboards.
“And?” Michael raised his eyebrows, glancing around. “Surely this didn’t take you all day?”
I shook my head. “I went out with Heather, shopping for the honeymoon,” I said.
“I hope you spent a lot of money,” Michael said lightly. He smiled – this time, it was genuine. “I can’t wait to get a break from work,” he added.
I smiled too. “It’ll be so nice to spend some quality time with you,” I said. “I can’t remember the last time you spent a weekend at home.”
Michael nodded seriously. “I can’t wait to catch up on my sleep, and get some sun,” he said, yawning and stretching his arms into the air. He wasn’t particularly tall, only a few inches taller than me, but moments like this reminded me of how small I was. I’d always been short for my weight, and I felt it.
“Yeah, it’ll be great to relax with you,” I replied. There was a slight pang of hurt in my heart – why couldn’t he just say he was excited to spend time with me, instead of catching up on his sleep? You know it’s because he’s so reserved, I thought as I took Michael’s coat and hung it up in the hall closet. It’s not exactly like you ever expected to come home with flowers and gifts. He’s just not that kind of guy.
“What’s that smell?” Michael wrinkled his nose. “Is something burning?”
“Oh, shit,” I mumbled, pushing past my fiancé and running into the kitchen. Sure enough, smoke was billowing in clouds from the oven. Coughing and covering my nose and mouth, I grabbed a hot mitt and yanked the door open. The Italian sausage lay burnt and shriveled on a cookie sheet.
