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I clasp my hands behind my back, my breath hitching at the thought of seeing Sin. What will her dress look like? Will her hair be up or down? Did she go with flats or heels?
Tradition kept me in the dark. But if I’m honest, I half expect Sin to wear a cocktail dress and sneakers. That is until I see Natalie and Tiffany walk down the aisle. They are in stylish lavender gowns that reach the floor while their escorts, Justin and Thomas, wear gray tuxedos like mine.
I’m sure Sin won’t wear a flour sack, but even if she did, she would be the most beautiful woman on the planet. Sin confessed to me early on that the color scheme she had in mind for our wedding was the same as her first.
I was fine with it. A bad experience shouldn’t ruin the one she’d dreamed about her entire life.
And that is what we’ve gotten. The church is beautiful–full of flowers and more importantly, the people we care about.
While I’ve been daydreaming, the flower girls, Justin’s two youngest nieces, drop the last lilac pedal in their reed baskets then climb into the laps of their parents.
Confusion smacks me out of my haze of fuzziness. Where the hell is she?
As if in answer, the music grinds to an abrupt halt. Echoes of the last note hang in the rafters as the murmurs concerning my M.I.A. fiancée start to rise.
From the opposite side of the aisle, Natalie and Tiffany shoot me worried glances.
Silent beats pass, louder than any drum. They go on for so long, heads turn toward the heavy wooden doors…
Which remain closed.
Trepidation, like bags of wet sand, crush my lungs and doubt stomps in on booted feet. Yesterday, after a mani-pedi and deep tissue massage, I confessed to Nick about my life pre-Gramps.
Despite his shock, I thought he took it in stride.
Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he said something to his daughter that made her change her mind? Sin and I agreed not to talk last night. She kept to tradition even as I hoped she would call…
She’s not coming. She would have given some signal…some sign if she were.
My heart wrenches and my shoulders slump with the weight of rejection. I turn to Thomas and Justin who look as stricken as I feel.
Justin mouths, “Should we say something?”
I search the audience for an answer. Gramps has a rare look of pity in his eyes. Big Barron, Seth, and Mr. and Mrs. Primrose carry shock in their expressions. From the mouth of babes, little Tyler squirms from Big Barron’s arms, and shouts to his mother Natalie, “Is she coming or what?”
Reverend McNare has drawn the same conclusion. He steps from the altar and leans in, so close I smell his peppermint scented breath. “Perhaps we should check if there is something…amiss?”
Unsure what to do…how to feel, the minutes tick by. Sweat rolls down my back…
Then it hits me. I promised Sin never to doubt her. Never to doubt us. I won’t lose faith.
Reverend McNare tries again, “Mr. Grayson, is your bride–”
“Yes,” I say even slower than usual as I welcome the air returning to my lungs. “She’s coming. I know she is.”
GENESIS
Thisdamndress.
I curse the material, but in reality, what’s happening is my own fault.
At my final fitting, everything was perfect. All that walking over the past few days coupled with ovulation swelling my boobs from cantaloupes to watermelons has made the waist of my dress loose and the top too tight. As I wiggled into it, I thought it would be fine and poo-pooed everyone’s concerns.
Should have listened to those who’d actually spent a full day in a wedding dress.
Just as the flower girls disappeared and I put a foot forward to follow them, my veil slipped. I lifted a hand to straighten it and ripppp. The side boob which exploded from the already strained material was a sight only my future husband should see.
My father closed the doors and cooled his heels while Lisa and my mom ushered me into the antechamber-cum-makeshift-dressing-room.
