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Her smile is a little wobbly. “I really like her.”
I smile at my mother’s approval. “I really like her, too.”
I slide back my chair, then follow Valentine’s path away from the table.
My uncles cheer for me just as loudly as they did when Val passed them.
I almost keep walking but then stop and snatch a shot of something brown out of my closest uncle’s hand.
Before he can protest, I tip the shot back and swallow it down, then hold the empty out to his table. “To marriage.”
They all laugh and tip back their own.
I’m far from drunk, but the extra booze will hopefully help ease my guilt.
I don’t know why I thought Val would like that photo of us from the wedding. I know it’s abad momentin her memory, but I…
I drag a hand down my face.
I thought I could change that. Thought showing her how content she was in the moment would change that. But in reality, what I did was hand her a photo of a memory she can’t remember because she had been drugged by me.
And then my mom’s ring. Followed by her asking about the ceremony…
I’m thinking this whole night was bad planning on my part.
I depress the handle and enter the women’s restroom.
Similar to the men’s, the room is small. Just two stalls and two sinks.
My cousin’s wife is at one of the sinks, washing her hands, and when she spots me, she hurries to turn off the water.
I don’t know her well. And she must be a little scared of me because she doesn’t so much as touch her hand to a towel to dry off before scurrying past me and out the door.
The farthest stall is closed, the other unoccupied.
And my wife’s soft cries fill the room.
Because I don’t want to traumatize her more, I bend down and look under the door. But her feet aren’t in front of the toilet. They’re facing the wall.
I pull the knife out of my pocket, flick it open, and use the blade to unlock the stall door.
Slipping the knife back in my pocket, I push the door open.
The hinges squeak, and Val spins around.
Her hands are over her mouth, and tears are streaming down her face, but it’s her hunched shoulders that break my heart.
I step into the stall and close the door behind me. “Angel—”
But before I can get out more, she closes the distance between us and throws her arms around my neck.
I don’t question it. I just wrap my arms around her in return. And when she tightens her grip, I tighten mine, hoisting her into the air.
I hate seeing her cry. Hate knowing I’ve caused it. But a part of me relishes in her coming to me. In her reaching for me.
I hold her tighter.
She’s so warm. So soft.
