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“I didn’t mean to,” I said; my voice was small, like a child. I fought the urge to cradle my stomach.
“What do you mean you didn’t mean to? This was no mistake. You’re deliberately attempting to sabotage this wedding. I have never met someone so petty or ungrateful. You look disgusting. I’m leaving,” she hissed, turning on her heel and walking out.
“Mom! Wait!” I called helplessly.
“Just wait until your father hears about this. Absolutely unbelievable,” she muttered. She left in a cloud of cloying perfume. Jasmine stood still, unable to wipe the gob smacked expression off her face. She’d never witnessed the full power of my mother’s rage before.
I hiccupped. I could feel the vomit surging up my throat. I tried to shove it down.
“Jasmine, please. Get me out of this dress,” I begged, trying with every fiber of my being to prevent myself from vomiting. I had a feeling it was no use, but I at least wanted to avoid the dress.
“Yeah, sure. Becks. You okay?”
“I’m gonna throw up,” I huffed.
Jasmine’s face fell. “Oh. Oh. Okay.” She undid my corset with lightning speed and helped me remove the dress. I threw on my leggings and T-shirt, forgetting my bra and my shoes in my blind pursuit for a bathroom. I wouldn’t make it. I clapped my hand over my mouth; vomit leaked through my fingers. I looked around frantically, spying a potted plant outside the dressing room. My stomach heaved again. I had no choice. I bent over the plant and gave up, unleashing an avalanche of vomit.
“Oh, Becca,” Jasmine murmured, taking a hair tie off of her wrist and gathering my hair into a ponytail.
Finally, I finished, spitting a glob of yellow bile onto a leaf.
Jasmine handed me her water bottle as I blinked back, tears, humiliated.
“I don’t have a napkin, but here.” She handed me a tissue, and I wiped my mouth.
“Oh, Miss … are you alright?” The shop assistant regarded the plant with a look of absolute horror. I felt myself blush, “I’m so sorry,” I said.
“No, no. It’s okay. I want to make sure you’re okay. It is so hot out today. Would you like some water? Here.”
He brought me a glass of cucumber water from the jug at the front of the shop. I drank it down in one gulp.
“Why don’t you sit down? Is there anyone we could call for you? I think your mother is still outside if—"
I sat on one of the plush chairs meant for members of the bridal party or parents to observe blushing brides.
“No, that’s okay. Uh, if you could call my fiancé.” I felt hot tears stinging my eyes as I blinked, letting them fall. I was utterly humiliated.
“I’ll call Sebastian for you,” Jasmine said, fishing her phone out of her bag.
“Really, Rebecca? Bulimia, that’s your solution?” I looked up to see my mother looking at me with a look of utter disgust and contempt. Her nose wrinkled as she smelled the vomit.
“It’s not; it was so hot,” I whimpered. The shop assistant handed me another glass of cucumber water.
“Save your tears.” My mother scoffed.
“I’ll see you later. I can’t deal with you right now,” my mother said with an exaggerated huff. She stormed out of the shop. Jasmine sat beside me and hugged me. I laid my head on her shoulder.
“It’s not your fault,” she said.
“My organs were being squeezed,” I groaned.
“Yeah, that’s okay,” Jasmine consoled.
“Becca? Is everything alright?!” Sebastian burst through the door in a frenzy of activity. Albert trailed behind him, looking concerned.
He sat next to me and gathered me in his arms, I let my head rest on his shoulder.
“I barfed in the plant,” I explained, drowning in my misery.
