Page 14 of Lightness In My Dark

I pinched her arm to get her attention.

Jillian shifted between us and asked, “Shall we get started?” We both gave the okay. “Are you planning to marry here or a destination wedding?”

I responded. “In the city. St. Paul’s church is off Broad Street where the ceremony will be held.”

Jillian nodded, marked her planner, and spoke to both of us. “I’m assuming it will be a large guest list. Any preferences regarding venue?”

Wren brought her hand up to the bridge of her nose, squeezing it tight, so I answered. “We were thinking about the Blackstone. Their ballrooms are large enough to accommodate the guest list.”

This went on for a half hour. Wren seldom nodded, ordered another glass of wine, switched crossing her legs, and hugged her waist. She added little to the conversation, making it clear she didn’t want to be there. Again, Jillian and I seemed to have found our own rhythmic dialogue. Jillian received a call and excused herself for a moment.

I yanked Wren’s chair closer. She grabbed the table to catch herself from falling and then froze. I bent down to her ear, and said, “If you don’t start acting like you’re on fucking cloud nine, I swear to God, Wren, I’m—” Jillian cut me off by her return. Wren straightened in her chair, swallowed, and smiled at Jillian.

Jillian said to Wren. “You seem nervous.”

Wren took my right hand in hers and covered it with her other. “Yes. It’s so overwhelming and…” she turned and gave me a painful smile. “I can’t believe I’m marrying Finn. I’m the luckiest girl in the world. It’s not every day a girl marries someone like Finn. Am I right?”

She’s being a little sarcastic bitch, because she’s mad I threatened her. Fuck her! I’ll give her something to be pissed about.

Jillian stared at me as she responded, “Right you are.” She licked her bottom lip as Wren let my hand drop from her lap. I stared at Jillian with the biggest grin on my face.

Wren finished half her glass of wine, excused herself to use the bathroom, wobbling while trying to stand, and then left.

Is she drunk? I swear, I’m going to make her regret it.

Jillian batted her eyes, lashes flapping like a peacock’s tail, and put her hand under her chin. “Your fiancé seems… uncomfortable? Are things already on the rocks?”

I let out a laugh. “No idea. She seemed fine in the car. Maybe you’re too intimidating.”

The tables had long white covers reaching the floor. Jillian’s hand touched my knee, making small upward circles.

“If that’s the case, we should make the intimidation worth our efforts.”

My erection pressed against my zipper, so I stopped her hand and patted it.

“That can be arranged.”

We smiled at each other and ordered another drink when the server approached. Jillian was stunning; however, I didn’t give our flirting any consideration. Not much of a chase, and I had reeled her in no time. Wren returned, and the anger I had dissipated since Jillian gave me her attention.

She tilted her head to the side to address Wren. “Not a lot of women can wear short hair, but you have a beautiful bone structure. It suits you well.”

A pinkish tint spread over Wren’s face, but she didn’t look happy from the way her jaw tightened. She gestured an acknowledgment. If I thought Wren was aloof before, she powered herself down. I readjusted my tie because it was hot at the table. Wren may have noticed our flirting, but I didn’t think she cared. An hour later, we said our goodbyes.

Days later, I met Jillian for a quick fuck. Normally, it wouldn’t bother me, but she acted as if it was a conquest. And that irritated me. What rode along my spine, spreading to my gut and heart, was something I was unaccustomed to—guilt. I didn’t owe Wren anything, except discretion, yet somehow this guilt, the idea of cheating, nagged at me.

Chapter 5 – The Aftermath

WREN

The day with the photographer and wedding planner was a crushing blow to my self-esteem and this farce of an engagement. My actions would give Finn ample reasons to cancel the contract. And the thing is, I wouldn’t blame him. I attempted to calm myself before we left by doing yoga, meditation, and breathing techniques. Nothing did the trick. The hardest part about it was why I had such a reaction to taking pictures and planning. Maybe a weekend didn’t prepare me enough for a life-changing experience.

Between the heaviness in my chest and my nerves like a live wire above water, I wasn’t sure if I’d last. On top of that, Finn had to pick out my outfit. I failed at doing that right. Loose-fitting clothes hid me and made me invisible. It made me safe. What he chose hugged every curve, along with exposing skin. This heightened my already sensitive state. I popped an old Xanax, smoothed down my skirt, and prayed it went well.

A cobweb of feelings, sticking and knitting throughout, reacted to Finn’s presence during the photography session. His firm body behind me, hand on my thigh, put me in a fog and it increased with Finn’s touches. Every annoyed fiber he emitted. I tried to get a handle on my emotions, but the more he pressured me, the thicker the haziness grew. Taken aback by his outburst at the photographers, all I could do was imagine something from my past that made me happy. My grandmother Ellen popped up. The gentleness of my grandmother’s movements, her patience, she never scolded me for my mistakes. Her encouragement aided me through dark times. She was the air in my conflicting and compressed life.

My memories of her are what got me through the directions and picture taking. By the time we were at the country club, I didn’t hold back with the wine. I hoped it would scatter and clear the sensations. Settle my body’s boomerang effect toward him. Instead, it magnified them. It also didn’t help that the wedding planner was gorgeous. I knew it. Finn knew it. Dizziness overtook me, and I felt the bile slither its way up. Jillian commented on Finn’s bachelorhood and me being lucky. I focused on what she said, and in doing so, closed my eyes and shook my head.

Jillian kept asking question after question, my muddled mind drowning out most of what she said. Finn’s continuous anger flaring with threats pushed me farther into the depths of confusion. I excused myself to go to the washroom, where I splashed water on my face and fanned myself. My hand pressed against my upper chest and collarbone, breathing in as much air as possible. I made it back to the table, and without thinking, ordered another glass of wine. This plunged me into more unresponsiveness.

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