Page 84 of The Oath We Give

TILL DEATH

CORALINE

When I was a little girl,maybe eight or nine, my father and Regina took me to my first and only wedding. At the time, I didn’t understand what it all meant. All I knew was it was pretty, the historic property where the couple exchanged vows.

During the reception, while parents danced and drank the night away, leaving their children to the care of nannies and caretakers, I slipped outside and through a stone archway into the back garden, where petals from roses hung like red lanterns on black branches. Small pools of light from strategically placed torches illuminated paths winding through hedges trimmed with crystals that twinkled like stars.

It was by one of those lights that a boy named Jeremy gave me a flower.

A singular red rose that I swore to keep forever. We were little and had no idea what the world held for us. But in that moment? We knew everything. We felt everything. Tiny hearts playing tag in formal wear until we fell onto the damp grass, our heaving chests and giggles echoing into the night.

He’d looked at me before he left, holding my small hand in his, and said, “I love you.”

It hadn’t been true. We’d only just met; we didn’t know what the word meant yet, not really. We’d heard our parents say it, seen it in movies when people held hands.

But to us, in that garden, it was love.

It was enough.

It wasn’t until months later that I learned from Regina’s gossiping friends that my curse had run full circle for the very first time. Jeremy had died in a car accident with his parents after leaving that garden.

I don’t remember if I cried, only that I’d felt guilty because I hadn’t kept the rose he gave me forever like I’d told him I would.

I didn’t know it yet, but my cursed heart had already claimed two lives before I even started to believe my mother had passed something witchy down to me.

A jinx.

A hex.

That’s all I’ve been thinking about for the past twenty minutes while I stand in this hallowed courthouse bathroom, trying to tame my hair into submission, but it’s still refusing to cooperate.

I press my sweaty palms onto the sink, glancing in the mirror. The stray strands fly around my face, mocking me. The elegant bun I had in mind is pointless, not when the left side of my hair simply will not stay pinned back.

“Need some hair spray?”

I look up in the mirror, the reflection of my sister clear. She’s holding a familiar garment bag over her arm and what I think is her makeup kit in the other.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, turning around so we are facing each other. “And why do you have that?”

Her cute brown wedges click against the floor as she walks toward me, yellow sundress matching perfectly with her tanned skin, golden curls framing her face.

We could not be more different.

“Despite the sentiment of this dress, it’s too beautiful not to be worn, and I refuse to let you get married in…” She looks my simple black dress up and down with distaste. “That.”

My mother’s wedding dress.

It was a relic for something more than me. I didn’t want to dishonor her memory by wearing it for a wedding that’s only signed papers in a courthouse. It feels like I’m disrespecting her memory.

“It’s not a real wedding, kid. We don’t need a flower girl. “

There is a sigh on her lips, shoulders falling as she walks closer and lays the dress on the sink beside her makeup bag.

“He looks nervous too.” She leans against the sink next to me, smirking as she bumps me with her hip. “If that helps.”

“When did you see him?”

“Peeked into the courtroom.” Her eyes twinkle with that mischief I’ve come to know so well.

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