Page 98 of Plight
Twenty-two years ago Ipromised myself to a girl. We were eight years old. Neighbours. I gave her a Cheezel, pushed it onto her finger, and asked her to marry me.
She ate the Cheezel.
She also said, “Yes” but that we’d have to wait until she turned thirty.
I waited and waited, and through a series of fortunate events, convinced her we were meant for each other and, that one day, we would get married.
Today is that day.
Standing under the gum tree at Hillier Community Garden in my black tuxedo, my mother and sister by my side, all of us waiting as Danielle took tentative steps down the yellow brick road toward me, I let out a chuckle when she stopped, lifted her wedding dress and pointed her ruby red sparkly heels at me. The entire garden was filled with varying pastel coloured satin ribbon tied to chairs, fenceposts, and tree branches. The sun was shining, the flowers were in bloom; it looked absolutely magical, as if it were a scene in a fairy tale. And perhaps it was.
I’d practically waited my entire life for this day, this moment, when the girl of my dreams would float toward me to become my wife. Except, Danielle had never been the girl of my dreams, she’d been the girl of my reality, my best friend, and that was even better. Because dreams ended, reality didn’t.
I swallowed, choked, and blinked back tears so that I wouldn’t miss a single smile she gave our closest friends and family. That smile, whether it was gifted to me or someone else, lit me up from within — every time.
Looking down at my feet, I gave myself a split second for composure before looking back up, sucking in a deep breath, and noticing what looked like a lead dangling from her wrist. I squinted and followed its length until it ended with Pugly. A laugh burst from my chest when I took in the tuxedo that he, too, was wearing, a bowtie fastened to his collar, a top hat strapped to his head. For the tiniest of seconds, I felt sorry for the little dude. He looked ridiculous. But then I remembered the untimely and shitty death of my Armani shirt and my compassion waned.
Danielle turned around and handed the lead to Chris, her Bridesman. He took it from her and faux smiled, clearly unimpressed with his four-legged bridal partner. I couldn’t blame him.
Giggling, Danielle wrapped her arms around Chris and whispered something in his ear. He rolled his eyes, but a wide smile played on his lips when his eyes met mine and then Laura’s. It was one of those smiles I didn’t like. The I-know-something-you-don’t-know smile. My stomach bottomed, and I turned to my sister, my Groomswoman. Her smile instantly vanished.
“What was that?” I murmured.
“What was what?”
“That exchange between you, Chris, and Danielle.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she answered, smiling like a seasoned ventriloquist
“Lies. You lie worse than my wife.”
“She’s not your wife yet.”
“Matter of minutes, dear sis. Matter. Of. Minutes.”
“We’ll see.” Her voice was sing-song.
Turning to face her, my eyes were wide, almost fearsome. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She laughed and adjusted my collar. “Elliot, take it easy. Sheesh. I’m only mucking around.”
“Well, don’t. You’re supposed to be supporting me, not freaking me out.”
“You freak yourself out. Now stop it. Do you honestly think I would let anything stop you and Danielle finally tying the knot?”
I took in another breath, closed my eyes momentarily, and then let it out.
She patted my shoulders, happy with her collar readjustment. “There you go. Are you good?”
“Yeah, I’m good.”
I was lying and I wasn’t, because I was more than good but also obscenely horrified, also known as running on groom-adrenaline. In mere minutes, I’d be kissing and holding Mrs Danielle Parker in my arms, and that both filled me with joy and frightened the fuck out of me.
As she walked her final steps to the end of the aisle, I took in just how beautiful she looked in her lace, wedding gown. How it hugged her tiny body and trailed for a metre behind. Her hair was half up/half down, chocolate curls falling over her shoulders and lightly framing her beautiful face.
“You’re beautiful,” I mouthed.
She blushed, and so did I.
