Short stories: Wedding stories – Part 9
Their Wedding.
They kissed. They sealed the deal. It’s over.
I need to accept that fact that they’re married as of now. I didn’t accept it when I was sitting in an old fashioned, un-cushioned, wooden pew during the ceremony; I didn’t accept it during the limo ride to the reception hall; I kind of accepted it during cocktail hour; but now, now I need to accept the fact that he loves her, he will always love her and I will never have a chance with him.
I sigh and my eyes follow my friend Mae as she returns to our table with a plate of salmon and vegetables. She looks gorgeous in her dark green corset-top dress, her blonde updo swept up in a bundle of curls, her radiant skin porcelain against the color of her dress. She sits down and pushes the centerpiece made of orchids to the side of the table.
“You okay, Dreama?” she asks. I pout, but nod.
“It’s over.”
Mae shakes her head. “No, Dreama, it never was.” She gives me the truth with a soft, motherly voice, but her comfort is no comfort. I ordered the salmon, not reality.
I turn my head toward the dance floor. David, the groom,is beaming. He has Adella in his arms and he’s twirling her around the room. They spin and I see her. Adella’s gorgeous; her dress is reminiscent of a 1940s Hollywood fashionista’s gown. It’s slimming, the bodice is heart-shaped and elaborate lacework trims the bodice and train. She’s even wearing vintage jewelryshe’s donning a diamond necklace that branches down toward her cleavage.
They laugh at something. What is it? I silently beg. Can’t I be part of that inside joke? That paradise? Something? When David and I were in college together, we had a million inside jokes. We were constantly smiling at one another, our glances filled with scandal.
“Dreama, stop.” Mae tells me. A few men lead their dates to the dance floor and the band tries to pep up the crowd. I stay rooted to my seat. There isn’t a single male to dance with.
“Hey ladies!” My other friend, Lola, comes to the table. She’s wearing a light-green tea dress. Her brown curls are perfectly placed and they trickle down her back as if they were landscaped that way. I hate her updo so much. It’s perfection. “Have you ladies seen Rowland yet? I just showed him my pictures from Africa.” She holds up her metallic pink camera.
“Do you two still have a thing?” Mae’s eyes widen and she rests her chin on her fist like she’s completely absorbed by the matter. Lola’s thick lips curve up into her million watt smile and
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Tags: 1940s Hollywood, Pout, Radiant Skin