Take Two (2 page)

I felt my cheeks redden and squeezed his hands.

“I love you too,” I whispered.

“If there i
s anyone here today who feels that these two should
not be wedd
ed
in holy matrimony
,” the pa
stor adjusted the microphone, “p
lease
speak now or forever hold your peace.”

I took one step towards my almost-husban
d and squeezed his hands again.

“Excuse me!” a voice cri
ed out
.

I
turned to face th
e audience
as whispers and murmurs filled the room
. A woman wearing
a
long
pink dress was
making her way down the aisle.

As she n
eared t
he altar, I
noticed
her eyes were bloodshot and
her face was
pale,
sickly pale. H
er
frizzy
blond
e hair
,
which hung just below her chin, looked as if it hadn’t been combed in days.

Who is this bitch?

The blonde bitch stood in front of the two of us, looking at me and then at
Sean
. It seemed like
she was just going to stand there, as if her sole purpose of interrupting was to se
e if she could stall a wedding.

I noticed my sister signaling for security o
ut the corner of my eye, but the blonde bitch began to speak.

“
Sean
,” she sighed.

He kn
ows her? Is this the friend
that was sent to the psych ward two years ago?

“I
do
love you,” she cried. “I am
in love
with you. The other nig
ht I wasn’t completely sure but
I know
now
.
And I know
that this is the worst
possible
timing and I’m sorry, but I
…It’s not too late
Sean
. Tell me I’m not too late.
”

The room fell
unnervingly
silent, no doubt so everyone could absorb
eve
ry single syllable that fe
ll
out of
Sean
’s mouth.
There were no more hushed conversations, no more mu
ffled murmurs. Just silence.

Sean
stood motionless. He didn’t even b
link. He just stood there, star
ing at blonde bitch.
After what felt like an eternity, he let my hand
s go and shook his head.

“I’m
sorry
Melody. I’m so sorry, but I can’t do this…Please don’t hate me,” he said as
he stepped down
.

I couldn’t feel the tears falling down my face, but I knew they were there. I couldn’t feel my heart stop, but I knew
it was only a matter of seconds
before I collapsed.

I looked at my
sister,
who was shouting at
Sean
and blonde bitch as they walked down the aisle hand in hand. I saw my parents rushing towards me,
but I didn’t want anyone around
. I
wanted
to run away.
I wanted to hide.

I lifted the bottom of my dress, took one too many left steps, and fell b
ackwards into my sister’s arms.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have reached our destination,” the pilot announced over the intercom
. “Welcome to Memphis, T
ennessee
. Local weather calls for
a high of eighty
five degrees and
a low of seventy
degrees with scattered thunderstorms.”

I glanced out
my window and noted the heavy downpour.

I remained in my seat until the last passenger exited the plane. I was tempted to stay on board, tempted to ask how much they would charge for a one night stay.

Sighing, I stood to my feet and grabbed my carryon from the overhead bin. I managed to walk past two rows before my knees buckled beneath me.

I cried again
.

“Ma’am! Ma’am!” the flight attendant stooped down and touched my forehead. “Are you alright?”

“No,”
I slowly stood up. “No.
I’m not alright.”

“I’m sorry,” she looked genuinely concerned. “Why don’t you have a
seat and I’ll get someone to bring
you a wheelchair?”

I was usually against people taking pity on me, but not this time. I waited for wheelchair assistance as the flight crew stood in a corner whispering. Every few minutes I caught pieces of what they
were saying—“She just collapsed.
” “Should we report this?” “How much did she hav
e to drink on board?”—but I
was
focused on
trying
to
hide
the rest of
my emotions
until I was alone.

“Ma’am?” a
young
man
entered the plane and reached out for my hand. “Are you ready to go now?”

I nodded my head.

He matched me step for step, and when we were off the plan
e he motioned for me to sit
in the wheelc
hair.
He
wheeled me through
G
ate B, and
I
couldn’t help but to think of
how many times
Sean
and I had traveled in and out of airports—how many times he’d taken me around the world: Sri
Lanka. Brazil. Germany. Panama.

As h
e pushed me past
baggage claim
,
I felt tears falling down my face
.

W
e
headed towards the pick-up zone and
the doors leading out of Memphis International flew open. I pointed out my mom’s
gray Jeep and he helped me
into the car.

“Thank
you sir,” I heard my mom say as
she clo
sed my door.

I saw her hand the wheelchair man
a twenty and fastened my seatbelt
.

“Welcome home
Melody,” she slid into the driver’s seat.

“Thank you.
”

“We w
ere really worried about you,
” she slowly drove off
.
“I do
n’t know why you didn’t want to
come home with us right after. It must have been—”

I wasn’t
listening. All I could think about were the wasted preparation
s
, the wasted rehearsals
,
and the
wasted time.

“We got you some of that fancy hot chocolate you like. And we’re going to—”

The
custom
Vera Wang gown. The Christian Loub
outin shoes. The Max Mara veil.

“We had all your wedding gifts shipped down. Do you have any plans for—”

The flower
arrangements. The
twenty piece
orchestra. The
p
hotographers.

“Melody? Melody? Are you there?”

The custom rings that took six months to complete.
The matching tattoos. The vows.

“Hun, you look really sick.
Do I need to pull over?”

“No mom,” I rejoined her in reality. “I just want to get home.”

She turned
the radio up
and placed her hand on my knee. I looke
d out
my
window and watched the
ra
in fall in sheets.

The Jeep maneuvered onto our
cobblestoned driveway and
my dad made his way out of the house holding a yellow umbrella. He opened the door on my side and lifted me into his arms.

I couldn’t hold back anymore.

“He left me
Daddy,” I sobbed. “He left me in front of everyone.”

“It’s okay
Melody. It’s okay.”

Hours later, I a
woke to the smell of hot chocolate and pumpkin pie. I dragged myself into the kitchen and pulled out a mug. On the counter was a note:
“
Left to get dinner—Corky’s BBQ. Your favorite. : ) Your loving parents.
”

I couldn’t remember the last time I ate meat.
Sean
and I
agreed to become vegetarians over a year ago.

I wonder if his blonde bitch
eats meat
…

I
slowly
poured myself a cup of ho
t chocolate and
dropped the mug once I caught a glimpse of
my
engagement
ring.

I
feebly
ran my finger
along the
small rubies that surrounded the four
carat diamond
. I didn’t have the heart to
take it off yet. I was still in
shock, in disbelief.

I was trying to pinpoint a moment in time when he may have started acting strange,
when he may have
shown
a rare episode of suspicious spontaneity, but I couldn’t find one. I would’ve never guessed that
Sean
,
my
Sean
, would leave
me crying at the altar. He didn’t seem like the type.

Sean
was an immensely talented
jewelry designer
.
Four years my senior, h
e
dropped out of law school
to
s
tudy under
renowned jeweler Frances Durmont.

While I was in college, he tr
eated me to
small trinkets he
created: tiny
ruby rings with sapphire accents
, beaded pearls with reversible clasps, and intricate charm bracelets—lots of
charm
bracelets.

H
e left Durmont
during my senior year
and opened his own shop,
Belazi
,
a small
storefront that
once served as a
book store
.

Bus
iness was slow at first, but word quickly
spread
about his reversible beaded clasps
,
and he was able to move his store to a prime location on Fifth Avenue. His client list
quadrupled
in months
and
grew to include
th
e
likes of
major celebrities
and Fortune 500 CEOs
.

With his newfound riches, he took me with him on business trips all over the world.
He
even
took me to diamond mining sites,
explaining the history of trade and manufacturing in great detail.
He showed me all the places I’d read about, all the places I’d seen in the Hollywood classics.

He
proposed to me in Naples, Italy,
after we’d eaten two dozen
pizze
at La Notizia and were both
drenched in a sudden summer rain
.

I
thought he
and I would always be together.

Later that night
I felt my mom French braiding my hair, softly tugging the strands as if she didn’t want to wake me.

“He was the one who convinced me to b
e a brunette you know?” I cried
.

“Shhh,” she ru
bbed my back. “Go back to sleep
. We can talk later.”

“Was she prettier than me?”

“Me
lody, don’t do that to yourself.
There’ll be someone else.”

“I don’t want someone else
.”

“Go to sleep Melody.”

I tried to keep my
eyes open in protest, but I
quickly
succumbed to the stubbornness of
heavy eyelids
.