Page 125 of The Wedding Menu

“You don’t know the whole story, M.” I turn right, the corridor extending in every direction like a damn maze with ugly beige wallpaper.

She hurries after me and grabs my arm, and once I shake her off, she groans. “It doesn’t matter, Ames! You’re getting married in a few hours. What in the world—”

A bathroom. God, I’ve never been happier to see one. I open the door, then quickly close it behind me before Martha can enter. Once the door is locked, I ignore her thumping against it and grab my phone.

My fingers press on the screen, and after two wrong attempts at inserting the PIN, I tap on his contact.

Beep.

Beep.

I swallow, holding my breath as Martha shouts that I’m an idiot before finally leaving. This is definitely it. If he doesn’t pick up, then I shouldn’t have called back to begin with.

Beep.

My arm slowly settles down, nausea filling my mouth with saliva as a sheen of cold sweat covers my forehead. Leaning against the sink, I look down at the phone, which is still beeping, but the call remains unanswered.

It feels like the most effort I’ve ever put into something, but slowly my thumb presses on the screen and ends the call.

He didn’t answer.

I remain in the same position for a while, just existing. I’m not even sure I’m thinking; rather, there’s a thick smog of confusion clouding my rational brain.

A firm knock comes from the other side of the door, and the thought of letting my sadness and anger explode all over Martha or Barb sounds like as good an idea as any. I take the few steps, the weight of the dress only more constricting with each awkward stride.

“What?” I shout as I open the door, immediately freezing when my eyes meet a set of blue ones that are comforting and familiar yet kick the breath out of me. “What—Ian,” I whisper as he swallows. His usually scruffy hair is just messy today, and though he’s wearing a white cotton shirt, it’s wrinkled and unbuttoned at the top of his chest. There are dark purple hues around his eyes, and even his posture seems off.

“Amelie,” he whispers. He looks relieved for half a second, then his expression turns neutral again. “Don’t worry, nobody saw me.” He turns around to double-check, then turns back to me. “Can I come in?”

Unable to process any sound, I step back.

Ian is here, and he should definitely not be here, and there’s a sharp pain in my chest just when I feel like I can breathe for the first time in a while.

Once he enters and closes the bathroom door behind him, I’m still at a loss for words. Why is he here?

“You never gave me the name of that bakery,” he says with a half smile.

“What?”

“The bakery? The one that took care of Barb’s nuptial cake?”

Oh. My brain is spinning around so fast, it takes me a few seconds to understand he’s joking, and by the time I do, there’s no point in smiling, because his chest is heaving and there’s a wrinkle between his eyebrows that tells me even Ian knows the time to play around is over.

“I couldn’t sleep. I was—” He rubs his forehead. “So I just drove here.”

My lips quiver and, feeling my throat prickle, I nod, not even attempting to speak.

“And I sat outside, in my car, for…” Bringing a hand to the back of his head, he sighs. “For a long time. I thought—I really wanted to come in and find you.” He sighs again. “I know I shouldn’t be here. I promised I’d let you live your life. And I really tried.”

A tear moves past my defenses and runs down my cheek.

“But I couldn’t just sit there, and then I saw your picture, and you looked—” He breaks off and points at me, shaking his head. “You look… horrible.”

“Thanks?” I whisper as I look down.

“No, not… ugly.” He reaches out but his hand drops before it touches my cheek and tightens into a fist at his side. “Just… your face. Your expression. I had to come in.”

I nod, and his shoulders relax as if a huge weight has been removed from them. Maybe he was afraid I’d be upset he’s here, but I’m not. I’m shocked, afraid, hopeful. But I’m not angry.

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