Page 42 of The Wedding Menu

My smile weakens. Old times. As crazy as it sounds, I miss those times. Though my life was otherwise miserable, he was part of it. I’d kill for a version of our future in which we’re part of each other’s life again.

The yearning grips me so tight, it’s almost smothering as I say, “A littlewoebegone.”

“Woebegone, huh?” His chuckle is muffled, but sweet as honey to my ears. “I thought we’d banned that word.”

We did. All W-words.

Be assertive, Amelie. Take what you want, say what you think, express what you feel. Do it now, before the closed door between you won’t be as easy to open.

“Look, things are different now,” he says. “We can be friends.”

My stomach clenches. “Friends” is something we’ve always tried to be but never quite managed. “Friends?”

His voice reaches me again. “Yeah, friends. This time I’m not letting it turn into anything more.”

No W-words Allowed

— SIXMONTHS TOAMELIE’SWEDDING—

Eyeing my reflection in the mirror, I turn from one side to the other, then check the way the chiffon off-the-shoulder dress wraps tightly around my hips. The forest-green fabric looks even darker on my fair skin, the flowy elastic sleeves are sheer, and there’s a deep slit up the side. Suspiciously similar to one I wanted Martha and Barb to wear formywedding.

“What do you think, babe?” Martha asks from the couch behind me. Barb and one of Martha’s colleagues, Danielle, are wearing gorgeous dresses in the same color, though one’s considerably shorter, and the other has a soft tulle strap over one shoulder. Martha, in her regular clothes, is looking at us appreciatively.

“It’s beautiful, M.” I adjust the elastic around my waist and meet Barb’s eyes. I’m sure she’s noticed the similarity between the dress I wanted for my bridesmaids and the one I’m wearing today, but she says nothing, and neither do I.

“Come on, twirl! Strike a pose!” Martha squeals excitedly as the shop assistant hands her a glass of champagne. With my own glass in hand, I spin, showing off the way the dress follows my movements, the split reaching my knee as the light fabric caresses my skin.

“God, you look great,” Martha says, gently squeezing my hand. “Are you happy with it?”

“So happy.” Stepping off the pedestal, I stare down at the bubbles in my flute, trying to reallyfeelhappy, but I guess my efforts are all going toward not causing a scene today, because my chest feels utterly hollow. Martha and I haven’t discussed the wedding gown yet, but, considering where we are, I know what’s coming for me.

As she follows Barb and the shop assistant to the back, I sit next to Danielle on the white couch and take out my phone. No new texts. I’m not surprised, because the last time I heard from Ian was only a couple of days ago, and texting him right now would mean breaking the rule.

“Did you get it?” a voice calls from the changing rooms.

“Excuse me?” I ask Martha.

“The invitation. We sent them all out on Tuesday.”

I stall with a sip of champagne, trying to get the weight in my chest to settle. My progress with wedding planning has been abysmal despite all of Ian’s help, and all the joy I thought I’d feel at this point has either been smothered by Martha stealing everything or by Frank. “Didn’t get it yet!”

“I can’t wait. Trev and I will go talk to a caterer upstate next week, so I might not have time for a call, but text me the moment it arrives. I want to know what you think.”

I roll my eyes and, immediately feeling a deep sense of guilt, take a long, calming breath.

Jealousy is such an ugly, unwanted emotion. So what if she copied my wedding and now I need to settle for plan B? So what if her fiancé is involved in the planning the way I wish Frank would be? I should be happy for her. I’ve always believed there’s enough sun for everyone, even though lately it feels like there’s a perpetual gray cloud following me everywhere. Maybe I’m just a horrible, small person.

Stomach churning with remorse, I stare down at my phone.I’m probably smaller than a small person, because though I said I shouldn’t, all I want to do is text Ian. Let him distract me.

Amelie:

Unpopular opinion: bridal shops are depressing.

Staring at the screen, I wait. He’s always quick to text back, so if he doesn’t, I’ll take it as a sign. We shouldn’t break the rule.

Ian:

A huge scam too. They talk you into spending months of income on a dress you only wear once.

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