Page 50 of The Wedding Menu

— FIVEMONTHS ANDTWOWEEKS TOAMELIE’SWEDDING—

Another tweet has come.

It’s stupid, really, but I’ve been craving one since their anniversary, and I’m shaken by a jolt of adrenaline when I grab my phone and find it waiting for me.

I wonder who’s behind it. William Roberts himself, or, much more likely, whoever his social media guy is. Making a mental note to check the restaurant’s website, I open the app and read.

Pulling the apartment door open, I snicker and set my gloves down. There’s a box by the door, so I pick it up and see it’s for Frank. “Here’s hoping it’s not a new cock ring. Lord knows, he’ll need one in Mayfield,” I mumble as I close the door behind me and set the box down. Though we’ve hardly talked at all in two weeks, I can’t say I’m looking forward to his coming to visit. Until the wedding,I’m happy to use an “out of sight, out of mind” kind of approach.

I know it’s insane. Rationally, I can totally draw that conclusion. I’m stuck, and the more I plan for this wedding, the more I can feel the pressure of expectations weighing on my shoulders. The more I hope to rekindle my relationship with Frank, the further I feel it slip away. It’s like a sinking ship, relentlessly taking on water, and whatever cracks I manage to patch up are replaced by new, deeper ones.

But the alternative is worse. Throwing myself off my familiar yet sinking ship in favor of a frozen ocean of unknowns. Alone to face all difficulties. My fiancé is my one certainty, and I won’t stop trying to fix our relationship until there’s nothing but water in my lungs.

I enter the kitchen, placing the food I brought from the restaurant in the fridge, and my phone notifies me of an incoming text. I expect it to be Ian and nearly topple over when I see it’s Frank.

Heart tumbling, I tap on the notification as one more message comes through.

Frank:

Something got delivered for me today. Open it, please?

Sorry this engagement isn’t exactly what you wanted.

I walk back to where I placed the box and open it, finding a black ring box inside. My bottom lip stings, and I realize I’ve been nibbling it; the metallic taste of blood floods my mouth. Without hesitating, I pull out the box, lift up the top, and find an engagement ring perched on black velvet.

It’s beautiful. Classy, simple. A small oval white diamond and a thin white gold band. Exactly like I’ve always wanted.

Settling on the closest chair, I slide it on my finger. It feels foreign, though I guess that’s somewhat normal at first. I think of sending Frank a picture, then sending one to Barb and Martha, but for a while I do nothing except stare at my hand, at the ring.

It’s good. Great, even, that he remembered the type of ring Iwanted. Maybe it’s a sign of what he promised, that although I might not get the engagement I’ve always dreamed of, or the wedding I’ve always wanted, I’ll get the marriage I deserve. And that’s what counts the most.

My phone vibrates on the wood coffee table, and I throw a quick look at it.

Ian:

Send help right fucking now. There’s a spider on my desk.

I huff out a laugh, then open the message just as I receive a picture of the tiniest brown spider next to his computer.

Amelie:

It’s so small. Don’t kill it.

Ian:

I won’t, but I’ll need to move in with you.

Amelie:

Too late for that. I’m officially engaged.

Ian:

Officially? Did you submit papers?

I send a picture of the ring, and though he sees it immediately, no answer comes for a while. Then he types and stops. Then he types again, and for the second time the three dots vanish.

Until eventually:

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