Page 100 of The Bridesmaid
‘Mark?’ I squint in the dark.
The lights go on. I put a hand to the back of my head. Beside me, I feel Ophelia’s body stir. For some reason, every sense wants to stay turned this way around, not looking at her.
‘Is it morning?’ I ask, noticing that my words are thick.
‘It’s one a.m.,’ says Mark. He seems to cross the room in stages. One moment he’s at the door, then suddenly glitches to be right by me on the bed. Like a video cutting.
Then they’re both sat either side of me. Ophelia and Mark. Ophelia is wearing lacy underwear in a nude tone which blends with her freckled body.
Why is Ophelia in underwear?Thoughts are jabbing at me, but I can’t pull them into a huddle.
‘I gave her sleeping pills,’ Ophelia is saying. ‘That seemed like the best way to be sure she was fresh for the wedding.’
Mark’s face looks as though he doesn’t understand this at all. He says something I don’t catch.
‘I thought she might choke on her vomit,’ Ophelia adds. ‘I wanted to be sure she was safe.’
Mark says something else. About wanting to be alone with his fiancée.The way he says it sounds bad, but that realization is buffered somehow, like it’s wrapped in cotton balls.
Ophelia leaves the room the same way Mark came in. Little snatches of color, like a movie on fast-forward.
‘That was weird,’ Mark is saying. ‘Ophelia got into bed with you?’
The way he says it is like an accusation. Which I can’t really handle right now. One fact rises up for my attention though. Didn’t Mark say it was 1.00 a.m.?
‘It’s past midnight,’ I tell him, shaking my head experimentally. ‘It’s bad luck to see the bride on the wedding day.’
Mark’s face collapses. ‘That’s why I came,’ he says. ‘It’s bad news. The storm hasn’t blown itself out yet. None of the guests can land this morning.’ His brown eyes are liquid with sympathy. ‘I’m so sorry, I know you just wanted this thing done.’
He starts talking about rescheduling. Moving things off and on the beach. Staffing. Logistics.
All I hear is white hot noise. I can’t stand it. I actually can’t stand it. It feels as if my brain is boiling between my ears.
‘No,’ I say. And my tone cuts through everything he’s talking about. ‘No.’
‘Dri—’
‘AftereverythingI’ve been through,’ I say, aware I’m gritting my teeth, ‘afterallof it. I’m not stopping now.’ I lift my eyes to his. ‘Mark,’ I say, ‘we don’t need them. We don’t need the guests.’
His brow crinkles. ‘You need guests at a wedding. My mom would never forgive me.Yourfather—’
‘I know, I know,’ I say. ‘But … can’t we just do the celebrations tomorrow? Have the actualweddingphotographed today?’
‘Dri,’ he says quietly, ‘we don’t have a celebrant. It isn’t possible. We tried, but it isn’t possible.’
‘Itis! Sorry,’ I add. ‘I didn’t mean to yell, but it is possible. We don’t need a celebrant. That’s just for show. Simone did all the legal documents. We signed everything official last week.’
His face puckers. ‘But … wouldn’t youwanta celebrant?’ heasks. ‘We spent hours deciding on the tone of the ceremony.’
Mark is being kind, because we both know I was the one obsessing over the format and how the words would look to fans.
‘I don’t care about any of that anymore,’ I say. ‘All I want is you. And all we need is two witnesses.’ I take a breath. ‘We can do it, Mark. Just like you always said. You and me, right? We’re the only ones that matter.’
‘You, me and the sponsor?’ There is just a shade of annoyance that I never heard before in his voice.
‘It’s a two million dollar deal,’ I say. ‘Everything hinges on us getting pictures to them by noon. If we can do that, if we canjust do that, everything will work out.’ My eyes are on his, searching, desperate. ‘Please.’
He looks away. ‘There’s more to marriage than sponsorship deals,’ he says quietly.
