My story starts on what was supposed to be my wedding day.
I was wearing what was supposed to be my wedding dress, and the women who were supposed to be my bridesmaids were milling around, chattering and giggling and putting away champagne by the quart.
The day had already been a whirlwind. I could barely eat all day, just a couple of pieces of cut fruit. That, plus a lot of champagne, had proved a little much for me. Halfway through my third flute, I suddenly started feeling faint.
“Hey, are you okay?”
“At least champagne has a high sugar content,” I mutter. Stacey didn't hear all the thoughts leading up to this, though, so she doesn’t have the first clue what’s going on.
“Huh?” she says, all concerned.
“Just... got dizzy for a second.”
“You're not... starving yourself, are you?” she says, totally the suspicious mom.
“Not intentionally.”
“Ugh, you’re gonna pass out halfway through the vows!” She’s got me by the arm, and she isn’t going to leave it alone; forget everything else, get the bride something to eat.
“I tried!” I retort.
“Unh-unh!” Stacey barks. “You’re eating right now.” I let her motor me over to the makeup chair in front of the mirror.
My other bridesmaids are all looking on: What’s going on? Is something wrong with Claire?
“She didn’t eat anything today!” Stacey calls out to the room.
An emergency is declared, and someone rushes out and returns with chocolate-covered strawberries (basically the champagne of food, so it’s not a real solution). The silver dish, resplendent with scarlet berries dipped in smooth chocolate, is shoved under my nose, and Stacey folds her arms and stares me down until I pick one up and take a bite from it.
Stacey watches me like a drill sergeant as I chew and swallow.
“Better?” I tease.
“More!” Stacey orders.
“Today is supposed to be my day...”
“It is,” Stacey says—and there’s a surprising amount of emotion in her voice. “It’s your day, honey, the happiest day of your life.” Why does she sound like she’s about to cry?
“Huh?” I say through my second mouthful of strawberry.
“It’s just...” Her voice is trembling. “I have to tell you something. I just... it’s eating me up, Claire, and I’m gonna freak out if I don’t say something. I just... I can’t...”
My eyebrows are knitted together, and I am suddenly very concerned. What is she talking about?
“It’s okay, Stacey,” I say, reaching out to her. She doesn’t take my hand, just stands there with her hands at her sides, like a frustrated little girl on the edge of tears. “What’s going on?”
Her face tightens further. She opens her mouth. But what comes out does not sound like her voice. Instead, it’s a high, thin whine.
“Ididn’tmeantoClaireI’msosorry!” she blurts. I can barely make out what she’s saying.
“Stacey...” I get a sinking feeling; I’m suddenly falling...
Wait… hold on.
“What happened?”
It can’t be THAT… no WAY!
“I didn’t mean to,” she says, despondent.
“Didn’t mean to what?”
Say it’s nothing. Whatever it is, we’ll talk about it later, now is NOT the time.
“It’s Chad!” she blurts.
“What about Ch—?”
The sentence dies on my lips.
Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no.
So, clearly, I’ve just passed out from lack of food and too much excitement and I’m just in a coma now and Chad has never left my side for a second and he replaces the flowers in my room every time they start to wilt because of course he loves me and of course he would never want STACEY she’s my best friend for YEARS...
Stacey is sobbing, face in her hands. I’m staring at nothing. My head is a dead, empty, gray blank.
I stand up. Stacey looks at me, eyes big with fear and shame.
I take a step. Stacey wipes her nose with the back of her hand and sniffs loudly.
Everyone else in the room starts to notice something is off. They’re all gathering, looking from me to Stacey, asking half-formed questions.
“What’s going on, guys?” someone says.
“I’m sorry, Claire!” Stacey calls. I’m halfway to the door.
“Claire... what’s wrong?” someone else asks.
“Ask her,” I say, pointing at Stacey as I grasp the door handle.
Everyone’s attention locks on Stacey, who just cries harder. I take the opportunity to slip from the room and into the hallway beyond. The feeling of unreality is very strong. I’m not heartbroken. I’m... elsewhere.
I’m going to wake up any second now.
I’m walking down the hallway; I can see the heavy double doors leading into the sanctuary.
Did you fuck her in our bed, Chad? Did you grunt for her and sweat on her and show her that animal side of you that was ours, ONLY OURS, Chad, you goddamn son of a bitch??
All at once, every memory I have of me and Chad has fucking Stacey photoshopped into it.
I have to hold back the tears. If only for a couple of minutes, I have to. The doors are closer now.
Why did it have to be STACEY, Chad?
I see myself going back to the dressing room, tackling Stacey, ripping those stupid drop earrings right out of her stupid home-wrecking earlobes. An image appears in my head of Chad sucking on one of those earlobes, and I’m ready to puke up two bites of strawberry and half a bottle of champagne.
It’ll look like I’m throwing up blood, I think. Then again, my heart is crushed, so maybe that’s fitting.
I push through the doors into the sanctuary. The room is full, guests in tuxedos and gowns milling about, nobody paying any attention to me. I move through the crowd, drawing surprised glances from everyone I pass. I make my way toward the altar, climb the steps onto the stage...
“Hi, hello, yes,” I announce to the room. By this time, everybody’s aware that something is up. They’re all staring at me. Any other situation, I’d be dying of stage fright.
“I know this is unusual,” I start, and I detect a slight slur in my voice, “me, up here, addressing you like this. But I just wanted to offer a toast...” I realize nobody’s holding a drink; this is the wedding, not the reception. The guests are shrugging at each other, don’t look at me, I dunno what’s wrong with her.
“A toast,” I say, more forcefully, as if I can will drinks into people’s hands. They should be toasting; it’s the end of an era. “I know a lot of you came a long way to be here today. But the sad news is that there will not be a wedding today.”
Uhh boy, Bridezilla from Hell, I can hear them thinking.
“There will not be a wedding today,” I say, to cut them off before they can judge me any harder, “because my beautiful fiancé, who many of you know as Chad, decided it would be super duper cool and stuff to basically fuck my best friend right under my nose... so I’ve decided...” My voice is breaking. Reality is coming back.
So apparently, I’m NOT about to wake up...
The room is in stunned silence.
Doors on the other side of the room open, and I see Chad, followed by his men of honor. He’s making his way through the crowd towards the stage, his sandy eyebrows a deep V in his forehead.
“Claire!” I hear him call out. I take off down the steps, off the stage, and push through the crowd towards the front doors. They’re all asking questions as I go by.
“How did you find out?”
“Are you sure it’s true?”
“What positions did they use?”
“Did Stacey get married yet?”
“Harold, put your hearing aids in so you know what’s going on!”
“Hush, woman—you’d think after eighty-three years on this earth I’d know how to listen to a damn conversa—”
“You’re eighty-six, Harold.”
I push through the front doors of the church. I can hear Chad behind me calling my name...
