Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
My stomach plummets. “M-My wedding?”
I sound shocked because I am. Matthew proposed to me during our senior year at Auburn, the weekend before spring break. He’d gone to the trouble to set up a private room at a fancy Italian restaurant, and I remember taking care with my appearance that night more than ever before. I was so nervous I could barely get through our meal before Matthew got down on one knee and asked me to marry him. I said yes and all our friends poured into the private room from the hallway where they’d been listening in.
At the time, we had so much going on that we agreed to set a date for the wedding later. We were young, we had time. We felt like there was no rush, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t have all the important items already squared away. In fact, I had the whole thing planned. Early autumn. Outside at the Waldorf. Ceremony at sunset. Cocktail hour followed by a night of dancing in the Shanghai ballroom. Fiona and I had pored meticulously over floral options and finally settled on all white. We agreed it was traditional yet daring, bold and memorable.
“We received a call from the Waldorf just a few minutes ago, confirming your date. You know how Patricia likes to be on top of things.” Patricia is the Waldorf’s in-house wedding coordinator. She’s meticulous and thorough. I’ve worked with her dozens of times in the last few years. “She asked for confirmed florals by the end of the month, which would usually be out of the question except you and I have had them nailed down forever. Before I shoot her over this PDF, I just wanted to make sure nothing has changed.”
I feel so dizzy I have to sit down on the edge of my childhood bed: frilly, pink, stained with cranberry juice in the bottom right corner.
“I’m sorry, Fiona.” My voice is shaking as I speak. “I…I assumed you got my email that the wedding had been postponed.”
“Yes! Of course,” she rushes out quickly, “but then there was the follow-up email earlier this week that it was back on and moving fast. Early July is insane, but if anyone can pull off a wedding in four weeks, it’s you!”
Her tone is so chipper it makes me sick. I think my heart might take flight out of my chest.
“There’s been a mistake. Who…who did you say sent this email?”
“Matthew. And then he called yesterday…”
“I canceled this wedding.”
“Yes…and now you’ve un-canceled it.” She laughs lightly, totally not understanding the situation.
Finally, like a crazed criminal confessing under duress, I shout shrilly, “IT’S NOT MY WEDDING!”
My loud breathing fills the tense silence.
Fiona clears her throat. “Oh. I-I apologize for the call and well…I apologize.”
Then she hangs up.
Immediately, I open Facebook and type Matthew’s name in the search bar. Congratulations flood his profile. My shaking fingers scroll down.
Can’t wait to celebrate! Just booked my flight!
Let’s get Matthew hitched. #EmmaChoseMatthew
Matthew, this is your uncle Bob. Call me when you can. Aunt Dorothy and I are excited about your wedding. Is there a room block at the Waldorf?
Then further down, I see it. The engagement announcement post. A photo of Matthew on one knee, a blonde woman holding her hands over her mouth in surprise, her thin frame poured into a provocative red dress.
SHE SAID YES! the caption reads.
Matthew is marrying his mistress weeks after ending our engagement. He’s deleted every trace of me from his Facebook profile, and his family and friends—people I’ve known for years—apparently think it’s totally fine.
I feel rage like I’ve never experienced. It might explode out of me like a power surge. I call the Waldorf and ask for Patricia. She’s not available, but her assistant is.
“This is Madison from Evermore Events,” I tell her.
“Hey, Madison!”
“I’m just calling to confirm details for the Mason wedding the first week of July.”
“Oh sure, let me pull up the info. It’ll just take a second. This computer has been so slow today. You having a good day?”
The fact that I have to do small talk at a time like this is so absurd I could laugh.
“Oh, I’m swell. How about you?”
“So-so. My IBS has been acting up more than usual and my doctor thinks it could be related to…” I squeeze my eyes closed and think about a tropical island. A soft breeze. A coconut cocktail. Then finally, “Okay, here we go. I have July 1st, sunset ceremony at 6:30, followed by cocktails and light bites. The reception is slated for the Shanghai ballroom.”
“With Tinsel Cakes?”
“Yes. They’ll provide the wedding cake and—”
“Petit fours,” I finish for her. “And are the Cover-Ups playing the reception?”
“Yes. Actually while I have you here, I was wondering if you’d decided what time you wanted—”
I hang up on her.
Matthew is marrying his mistress and doing my dream wedding. They will have their first kiss as man and wife just before the sun drops below the horizon. They will cut into an almond cake with vanilla buttercream and playfully dab a little bit of frosting on each other’s noses. She will carry a white bouquet made of peonies, calla lilies, and orchids that I painstakingly designed with Fiona.