Chapter 25: Ophelia

Chapter 25: Ophelia

"Is it bad luck to wear black to a wedding?" I ask hopefully. My closet is not offering much in the way of a solution and the minutes are ticking by. At this rate, I’m going to show up at City Hall naked.

I can almost guarantee that’ll cause exactly the kind of scandal Xavier wants to avoid.

"If you’re the bride it is. Don’t you have anything that isn’t black?" Marley’s rear end is only partially visible, as she’s head first in the depths of my closet. "Also, I feel like I’m in some sort of alternate universe. You. A bride. I still don’t know how this happened. Are you sure? Like sure you’re sure?"

I lie back on my bed and cover my face with my hands. Sundance takes this as an opportunity to pounce onto my stomach and start making biscuits. Seeing as how he weighs seventeen pounds, this feels like he’s trying to give me CPR or the Heimlich over and over.

"I have a light ivory cable knit, but there’s a good possibility that it has coffee stains down the front of it, and yes, I’m sure, so stop questioning me. We only have about three hours to transfer me into a blushing bride."

Marley’s head pops out of the closet, eying me warily. It’s time to lay it on thick.

"Marl, I can’t even explain how it happened. We chatted one night—all night—and the next day he was on a train to see me. You know how they say ’when you know, you know?’ Well, we just knew. There’s no sense in waiting."

Her eyes narrow, considering my words.

"And this time, it’s not me being impulsive and stupid. He wants to marry me. He sees who I am, beyond my messes, and still wants me. How can I not love that?"

Marley harrumphs. "You are wonderful. I don’t know why it’s taken someone so long to see it."

She’s coming around. At least I hope she is. I stare at my ceiling and silently beg the universe to make her see it my way. I know she’s turned the corner when she says, "You are not getting married in a sweater, let alone one with stains. How do you not have any white dresses?"

I lift my head to see her over the mound of yellow cat on my stomach. "See previous comment about spilling coffee. Also, I’m pasty white as a baseline, so white’s not the best color on me. It looks so much better on you. That’s why you always get white."

As soon as I say it, Marley lets out a dramatic groan. "Arrgh. Why didn’t we think of it sooner? I’ll be back as soon as I can. Get to work on your hair." Marley looks for her shoes, which may have disappeared into the abyss of clothes that now cover most of the bedroom floor. "And pick up this mess, because you don’t want to have your wedding night in this chaos."

While my curling iron’s heating up, I shove my clothes back into the closet. I’ll worry about those later. It’s been ages since I’ve curled my hair, though this is a pricey curling iron I was compelled to buy during the height of the first lockdown, mostly because everyone on ClikClak said it was revolutionary.

About every other curl is coming out well. The others, yikes. I may have to fall back on some of the other hairstyles ClikClak told me about, most of which involve flipping the hair through itself and twisting it around.

By the time Marley comes bursting back through my door, I’ve managed to get my hair into a purposefully messy chignon that looks elegant and romantic. A few face-framing pieces and a pound of hairspray, and I’m good to go, at least with that.

"I brought these three." Marley waves a garment bag. "I hope one will work."

I wasn’t kidding when I said white was her color. It’s stunning on her bronze skin.

There’s a long sheath dress with a cowl neck that’s too long on me. There’s a lacy summer two-piece jumpsuit that looks totally inappropriate for the occasion. Not to mention the pants are about six inches too long for me.

But then I see it.

"Where’d you get this?" I can’t take my eyes off the last dress.

"I wore that for a homecoming in high school. I was afraid if I left it at home, Mom would donate it to Goodwill, and it was my favorite of all my fancy dresses."

Even on the hanger, I couldn’t have asked for a better dress. The top is shiny silver with spaghetti straps, while the skirt is white organza. "I hope it fits."

I don’t know what I’ll do if it doesn’t.

"It should. I was smaller back then. Go try it on."

I rush to the bathroom, my hands shaking as I zip the zipper. It’s a little snug, but I can get through the afternoon in it. The neckline plunges enough to be sexy without making me look trashy.

But the best part is that it’s totally giving me Keira Knightly vibes. She wore something with a similar skirt when she got married, though I think hers was Chanel Haute Couture.

I walk out of the bathroom and twirl. "It’s perfect."

Marley clasps her hands to her chest. "It’s perfect," she agrees. "I can’t believe you’re actually getting married. I can’t believe this is all happening."

While normally I’d beg her to come, I’m nervous about how it would all play out in front of her. I’m not that good of an actress. If this were real though, I’d never be able to do it without Marley by my side.

"I know. I’ve … I’ve never felt this way before." Totally insane that is. "We just knew and, I don’t know, it seems like the most romantic thing ever." I work on my makeup so I don’t have to look at my best friend.

Somehow it’s easier to lie to her if I’m not making eye contact.

Marley finishes picking up my clothes, even going so far as to hang some up. She pulls a pair of strappy silver heels out of my closet. "I think these will work."

And suddenly, even though it’s a fake marriage, I don’t want to get married without my ride-or-die there. "You have to come. I want to share this with you too. You have to be there."

Marley squeals and I squeal, and then I return to finishing my makeup. We’re too busy squealing to notice Xavier standing in the doorway. It’s not until he clears his throat, scaring the bejeezus out of us, that we even realize he’s back.

By the way, when you’re trying to put lipstick on and someone startles you, there’s about a one hundred percent chance you’re going to end up drawing way outside the lip line.

This has never happened to Julia Roberts. Though it would totally have happened to Hugh Grant if he wore lipstick.

"Marley’s going to come with us," I say, not making eye contact as I dab at the pink streak on my cheek.

"Actually, I can’t. I want to, but I have to get back to work. Can you go after I get off? I don’t want to miss this."

It occurs to me that it’s the middle of the day on Thursday. "No, the appointments are super limited and with the holidays coming up, it was either this one or wait until January. And how did you get here now? It’s the middle of the day."

"I told them I had a doctor’s appointment, but I have to get back. Tessa is out sick, and I have to assist Dr. Simmons with his in-office procedures. There’s no one else to prepare his sterile fields and clean up." She sticks out her bottom lip. "If it were any other day …"

I hang my head for a moment. I know Marley can’t drop everything. There are patients who have actual real needs, not just my pretend wedding. Still, I’d feel better with her there.

Marley gives me a quick hug goodbye, taking care not to mess my face or hair. "Xavier, can I talk to you for a second?" she asks, as she walks by him.

Knowing Marley, she’s going to threaten him into taking care of me. I shouldn’t be surprised. Marley designated herself as my mother hen when we first met. I look around the room and realize it’s neater than when we started. Yup. That’s Marley for you.

Xavier returns to the doorway, a slight flush on his cheeks.

He looks me up and down, and if I’m not mistaken, I see his jaw go a little slack. "You look quite smashing. Lovely. Truly lovely." He clears his throat. "Uh, are you ready to leave? There’s a fee if we’re late, and we’re the last appointment of the day."

Heat fills my cheeks at his compliment. I don’t think he’s ever even commented on my appearance before. "I just need my earrings." I put in a pair of shiny cubic zirconia studs, and then I do a little twirl. "What else do we need?"

Xavier is reading from his phone. "The marriage license we’ll get there, ID, money, and masks. And it looks as if your friend wouldn’t be allowed in anyway. No guests."

"That stinks. I’m so over this whole COVID thing. But at least I’m not one of those brides who spent thousands on a wedding only to have it canceled. I never anticipated a wedding at all."

But as I say it, I start to think about all the wedding things I won’t have. Like my dad giving me away and cake and …

"I can’t say I did either. Certainly not like this. But you can’t have a proper wedding without this." Xavier pulls a small bouquet of white flowers out from behind his back. The roses, lily of the valley, and greenery are absolutely perfect. I press my lips together, unable to form words.

This is the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me.

This is definitely going in the book as a gesture to win over the heroine. I hurry to film a few seconds, close enough that you can’t tell it’s a bouquet, and post to ClikClak with the caption, "Flowers from a boy" #xoxo. If it’s on my feed, I’ll remember to write it down in my notebook tonight when we get back.

We’re not even married yet, and the book is practically writing itself.

"We ready to go?" Xavier asks, donning a long coat over his blue suit. I’m not going to lie, I think he may look hotter in the suit than he does in the towel. Okay, not really, but the suit is a close second. Maybe I can take a picture of him to use on the cover of a book. He’s totally dreamy enough.

I open the hall closet where my raspberry wool dress coat hangs. I’ve had it since college and hardly ever wear it anymore, but it seems wrong to put my Northface puffer on over this beautiful dress.

"Let’s grab an Uber. You’re too clean to ride the T. Plus those shoes don’t look sensible for walking."

Once we slide into the back of the car, I look at my ClikClak to see the notifications for my last video. It’s not viral—yet—but it’s getting there. I should have made one of those time-lapse videos counting down the time to our wedding.

Xavier also has his phone out. "Let’s do one for Instagram." He pulls his mask down and I do the same. I slide in close to him as he reaches around me to get the selfie. My flowers are perfectly blurred at the bottom of the picture. I don’t look half bad myself. I mean, I’m not on his level, nor will I ever be, but I am reminded that if I put in a little effort, I’m rather pretty.

I hope he thinks so too. Not like it matters.

It’s not like he’s really my fiancé or anything. This isn’t my real wedding. If it were, I’d have a bouquet of hydrangeas, not roses. And Marley would be here. So would my parents and brothers. My dad would be beaming with pride and my mother would be wiping her mascara away with her tears of sheer joy. My gown would be long and would not be borrowed and would not be so tight that it makes it hard to breathe.

And the man I would be marrying would actually love me.

But I don’t get my dream wedding. I should enjoy this because it’s all I may ever have.

Suddenly my eyes are full of tears. I pull my mask back up and stare out the window, trying to blink them back.

This is without a doubt the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.