On the day of my non-wedding, I wake up almost cheerful. Today, finally, the nightmare will be over.
I dress up and pamper up as if this actually were my wedding day. I get my hair professionally styled, my makeup done, and pull on the dress, which turned out a lot better than I could have ever imagined.
The puffy sleeves have been subdued into fitted long sleeves, and I’m channeling all the right Kate Middleton vibes. I’m wearing boots instead of fancy shoes, and my lace sleeves aren’t see-through, but it’s winter. Adjustments had to be made.
I raise my skirts and look at the pretty knee-length, round-point white leather boots. These are the only accessory I remember picking out of the entire outfit. They’re warm, practical, and the heel is not too high.
Pity no one will get to see them. At least, not today.
I sit on my bed and take a couple of selfies. My face hasn’t looked this good in, well… ever. The makeup artist was a contouring master, and if it hadn’t taken her an hour to create her masterpiece, I’d learn how to contour myself.
I’m still making silly faces at my phone when my mom barges into the room.
“Kate, why are you hiding up here? And don’t sit on the bed, you’re going to wrinkle your skirt. Come on, we have to move or we’ll be late. Everyone is at the church already.”
“Everyone?” I ask, as a tingle of dread rises up my arms and gives me goose bumps. “All the guests, you mean.”
“The guests, the pastor, your fiancé. Everyone.”
“Chuck’s there?” I squawk.
Mom gives me a weird look. “Of course. Where else would he be? It’s his wedding, too. In fact, he’s been welcoming guests for half the morning. Annika says everything is ready to go—we just need you.”
Annika is the wedding planner Mom hired.
I try to keep a straight face as my heart threatens to explode out of my chest and go cower in a dark corner. What now? What is Chuck playing at?
Last night, he promised he wouldn’t show today. What’s he doing at the church? Was yesterday’s promise a trick?
He’s totally reversed gears on me, and now that the groom is present, the only alternative is that I bail. But I can’t bring myself to do it. I’m no Julia Roberts. I can’t pull off the runaway bride act and live with everybody in town hating me forever.
Oh, he must think he’s being so clever.
Think again, buddy. You’re not turning me into the bad guy.
I’m going to call Chuck’s bluff like it’s no one’s business.
I grab the white faux-fur jacket—the final piece of my outfit—from its stand on the wall and let Mom help me put it on. Then I gather my skirts and exit the room. “Come on, Mom, let’s go.”
***
Twenty minutes later, as my dad makes the last turn on the dwindling uphill road that leads to the church and parks on the cobbled plaza in front of the chapel, I don’t feel so smug anymore.
Dad’s black Cadillac SUV, like everything else, got a complete makeover today. The florist came to the house earlier and decorated the car with white ribbons and a flower piece on the hood that forced us to drive at ten miles per hour to reach St. James, allowing me to experience all the various stages of panic during the slow journey: anxiety, cold fear, jitters, hysterics. And now, as we get out, hot sweats—even if outside the temperature is flirting with the below thirties.
Luckily, the wedding planner suggested a traditional entrance for the bride, where all the guests are gathered inside the chapel, and only the photographer and Josiane Masson—when did she even get back?—are waiting for me outside.
Mom gives me one last tearful, quick hug and then sneaks into the church to take her seat in the front row.
Soon, it’s only Dad and me. And our devoted photography team, of course.
He offers me his elbow with a proud smile that fills me with shame. “Shall we?”
I swallow and take his arm. As if on cue, Everything Has Changed by Taylor Swift ft. Ed Sheeran begins to play inside the church.
Who chose this song?
It must have been Chuck. Everything Has Changed has been our song since the first time we saw the video of the two best friend kids destined to fall in love. We might’ve been those kids.
But I surely didn’t tell anyone to play this song as I walked down the aisle, because I never planned to walk down the aisle. Why did Chuck request this song? Has this been his plan all along—to win me back by tricking me into marrying him?
I know I sound crazy. But really. It’s our song. Just hearing it brings on a wave of … even more confused feelings.
I’m petrified, I can’t move. But Dad gives me a gentle push and prompts me forward as we make our grand entry into the church. The setting, the music, the flowers are all very grandiose and romantic.
And the damn song! It carries so many wonderful, tender memories; it’s really hard to stay cool or remain indifferent. My poor heart is suffering too many contrasting emotions—fear, regret, longing, even love, maybe—to know what to do with itself. It’s pulsing in my chest in an agitated beat, making it hard to focus on anything but my own two feet.
Then I lift my gaze and meet Chuck’s eyes for the first time. The palpitations don’t improve—quite the contrary.
The groom is devastatingly handsome in his black suit and with his hair combed back. Chuck’s face is still on the pale side—he’s probably not fully recovered from the past days’ revelries—but then, the Gentleman Vampire look always suited him.
Once our eyes lock, they stay together. I don’t know what either of us is thinking. My head is exploding with all the reasons I should turn around and run for my life. Except, bizarrely, my heartbeat has ceased its frantic racing. That stupid organ is watching Chuck, and it likes what it sees. It could be the song, or the fact that Chuck’s eyes have never looked bluer. Whatever it is, warmth spreads from my heart all the way up to the tips of my ears and down to the tips of my toes.
The walk to the altar is both too long and over too soon. When my dad finally hands me over to Chuck, my feelings aren’t any more sorted. For an instant, Chuck and I stand in front of each other, transfixed. But then the rational part of me takes over, and I pretend-hug the groom so I can whisper in his ear, “What are you doing here?”
Chuck tries to pull back, but I hold on tight, so he can’t escape.
“What do you mean, what am I doing here?” he hisses.
I ignore how intoxicating his cologne is. “You were supposed to bail on the wedding. You promised last night.”
“Kate, I haven’t seen you for two days.”
“No, but we talked last night over the phone, and you—”
“No, we didn’t.”
He sounds so certain. Oh, gosh. He must’ve still been too drunk to remember our conversation. What now?
Pastor Grant loudly clears his throat behind us. “Now, now, kids, you’ll have the rest of your lives to catch up,” he says, prompting a few guests to chuckle.
Chuck and I pull apart and take our places at the altar, because what else are we supposed to do? Everyone we know and love is sitting there in the audience, staring up at us with happiness and anticipation. I have no idea what is about to happen. But it looks a lot like we’re about to get married.
“Dearly beloved,” Pastor Grant intones. “We’re gathered here today in the presence of family and friends to join this man and this woman in matrimony. In the years they’ve been a couple, their love and understanding of each other has grown and matured, and now Chuck and Kate have decided to live their lives together as husband and wife.”
The pastor pauses for air, and I realize what’s about to come next. My one last chance at coming out of this church unwed. “Now, before we proceed. If any person present has a reason this couple may not be joined in matrimony, let them speak now or forever hold their peace.”
A long pause ensues, and we all look around waiting to see if anyone will speak. I have a fleeting fantasy that Marco will burst through the doors and challenge the marriage, giving me the perfect opportunity to make a run for it… but no, he’s nowhere to be seen.
Should I speak? Am I allowed to object to my own wedding? Chuck looks like he might say something, but then he presses his lips tightly together and keeps his mouth shut.
I’m not sure what I was expecting. For the ceiling to split open and lightning to incinerate us, maybe, or for the floor to swallow us and carry us to hell, where we surely deserve to be for all the lies we’ve told. Or back to my Marco fantasy—except for some reason this time he bursts into the church riding a horse, probably to make the moment more dramatic. But none of that happens—and when I glance desperately at Pops Teddy, hoping that he’ll say something since he’s the only one who knows the truth, he just gives me a supportive smile.
The deafening silence rings in my ears as I stand there, stunned, while no one speaks up. The moment passes and goes, leaving Pastor Grant free to carry on with the ceremony.
“Please join hands,” he instructs us. Turning toward Chuck, he asks, “Do you, Chuck, take Kate to be your lawfully wedded wife, promising to love and cherish her, through joy and sorrow, sickness and health, and whatever challenges life may throw at you, for as long as you both shall live?”
Chuck’s hands are cold and clammy. Is he freaking out as much as I am? He stares at me in silence for a long time, as if fighting an internal struggle.
After a while, Pastor Grant coughs. “Err, Chuck, do you?”
Chuck blinks at the pastor, looking lost, as if he didn’t know where he is or what he’s doing. Then he looks back at me, squeezes my hands, and, giving me a cryptic wink, turns toward the congregation.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t,” he announces.
A shocked, collective gasp rises from the audience.
Still holding my hands, he looks at me and, in a clear voice, says, “Kate, nothing would make me happier than to become your husband, but not today, not like this.”
He lets go of one of my hands and, keeping the other for support, I assume, turns to face the audience. “The truth is that Kate and I broke up months ago.” Another dismayed gasp shakes the crowd. “In fact, Kate has a new boyfriend. His name is Marco. He’s half Cuban, a professor of Latin Art, and he likes to run. Like, a lot.”
My face and neck flame in embarrassment. Elbowing him with my free arm, I hiss, “We don’t need to be that specific, Chuck.”
He just grins, the jerk. The smile quickly fades as he turns to face our parents. “Mom, Dad, Lillian, Mick… We know how much you loved the idea of us getting married, and for our families to finally become one. That’s why Kate and I didn’t have the heart to tell you we’d split up. Instead, we kept lying to you for months, pretending we still lived together. We came home prepared to tell the truth, but then you told us about the Chucokate and the entire campaign you had planned around us as a couple, and we didn’t know what to do. And then Nana Fern gave me the ring, and I was showing it to Kate and it fell to the floor, and I got on one knee to pick it up, and that’s when you walked through the door, Lillian, and assumed I was proposing to Kate, so I did, and Kate was forced to say yes.”
Our parents’ jaws—along with every other jaw in the room—have dropped so low I’m surprised they haven’t dislocated. It’s hard to blame them—it’s a hell of a truth bomb to drop on anyone, especially at a wedding.
Mom recovers first. “So… it was all a lie?”
“I’m afraid so,” I say.
“But what about baby Margot?”
“There’s no baby, Mom. You overheard us talking about the breakup and must’ve heard wrong. When you confronted me and asked for a different explanation for a secret that was making me sick to my stomach I should’ve said it was lying to you all, but I didn’t.”
“We swear we wanted to come clean the next day,” Chuck continues, “but we didn’t want to ruin our last Christmas together.”
“Then the day after the entire town brought presents,” I take over.
“And then you bought us a surprise house,” Chuck says.
“And then the Japanese investors came.”
“And then the ambush bachelor party happened.”
“And then…” I stop, realizing I’ve run out of and-thens. “I know it sounds like a pile of excuses, but I swear, we tried to tell you a million times.”
My mother’s eyes are watering. She looks devastated. So, basically, the exact thing I’ve been trying so hard to avoid.
“And you felt the right time to come clean was at your wedding?” she says faintly.
“We were scared,” Chuck blurts. “You put so much pressure on us, on our relationship—did you even think to ask us about the Chucokate campaign before barging ahead with it? We didn’t know how to tell you. We didn’t want to disappoint you. And, in short…” He takes a deep breath. “That’s why we can’t get married today.”
Dead silence in the church. Someone coughs, and it feels as loud as a gunshot.
Well, that went terribly. Time to make a graceless exit. I squeeze Chuck’s hand as I say, “Thank you for coming. Sorry for how it turned out. Now, if you’ll excuse us…”
Time to run away from our own wedding.