Chapter 22 - Marina’s Wedding
Marina married at thirty six.
I was maid of honor.
She chose me mostly because she enjoyed irony.
“Do not make me wear mauve.”
“You’re wearing mauve.”
“I hate you.”
“Documented.”
Her husband, Ethan Park, owned a small architecture firm.
Reliable.
Boring in best way.
At rehearsal, Marina said:
“If I ever start using the word family to justify stealing, slap me.”
“No.”
“What?”
“We learned better.”
“Fine. Send Raymond.”
He was invited.
He danced terribly.
At wedding, someone spilled red wine on Marina’s dress.
The woman froze.
Marina looked down.
Then laughed.
“Of course.”
I laughed too.
No one got slapped.
No one was humiliated.
A stain became stain.
It sounds trivial.
It wasn’t.
At reception, Raymond asked:
“Do you ever miss Adrian?”
I answered honestly.
“Yes.”
“Which Adrian?”
That stopped me.
“The one I thought existed.”
“Reasonable.”
“And sometimes the real one before resentment swallowed him.”
Raymond nodded.
People are complicated.
Adrian had not spent eight years pretending every minute.
There had been breakfasts.
Vacations.
Sick days.
Kindness.
Real laughter.
He also cheated.
Forged.
Manipulated.
Ignored hospital.
Both histories existed.
I did not need to rewrite every happy memory into evidence of evil.
That was healing too.
Then Marina tossed bouquet.
I deliberately stepped backward.
It hit Raymond.
The room exploded.
May you like
He looked horrified.
Best part of wedding.
