The glass the bride was holding looked like it was filled with champagne, and she appreciated how the caterers had done that for her. This way, no one would even suspect that she couldn’t drink alcohol. Not that she didn’t want to. God, after a ceremony like that, who wouldn’t want to, but she wasn’t supposed to. She was far enough along that it would pose a danger to the fetus. Hence, the fake champagne. Water would have been better, but her in-laws didn’t want the rest of their side of the family to suspect her condition. They didn’t seem to care what her side of the family thought, although who among her family was there to do the thinking?
Neither of her parents had shown. She wasn’t exactly surprised, since her dad would’ve been there if he wasn’t buried six feet under in the family cemetery, and she hadn’t seen her mom in person since second (third?) grade. She hadn’t spoken to her either, beyond the occasional happy birthday text. As far as the bride knew, the email containing the invitation to her wedding was unopened in her mother’s inbox. Nobody had walked her down the aisle, nobody had “given her away,” and there was no father-daughter dance. Shame. The groom’s family and friends made up the brunt of the guest list, since the bride herself was (to put it tastefully) estranged from any and all living family members, and her friends, all residing in different countries, probably couldn’t have made it on such short notice. She didn’t mind. His family was nice (in their own way), his friends were friendly (enough), and he...
He wasn’t who she imagined marrying. Not at all. She actually had been operating for most of her life under the assumption that she would never (ever, under any circumstances) get married. She had seen what marriage did to her father. It had taken a man that could’ve done great things, could’ve changed the world, and killed him, suffocated him under expectations and pressure. And she knew that for her, it would be even worse. Especially with this guy and his insufferably uber-traditional, ultra-conservative family. He himself was a decent guy, funny, nice to talk to, actually listened, but she had no idea how he got like that when he had a family like this.
His family were the ones who pushed them into a shotgun marriage in the first place. If she had been able to have her say in all this, she would’ve lied about the father and absconded to Puerto Rico. Or New Zealand. She had friends there. But no, a good Cain boy didn’t get a woman pregnant without marrying her, that wasn’t done, and David Cain was nothing if not a good Cain boy who always listened to his mom. Across the room she caught the gaze of June Cain, and immediately straightened up. If her new mother-in-law caught her slouching, there would be hell to pay.
Luckily for her, June hadn’t even spared her a glance and was instead on the warpath toward the gifts table, for some indiscernible reason. If the bride had to guess, she would’ve guessed that June was on the lookout for her errant disappearing son. Either son, the bride realized as she looked around. David was just as missing as his family-disappointment-of-a-brother—oh, no, Wenceslas was just in the corner, making out with what looked like his cousin’s girlfriend. Typical Wenceslas.
But where was David? To be as negligent as to be absent from his own wedding was quite unlike him. He was the honorable type, diligent and respectful and way too nice for his own good. He was lucky to have his best man (and best friend). If it weren’t for Dante, the bride herself probably would have lost her mind weeks ago from all of June’s meddling and Wenceslas’s tomfoolery. Dante was the voice of reason, and didn’t edge around June like she was a hazard in floral patterns and pumps the way so many seemed to. On second thought, she and David were lucky to have him, not he wouldn’t’ve been there. She thinks she knows more about David and Dante’s relationship than about David himself. David and Dante had been college roommates, she had been told, and before that they were co-captains of their high school football team, and before that they sat next to each other all throughout middle school, and before that, they were partners for the elementary science project that got them first place at the science fair, and before that their mothers had attended the same pregnant yoga class. They had History with a capital H.
She had seen Dante (always holding a drink in his hand, like she wished she could do) all throughout the reception, but now she had no idea where he was. David and Dante both missing? That was concerning. Very much so. If both David and Dante were gone, that meant that there was no one to intervene when one of the Cains tried to talk to the bride. Maybe it was time for some fresh air.
June was at the other end of the event hall when the bride stood, holding a porcelain vase that the bride had noticed earlier. June didn’t look happy about it, or about being stopped by her mother-in-law, who looked like she was probably saying something shrewish about the decorations. If the bride were a nicer person, or if June hadn’t made her feel like this whole wedding was her fault, she might’ve gone over to intervene. However, June’s words, from the night David told his parents about her… situation, still rang in the bride’s head every so often (the bride to be was shut outside by venomous words and a closed door: “She comes from nothing, David! Her name means nothing! She’s lucky there’s potential to turn her into a good society wife, or else...well, let’s hope she knows how lucky she is.”), and so she turned away, towards the door that led to the garden.
The garden was emptier than she was hoping when she walked outside. There were only two people in the lighted gazebo, both of them leaning against the railing with their backs to her and far enough away that she couldn’t hear what they were saying. They both had suits on, so it was reasonable to assume that the missing groom and best man had just been located, not that she was going to tell anyone. Nor was she going to approach. Instead, she chose to stand at a distance, letting the chill of the night seep into her skin.
As she watched, one of the men at the gazebo turned his head to look at the man next to him, something like surprise clear on his now visible face. That was David, then. And wherever David went, Dante followed. David said something, probably a question, and Dante shrugged, his head tipping back as he looked up. David opened his mouth to continue, seemed to think better of it, and then placed a hand on Dante’s shoulder. That surprised Dante, and he looked at his friend. David shrugged and said something else, and then Dante surged forward, his hands grabbing at the lapels of David’s tuxedo and pulling him in for a kiss.
The bride figured she should feel...something. About this. Watching your husband, however new the relationship and however forced the circumstances, share a passionate kiss with another person, should be something that makes a person angry, or sad, or betrayed, right? But as David relaxed into the kiss, his hand coming up to cup Dante’s cheek, the bride couldn’t muster up anything more negative than envy. And not envy over how Dante was kissing David (she had done that herself, and more and honestly she hadn’t been that into it) but envy over how David was doing (was having) something he wanted. Truly wanted.
The two broke apart, lingering in each other's space for a bit, before David realized what they had done, glancing towards the door back into the event hall in a panic, his gaze landing on the bride. He looked remarkably like a deer caught in the headlights: terrified, like something he held dear was going to be snatched away from him by an uncaring thing. Dante, on the other hand, was glaring at her. Right, she was married to the guy he just kissed and (if she was being honest) had been in love with for a while.
David opened his mouth, probably to apologize, and she shook her head. Thank God she wasn’t alone in not wanting this. Knowing Dante, the pair would be on the road in half an hour, and probably wouldn’t return until the Cains collectively got out of the old guard propriety mindset. Or until Wenceslas did something that made David running away from his wedding with his best friend look tame in comparison. It made her decision easier. She lifted her hand and waved, a wry smile on her lips, and David relaxed, recognizing the gesture for what it was. He lifted the hand not intertwined with Dante’s in farewell and smiled, more genuine than she could ever be. That was how she would remember him. Genuine.
On her way out, in a hoodie and sweatpants, the dress left behind in the dressing room, and her hair a mess that made her feel like herself again, she had been forced to hide in a side room as June passed, almost certainly looking for her. In it, she found the remains of the porcelain vase that had so disgusted June and that had made Wenceslas ugly-laugh when he saw it. It had been beautiful, handcrafted by Dante, if she remembered correctly, but now it was lying in shattered shards on the floor. One shard stood out to her, a small, delicately painted face, and she picked it up, careful to not cut herself. She remembered what this shard had been a part of: an intricately painted image of her and David, him in his tux and her in the dress she just left behind. She remembered he painted her looking tense, like even this idealized version of herself didn’t want to be there, but this shard looked different. The shard framed her face perfectly as it looked up at her, the expression unreadable, but almost happy. Like she was free.
She slipped the shard into her pocket, and climbed out the window.
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