The three of them hurried to place all the flowers onto the tables, anxious to complete the job. Each table got a large urn, overflowing with large circus roses, which were then surrounded by a ring of cranberries and vanilla votive candles. Each white chair was draped with a champagne chair cover and chocolate bow. Elly placed a single wired pinecone into each nook on the back of the ribbon. Anthony finished the job by sprinkling the head table with handfuls and handfuls of red rose petals, so only the plates were visible in a sea of crimson. Elly stepped back to look at their work. The cement Pavilion had been turned into a rustic fall celebration, blazing with vibrant reds, oranges and yellows. It was a masterpiece. She felt a momentary peace, watching Anthony and Snarky Teenager head back down the river of stairs, glancing back at a job well done.
It was then that she saw them, walking playfully over the ridge: the bride and groom, followed by their photographer. Her bride, Cynthia, looked luminous in a fitted mermaid dress with elaborate ruching and a large black sash just under her bust. Her hair was covered with a short netted veil, accented with a silk black flower. The groom held her hand as she climbed up on a small brick wall for pictures, then leapt up beside her. He whispered something in her ear as he tucked back a stray piece of hair behind it. She smiled coyly and kissed his face softly. He wiped her lipstick off his cheek and they both laughed, the photographer capturing every second, their happiness unmistakable. Elly felt a formidable grief rush through her, as though she had been impaled through the heart. She looked back at her bride, who had transformed from the sweet and lovely Cynthia to a devilish Lucia, her deep red curls whipping around her face as Aaron stared into her eyes, captivated by their angry green hue. They both turned and looked toward Elly, whispering to each other as they sized her up, devouring every ounce of self esteem she had left. They locked lips passionately, clasping at each other with fervor. Elly turned and vomited into a bush.
She closed her eyes and waited for the dizziness to stop as she wiped her mouth with her hand. Above her, she heard the voices of bridesmaids.
“Eww…did that lady just BARF?”
She opened her eyes in time to see Cynthia walking towards her, true concern etched on her kind face. Elly held her arm out to keep her away.
“Cynthia, I’m so sorry. I think I might have the flu. Or a bad lunch. Or both. Yeah, it was probably the salmon. Um, congratulations – you look lovely.” Elly turned and fled down the hill. She climbed into the white van, which was idling by the side of the road, slammed the door and said, “Just go. I don’t want to talk about it.”
Anthony nodded, but Snarky Teenager snapped, exasperated, “What do you mean you don’t want to talk about it? You just barfed into a BUSH at a WEDDING. Oh my God, are you pregnant?”
Elly spun around to face her. “What?! Am I pregnant? First of all, that’s an impossibility at this point. Secondly, when I say I don’t want to talk about it, I mean, I DON’T want to talk about it.”
Snarky Teenager looked as if she had been slapped in the face. “I’m sorry, but if you are going to throw up in a bush and then not want us to mention it, then you are being totally WHACK.”
Anthony bent over the steering wheel, laughing, “Did you just say whack? What is that?”
Elly took a deep breath and allowed a smile to crack her face, trying not to focus on the vile taste in her mouth. “Yeah, what is the definition of whack, exactly?”
Snarky Teenager groaned loudly and crossed her arms in front of her, pointedly pouting. “I should totally get a job at Dairy Queen. I hate you guys.”
“That would be totally whack,” Anthony deadpanned. Elly laughed, but it was hollow. All she could think was that if she couldn’t handle seeing another couple getting married without seeing Aaron and Lucia, what would happen if she actually had to see them together?
CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
As evening clouded over, Elly struggled to find both an appropriate outfit and mentality for Isaac’s band gig. Staring in her mirror, she declared “This is not working.”
The empty apartment concurred. Elly had on a black pencil skirt with tan boots and a white peasant blouse. It was good in theory, but she looked like a frumpy kitchen maid. Or worse. “Ugh,” she uttered and tore off her shirt.
Maybe her blue sleeveless top? She pulled it over her head. Nope. Now she was the blueberry girl from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, only with worse hair. Elly slumped on the edge of the bed. Cadbury trotted over and happily gave her toes a tongue bath.
“What am I going to wear to this stupid club?” she moaned. She reached over and grabbed the phone.
Kim answered quickly, “Sean, I dropped this kiwi and I can’t pick it up. Hello?”
“Hi, it’s me. What can I wear that doesn’t say ‘I just found out that my ex is getting married to his mistress’ or ‘I’m a train wreck’ or ‘today I barfed at a wedding?’”
“No Sean, I can’t just pick it up, it’s directly underneath me – do you want me to kill our baby picking up a kiwi? Elly, go to your closet. Do you have that black cap-sleeved shirt that I bought you last year?”
Elly walked to the closet and pushed her hangers back, one by one. “Yes.”
“Okay, now wear your dark boot cut jeans, a pair of black heels and your pink cashmere scarf. Tie it around your neck and wear those dangly gold coin earrings. Oh no, I just dropped the knife.”