“Roll where?” I shout back as I circle the altar, the flaming veil moving closer and closer to my head. “Dear Jesus, don’t set my hair on fire. Please, for the love of your father, don’t set it on fire.”
“An heirloom,” The Beave says right before she collapses into a pew.
“Roll, for fuck’s sake!”
I drop to the ground and roll, tucking my knees in so I’m not caught up in the pews. “Is it out?” I yell. “Am I still burning?” I glance over my shoulder and see the flames chasing after me. “Ahhhhh! Breaker, it’s coming to get me. Save my soul . . . save it!” I continue to roll as I see smoke lift into the air. “What’s that smell? Is that my hair? Breaker, help—”
Splash.
Water douses me, soaking me to my bone while putting the fire out at the same time.
I glance up to see Breaker holding a very large metal bowl, his chest heaving, horror in his eyes.
“Is it . . . is it out?”
He swallows hard and nods. “Yeah, it’s out.”
I lay flat on the ground, wet and horrified, as I let out a deep breath. “Where did you get the water?”
He glances down at the empty bowl and winces. “Uh . . . I believe I just blessed you hard with holy water.”
I shake my head. “Baptism by fire just took on a whole new meaning,” I say as I hear The Beave mumbling some sort of prayer in the background. I swallow hard. “Consider me converted.”
“She hates me,” I say as Breaker opens the door to the stationery store.
After I gently gave The Beave back her ruined heirloom veil, I told her I was going to change clothes before our next meeting to pick invitations. Breaker whisked me away, and instead of discussing what just happened, we sat in silence as we drove along the palm tree-lined streets of Los Angeles.
Breaker scratches his cheek as he says, “I think hate is a strong word.”
“Breaker, I set her precious heirloom veil on fire.”
“Not on purpose. I think that’s something we need to stress. You did not set the veil on fire on purpose.”
“I’m sure she sees it that way.” I glance toward the back of the shop, where I see The Beave with her assistant at a table, looking over what seems to be different textures of paper. “How do I even approach her? Do I apologize again? Do I just leave the decisions up to her?”
Breaker pulls me to the side and whispers, “It was an accident. Was it embarrassing? Yes, but it was an accident. She will respect you more if you head to this next meeting with your head held high and not constantly apologizing. You said what you needed to say, so move on. Okay?”
I nod. “You’re right. Just . . . move on.”
“That’s the spirit.” He straightens and puts his hand on my back, guiding me to the table where The Beave is sitting.
As we approach, she glances up and says, “Ophelia, I wasn’t sure you would show up, given your appearance when we left the church, but it seems like you can clean up appropriately.”
I tack on a smile as I say, “Wasn’t too difficult.” I can sense she’s looking for me to crumple, and I want to. I desperately want to fall to her feet and apologize over and over again, but Breaker is right. She will respect me if I don’t. “So what are we looking at?”
“Paper density and weight,” The Beave says. “Really, it’s not necessary that you’re here.”
“It is,” I say as I take a seat next to her, and Breaker takes a seat next to me. “These are my wedding invites, after all. Plus, paper is fun.” I pick up a stack and flip my finger through the thick pieces of paper. “Do you know what I love about paper?”
“I’m sure you have some well-thought-out opinion that I can’t wait to hear,” The Beave says with a heavy dose of condemnation.
I can see we’re still angry about the veil, and I’m sure she’s looking to cut me down, but like Breaker said, don’t buckle. Hold strong.
“I do, actually,” I say. “Paper is a journey—”
“Uh, Lia, I need to speak to you for a second,” Breaker says, standing abruptly.
I glance up at him, confused. “What?”
“I need to talk to you.” His eyes grow wide. “Now.”
Sensing the urgency, I excuse myself from the table and head to a corner where Breaker turns his back from The Beave and traps me between the walls and a collection of watercolor pens for sale.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“Just saving you before you make yourself look like a fool.”
“What do you mean?”
“Paper is a journey?” he asks. “Where exactly were you going with that?”
“Well, if you let me finish, you would have seen that I was going pretty far with it. I had an entire diatribe about how it opens humans to new worlds.”
“Yeah, let’s keep the philosophical talk to a minimum. The Beave is not going to want to hear it. She’s on edge. Just keep the talking to a minimum. Okay?”
I glance over Breaker’s shoulder and catch a glimpse of the deep, menacing scowl she’s sporting as she flips through templates. Huh, maybe he’s right.
“Okay, yeah. Maybe she doesn’t want to know how paper is a journey.”
“I can bet my balls on the fact that she doesn’t want to hear it.” He pats my shoulder. “Deep breaths. Don’t ramble for no reason. It shows weakness. Pick out an invite with confidence.”
“I can do that.” I nod. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
We head back to the table, and like the gentleman he is, Breaker holds out my chair for me, and I take a seat. The Beave glances up and asks, “Everything okay?”
“Yes, quite good. Thank you.” I let out a deep breath, and as Breaker takes a seat, I say, “Funny how paper is made, right? I watched this documentary—”
Breaker pops right back up from his seat and says, “Lia, another word.”
Reluctantly, I follow him back to the corner, where I whisper, “What did I do now?”
“How about we try this,” he says, with one hand on my shoulder. “You don’t talk at all.”
“So just sit there in silence with her?”
“Yes.”
“You know I can’t do that. I don’t like silence. I can hear people breathing. It makes me uncomfortable.”
“I know, but your chatting won’t do anything to this situation besides make it worse. So just focus on picking an invite and try not to say much.”
“That seems so cold.”
“This is a cold situation,” Breaker says. “After you burned her heirloom veil in effigy, this is no longer a lovey-dovey time. This is war, and if you don’t want to be pushed around, you’re going to have to hold your head high, shut the fuck up, and pick out what you want.” I go to respond, and he adds, “You know how you are so perplexed by the way Huxley can not say a word but get everything he wants? It’s because he’s silent, and people buckle under the silence. Don’t buckle. Make her buckle.”
“You’re right. Be like Huxley, make her buckle.”
“Precisely. Okay, ready to go back there?” I nod. “And no talk about paper journeys and the mechanics of how it’s made.”
“My lips are sealed,” I say.
“Good.”
We head back to the table, and once again, Breaker holds out my chair for me. “Excuse me, I have to use the restroom. I’ll be right back,” he says right before heading to the back toward the restroom sign.
Okay.
Focus, Lia.