A few people watched, confused. One woman frowned like she wanted to say something, but didn’t.
I held the envelope up and said loud enough for anyone nearby to hear, “Good thing this wasn’t essential either.”
Someone gasped.
Then I walked.
I didn’t rush. I didn’t run.
I just walked straight down the aisle I wasn’t worthy of attending. Past the silver and purple bands. Past the fake smiles and awkward stairs.
I heard someone yell my name once, then again louder.
“Nathan! Nathan!”
It was Zoe.
She was coming down the garden steps, lifting the hem of her gown, heels clicking on stone.
She caught up with me just before the gate.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, breathless.
I held up the envelope.
“Taking back something non-essential.”
Her mouth opened, then closed, then opened again.
“It’s not what you think.”
I laughed. actually laughed, which felt strange coming out of me.
“It’s exactly what I think.”
And then she reached out and grabbed my wrist. Not hard, not yanking me back or anything, just enough to stop me from taking another step.
Her hand trembled slightly.
I could see the tension in her jaw. The way her carefully done makeup had already begun to crease from the corners of her eyes.
I don’t think she’d expected me to actually leave.
Definitely not like this, and certainly not with the envelope in hand.
“Nathan, please,” she said, quieter now, glancing around at the guests who were starting to murmur. “You’re making a scene.”
I looked at her, really looked at her.
The lace on her dress shimmerred in the late afternoon sun, delicate and flawless.
She had always dreamed of a big wedding.
I remembered how she used to cut up bridal magazines when we were kids, gluing them into a notebook titled Someday.