by Jackie Wang
I nodded and forced my shoulders to relax. “Yes. No, we’re finished. All set.” Did my smile seem fake? All these people oozing money and status made my head swim. I wasn’t one of them. Fake! I could almost hear someone calling me out on it. I wasn’t one of them.
“Good. There will be three-hundred of our closest friends and colleagues there. It has to go off without a hitch.” Her terse tone sounded borderline abrasive.
She didn't have to remind me of that. I knew what the stakes were.
“Don't worry, Mrs. Li, everything will be perfect,” I said, forcing my lips to pull up into another smile. It had to be perfect. Reputations were at stake: not just mine and Rob's, but our families' reputations. The Lis were famous for their over-the-top weddings. In China, they spent a million renminbi (approximately $200,000 US) on Rob’s cousin’s wedding. Weddings were no fucking joke in China. It was all one big pissing contest, and the Li family cared about ‘face’ more than anyone else I knew. Now it was Rob’s turn and his American wedding needed to blow Cousin Mickey’s out of the water.
“Mom,” Rob suddenly interrupted, “People will be talking about this wedding for years. It'll blow their minds.” His hand found mine and squeezed it under the table. I shot Rob a small smile.
After dinner, the dance floor opened up and Rob invited me to dance, but I refused. I said I had cramps, but in reality, I was just trying my best not to think about the way Kieran ground up against me the other night. Rob was a great dancer, but he didn’t have Kieran’s savage, animal edge. Rob was just a safe and boring dentist, after all. Kieran? Kieran was half gentleman, half beast.
Rob decided to dance with his grandma instead and I stayed in the dining area, nursing a glass of champagne. I sipped my drink slowly, watching everyone else have fun and berating myself for not enjoying the occasion. My moodiness was raining on everyone’s parade, even if they didn’t tell me outright.
“I fucking hate gwai los,” someone said behind me.
I furrowed my brows and turned around. “Excuse me?” The person speaking was none other than Micky, Rob's cousin and best man. The one who recently had a million dollar wedding. He was talking to Rob's other cousin and fellow groomsmen, Tian.
“Nothing, Rachelle. Just talking about this asshole I once knew,” Micky said.
“No need for racial slurs,” I admonished. “There are kids here.”
“They can't hear us,” Mickey said. He continued talking to Liam. “Anyway, you know what that fucking bastard did? Fucking broke my goddamn arm and dislocated my jaw!”
“No fucking way,” Liam replied.
“Yeah, it was fucked up man...”
I couldn’t believe how racist and immature Rob’s groomsmen were. Maybe it was the alcohol talking but…did they really need to use that kind of language at my rehearsal dinner? To think, these were the men Robert hung around with the most…Hardly a classy crowd.
I decided to relocate so I wouldn't have to hear them vomiting expletives. Their hyena laughter sliced through the air, pissing me off even more.
I set down my champagne flute and sat next to my mom again. She was nursing a glass of Prosecco and watching Dad make a fool of himself on the dance floor.
“How are you, Mom?”
“Rachelle, you should be dancing with Rob. He's a great dancer,” Mom said, eyes trained on her future son-in-law. “Look at those moves.”
Everyone was Rob this, Rob that…Enough already!
“I'm feeling a bit queasy and bloated,” I said, using the same excuse I'd given Rob.
“You're not going to get your period on your wedding day are you?” Mom asked, panicky. “Because that pretty white dress cost a fortune—”
“Relax, Mom, I have an IUD. I haven't even had a period for six months,” I said.
Mom gasped. “Rachelle! You know those things will kill you! It's unnatural to put foreign objects in your body! Besides, shouldn't you already have it removed so you can have a honeymoon baby?”
“Mom! We haven't even talked about when we want kids yet,” I said.
Why was she always so in-my-face about everything? My mother had always been controlling of me when I was growing up, but most days I let it go. I just didn’t have the heart to stand up to her, and I didn’t want to upset the delicate equilibrium we’d achieved in the past few years.
“Rachelle, everyone wants—expects a grandchild by next year,” Mom stated. “We want—”
I cut Mom short, my chest growing tight. “What about what I want? What Rob wants?” I fumed. “We're going to be the ones raising the child. You and Dad live too far away and Rob's parents live on the other side of the world.”
Mom swallowed hard. “Just saying, Rachelle. Don't make us wait too long.”
“We'll discuss it when the time is right,” I finally said. I downed the rest of my champagne and sprang for the dance floor. Anything to avoid further discussions with my mom. After scouting my fiancé, I tapped his shoulder and asked for the next dance. His entire face lit up. “I knew you’d come around,” he murmured, pulling me up against him. After a few songs, I realized that Rob was a really good dancer. Better than I expected. But his touch didn’t set fire to my skin the way Kieran’s did. Not that I should be comparing…
Twenty minutes later, I could no longer keep up with Rob. “Let’s go home, babe. I’m exhausted,” I said.
Rob wrapped his arm around my waist and nodded. “Okay.” We made our farewells before driving home.
Later that night, while we were lying in bed, I asked Rob, “Do you want kids?” I couldn’t believe we were having this conversation now. It’d just never really come up. I was always on birth control, and Rob never mentioned trying to get pregnant. But with the wedding happening in five days, I needed to know we were on the same page.
Rob shifted towards me. I could feel his breath hot against my neck; it was oppressive and sticky. “Of course I do, baby. Imagine how cute our children would be.” Rob nuzzled my cheek with the tip of his nose and kissed me. “A baby with your gorgeous eyes and my handsome smile.”
“When?”
“The sooner the better,” Rob said. “Everyone's been—”
“That's just it,” I said. “Do you think we're ready? I mean, forget about what everyone else says. Do you think we're capable of raising a baby?”
Rob propped himself up on his elbow. “What do you mean, Rach? Of course we are. We have our own place, we're getting married and I’ve got a solid, well-paying job. We're young and well off. I don't see—”
“I'm only twenty-five, Rob. I—I don't think I could handle the stress of working full-time and taking care of a baby.”
“But you won't be working,” Rob stated, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “Your full-time job will be to raise our kids.”
At that, I sprang up in bed, stiff as a board. “What do you mean? I don't want to be a stay-at-home mom.”
Rob brushed his fingers along my arm and I clenched my jaw. “You'd make the perfect housewife. You'll love it. My mom stayed at home with me and I had a very blessed childhood. You and the kids won't have to worry about anything. I make enough to support all of us.”
“You're not hearing me, Rob. I want to advance my career. Get my law degree. Have a job and contribute to society.”
Rob sighed. “A woman's greatest contribution to society is raising happy, healthy children.” His voice was thin and exasperated. “You know that.”
No. No, I didn’t ‘know’ that. Had I known this was how he felt about my role in the family, I would’ve had this discussion a long time ago. Six years ago. I’d just assumed. Assumed we were on the same page; that we wanted all the same things. And that where we differed, Rob would be the one to acquiesce.
I swung my legs off the side of the bed and stood up. “Do you have any idea how misogynistic you sound?”
Before he could answer, I stormed off into the living room and crashed on the couch. Hugging the cushion tight against my
chest, I bit into it, trying to muffle my frustration.
Everyone just assumed we’d have kids right away. Rob assumed I’d just get pregnant and stay home forever. That I’d give up everything to raise kids and cook and clean. It was not the 1950s anymore! Feminism happened, remember? I wasn’t a feminist, but I had zero tolerance for misogyny. I was on the fence about kids in general. They were a lot of work, and I couldn’t see myself reasonably juggling children and a career. My mom did it, but I didn’t have her tenacity.
Apparently, my opinion was in the minority and very unpopular. But that didn’t mean I’d let them bully me into getting knocked up. I was no pushover where it mattered. And if I wanted to be a respected lawyer one day, I’d need to defend myself better.
At the end of the day, I was most upset because we couldn’t even have a civilized conversation about the topic. It was a hot button issue, and both of us were too stubborn to even listen to the other person. We rarely fought over the years, mostly because we worked too much to have energy for bickering. But…we’d be spending the rest of our lives together. There were a million different fights waiting to explode, over all sorts of things. Could we handle them like adults and still stay together?
We had to, right?
For better, or worse…?
Chapter Eleven
Kieran - Ten Years Ago
“Take a picture with me, baby,” I said, holding up my silver flip phone.
“I look like shit,” Trisha replied, burying her face in her palms.
“You look like an angel,” I said. “Now show me that smile.” I tugged on her arm and she lowered it. Then, she plastered a fake grin on her face and I took a picture. I showed it to her and she frowned. The woman in the pixelated photo was gaunt, with bulging eyes and freckled, mocha skin. Her frizzy black hair was out of control, as usual. But I didn’t care. She was beautiful to me.
“I look like my mom,” she groaned.
“Your mom is still very foxy,” I teased, kissing her forehead.
Trisha swatted my arm and stuck out her tongue. “I'd rather kill myself than turn into my mom.”
“Don't say stuff like that,” I said, threading her fingers through mine. “You're nothing like your mom.”
“I drink too much,” Trisha said, biting her lips, “and I've got her temper.”
My thumb traced circles around the infinity tattoo on her inner wrist. “You should cut back on the booze.”
“Add some heroin in the mix and I'll be just like her.”
“No girlfriend of mine will be doing drugs so long as I'm around,” I said, squeezing her hand. “Did you check out the rehab program I showed you?”
Trisha shook her head slowly. “I've got like a million pages of Biology to read by Friday. And work. I don't have time for rehab.”
“Health comes before schoolwork,” I said, my brows knitted. I sniffed her clothes. They reeked of smoke and spilled liquor. “Did you drink today?”
Trisha bit her lip, nostrils flaring. She looked like a kid who’d just been caught stealing.
“Trish...”
“It was just one glass of wine. To help me de-stress after school.”
“One?”
“Fine, two.”
“Trish, I love you baby, but you can't keep doing this shit. Alcohol's going to kill all your brain cells.” I stood up and paced around the room.
Trisha fiddled with the hem of her skirt. “Not like I have any good ones left anyway.”
“You're smart, I know you are. You got into NBU for Chrissakes. I barely graduated high school. You just need to clean yourself up so you can graduate university with a solid GPA. We have big plans, remember?” I grabbed her hand. “How are we supposed to raise hell if you’re wasted all the time? How about we go visit the rehab place together? Tomorrow morning?”
Trisha groaned. “Do you have to come?”
I leaned into her, our nose tips almost touching. “Yes. For moral support. This will turn your life around, I promise.”
“I know something that'll turn my day around,” Trisha said, climbing on top of me. She nibbled on my earlobe, then sucked it between her lips. “Do you know what it is?”
“What?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“You. Balls deep inside me,” she whispered.
I groaned, twisting her hair around my fingers and pulling her head back. After kissing her neck for a few seconds, I murmured, “Promise me we'll go tomorrow.”
“Fine. But I'm not promising I'll check in.”
“Good enough,” I said, swooping her up into my arms. “Now what was it you said about me being balls deep inside you?”
After we'd finished, Trisha lay against my chest and hummed our song, Pretty Woman. Trish often told me I made her feel like the prettiest woman alive.
I dragged my fingers across her scalp, over and over. She loved it when I did that. Found the gesture incredibly soothing.
“Do you love me, Ki?”
“You know I do,” I murmured against her hair.
“You'll be with me no matter what, right?”
“Of course I will.”
“Even if I do something stupid?”
“Even if you do something stupid.” I added, “But I’ll probably stop you before you do anything too stupid.”
Trish grinned. “I love you, Kieran. And I can't wait to be your Mrs. Mahoney.”
“Soon, baby, I promise. As soon as I've saved up for a ring...”
“You know I don't need a ring,” Trisha said. “I just need your word.”
“I want you to have a ring. Something to make Bianca jealous.”
Trisha laughed. “Bianca won't be jealous of me. She's way prettier and more successful than me.”
“That might be true, but your sister doesn't have a Kieran.”
Trisha grinned, dimples forming on her cheeks. “That's right. I have a Kieran, and that's all I need.”
Chapter Twelve
Rachelle
$254,000. That’s how much we spent on this wedding. Or rather, that's how much my parents and in-laws spent on this wedding. They were happy to do it too. As if a quarter-million dollars meant nothing to them. Personally, I was wracked with guilt, despite Rob’s repeated reassurances. I never wanted our wedding to become an overblown, ultra-glitz, ultra-glam event. In fact, I would’ve preferred a simple, intimate affair. But ‘simple’ was not in Lisa’s vocabulary. She wanted the very best of everything for her son, and managed to rope my parents into agreeing with her.
Of course my own mother had also been hysterical over wedding preparations. She’d phoned up everyone in her address book the same night Rob proposed. Mom was gossipy like that. Within twenty-four hours, every distant second cousin and their cat knew I was getting married.
Within days, Rob and I had picked out a massive three-carat diamond engagement ring. It was so over-the-top I was scared to wear it to work for fear of getting mugged. Thanks to pressure from Lisa, I’d also scoured all of Northbridge for the perfect wedding planner who could pull off this once-in-a-lifetime extravaganza. I finally settled for Adele, a real-life angel and lifesaver. She took care of all the details, making it a smooth and (mostly) stress-free occasion. She also happened to be Sierra's sister-in-law. Of course I didn't hire Adele solely based on Asher and Sierra's recommendation. Though Adele was only twenty-nine, she already had almost ten years of experience under her belt. Her drool-worthy portfolio and hearty testimonials from past clients finally sealed the deal.
“Bring the ice sculpture on-stage,” I heard Adele say out in the hall. “And those lilies need to be in the reception area.” We'd booked the entire Grande-Marriott Hotel for the wedding, and Adele had fifteen different runners carrying out her orders upstairs and downstairs. It was organized chaos.
I was sitting upstairs in front of a massive vanity while my makeup artist and hair stylist put on their finishing touches. My face was caked in at least three layers of foundation, powder, concealer and bronzer. T
hree sets of false eyelashes burdened my shadowed lids. I looked like an airbrushed doll. Marissa was curling the last section of my hair while her assistant painted my lips scarlet with a tiny brush.
I can do this. I can survive the next hour. Then I’ll be off to Bali with my new husband.
Terri and my other bridesmaids had already finished their dos and were sitting on a sofa, ooh-ing and ah-ing. They were my diehard fangirls and they were all fussing and shrieking and crying over me.
“Stop, you guys. You're making me feel nervous,” I said, fanning myself with my hand. My body felt heavy and my stomach queasy.
December sunlight streaked through the windows, warm enough to make me sweat. Why a winter wedding? Well, winters were usually mild in Northbridge, since we were on the West Coast. Both Rob and I loved snow, skating, and all things winter. A Winter Wonderland theme for our wedding seemed like the obvious choice.
So this was it. My big day. Of course I had the jitters. But they were normal jitters. Rob and I had made up yesterday and he’d apologized for coming on a bit strong. He’d soothed my nerves with his characteristic sweet-talk, and my faith in us was renewed. This was going to be a perfect day.
“You're an absolute goddess, Rach. Don’t be nervous.” Terri asked. She was standing behind me and rested a hand on my shoulder. “We'll need to take a million selfies later.” I hadn’t completely forgiven her for the Kieran incident, but I let it slide, at least, for now.
“I can barely breathe in this dress,” I croaked out. “Not sure if I'll live through the photo ops.”
I was wearing a floor-length, mermaid tail wedding gown complete with hand-sewn embroidered details and pearls running down the back. Sierra, being the fashion designer extraordinaire that she was, made the dress herself. It took her six fricking months! And it was unrivaled in its extravagance. I was lucky to have such a talented BFF.
“Who made your dress, Rach?” Sierra teased. “I must have her number. She’s clearly very talented.”
