Six, Maybe Seven

by Katie George

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  THE WEDDING MARCH droned on like a sad rhythm that could not be stopped; it brought forth tidings of another’s arms, of Jamie’s intrinsic pain, the thought that the woman he loved would belong to someone else. He tensed beside me, the veins straining from his neck. Suddenly, we were standing as the bride glided down the aisle.

  She was the most beautiful person I’d ever seen. With her long, gorgeous caramel locks, the big amber eyes, and the gown made for a queen, my own heart soared. I felt Jamie’s hand slip into mine as he tried to control himself. Her satin wedding dress took up most of the aisle, a bridesmaid straining to hold the train. Nina walked down by herself, a symbol of giving her own self away.

  I quickly glanced down the aisle to Chris, who loomed over the minister like a giant New York City skyscraper. He gave a little smile as he confidently waited for his bride, yet the words Nina had whispered to me two years ago resounded in the confines of my mind. My groom better cry at my wedding; if he doesn’t, we’re not going to happen.

  I closed my eyes, inhaling the scent of the warm sand then, the beauty of one life-changing sunset. The memory of how the glow highlighted three goofy college kids reminded me of life’s transience. I knew it before I opened my lids; Jamie’s ebony skin was streaked with gentle, romancing tears. He stood bravely to my side. As soon as Nina passed our row, she locked eyes with him, shocked to see him here for her big day. Through the veil, I saw her batting eyelids. She stared at Jamie, not her own fiancé. As soon as she could see us no more, she looked down.

  “Jamie,” I whispered.

  “Tell me not to,” he said, his hand trembling in my own. “I’m in love with Erinina Rosetta Huston.”

  “I won’t tell you not to.” I gripped his hand tightly.

  We sat down as the bride took her fiancé’s hands. From my spot in the middle of the church, I could tell her hands shook violently, like a little sloop caught in a gigantic summer storm. My heart beat so hard I thought it would fly out of my chest, so I could only imagine what Jamie felt.

  As the minister began the wedding routine, which I’d memorized as my stint of a bridesmaid for five weddings out of a planned six, I was proud that I’d refused to be Nina’s bridesmaid in favor of Jamie’s own cataclysmic spirit. He wanted to be there in support, and in exchange for his presence, I had to be his support—and not at the altar as a bridesmaid. He never once looked at me, but I could inhale his anger. He was livid.

  “Come on, Nina,” he whispered through clenched teeth. “Don’t do this.”

  It was at the part where the minister asked if anyone had any thoughts against the nuptials. It was time, I decided. I prayed Jamie would stand: He didn’t.

  The wedding was speedy, like a bullet. Moments later it seemed, Nina began the recitation of wedding vows. “I, Erinina Huston, take Christophe Blaketon, to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part…” Her voice began to crack then. Deep inside, I felt like I was going to retch all over my shoes.

  “Come on, Nina,” Jamie said again, the strain in his voice torturous.

  “Nina?” Chris asked, though no one heard him. “It’s okay, baby.”

  Nina suddenly looked unsure of herself, and she began again, “According to God’s holy…” She turned just the slightest, making eye contact with Jamie. Her eyes, through the opaquest lace, shined when locked with his. Their moment was one I felt would blow apart my insides.

  Jamie flew up like a rocket. “Erinina Rosetta Huston, take my hand.” His hand jutted out, steadily before him, with the precision of only an actor’s stage presence.

  Nina’s mouth opened. A gag, sigh, bubble of laughter emitted from the audience. I stared up at my best friend, suddenly so proud. I looked down at Nina, who turned just the slightest. Chris angrily muttered, “Nina.”

  Nina turned her head, wiping a tear from her veil. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered to her fiancé and the minister. Then she looked at the audience, and I honestly thought she was about to return to Chris, but suddenly, she was running down the aisle, grabbing Jamie’s outstretched hand, and they ran off like twin bolts of lightning.

  Instinctively, I began to clap. No one else did, so then, unable to take more of this wedding hullabaloo, I jumped up, lifting my skirt, and went outside just in the nick of time.

  Jamie and Nina pulled out in his rusty Accord, the car he refused to change even when he had money in the bank, and they sped off into the sunset.

  “Thank you, God,” I said, lifting my hands into the air.

  In the realms of my consciousness, He approved. I went to my old car, fell into the driver’s seat, and drove off. “You know what?” I asked to thin air, deciding that God would be my confidante. “I think it’s time to go home, put up my feet, and watch a good, classic Christmas movie. Like the Mexican version of Santa Claus, with that creepy all-seeing eye.”

  A little giddy butterfly blew up into my stomach. Jamie did it. He conquered.

  Could I do the same? Honestly, I wasn’t sure what my answer would be.