Wedding

Bill Dawson set his jaw against the cold wind blowing down the long steeple stairs. Stephanie had nearly lost her balance a few steps back so he had taken her hand. She seemed ambivalent at first but now accepted his grip warmly. He didn't like her being so familiar with him. He was only being polite, looking out for the others in the procession behind them. The ceremony was supposed to have taken place outside, but the weather shifted unexpectedly. He grinned to think of all the well-dressed party shifting uncomfortably in the cold and getting drenched with rain. That would mean he'd get drenched too with his one good suit, but he didn't care.

He didn't know his cousin Stephanie well. Before he even got out of his truck he'd taken stock of everyone he could see and realized that he didn't know most of his family that well, and even thought about leaving. He thought about going to a diner but was put off by the thought that he'd look silly in a suit at a diner by himself. Then he thought about his girlfriend Liz. Family was important to her, so it had to be important to him, too, even though it never had been, and wasn't.

He wondered if he loved Liz enough to ever marry her. Then he looked at Stephanie, who thanked him for his chivalry and was now wearing that face people do which says: I understand you would probably rather not talk right now, but is it okay if I ignore that and engage you anyway? While she launched into a diatribe about the injustice of her still being single despite having caught the bouquet at the last wedding she'd attended, he wondered what the differences between women truly were.

The inside of the steeple was cozy and intimate and did the rustic charm of the exterior justice. There was no one in particular he wished to sit by, so he took the first open spot closest to a wall. His cousin Stephanie followed him. She pretended not to, and acted as though Bill's presence in the seat next to where she happened to sit was pure serendipity. She had been gazing around feigning interest in the architecture and the old trellised windows. Bill felt her surreptitious eye the whole time, though. It seemed she had come alone too.

She had barely gotten over her phony surprise towards him before again assuring him that she wasn't even going to bother reaching for the bouquet this time. “No sir, I’m not moving my butt for nothin'. If I ain't ever gonna have a man, then I ain't ever gonna have a man, and no flowers are going to change that. It just is what it is and I guess I oughta learn to accept it.”

Bill put on his best imitation of sympathy and said: “I guess that's the best we can do sometimes.” That seemed like an okay thing to say, he thought. She didn't seem to mind, anyway.

The steeple was filling quick. It was growing warmer and Bill had to stand and shuffle to the side a bit to remove his jacket because it had gotten so clustered.

“How's your momma doin' by the way?” his cousin inquired as he sat back down.

“All right, last I heard. We're not too close anymore.”

“Now that ain't right. What happened?”

“Something just wasn't right.” She fell silent for a while after that and he was glad. He sighed and eased back and tried to be in his own sanctuary, but it was too loud and stuffy.

The ceremony was finally nearing its end. Bill was focused on leaving and had nearly forgotten about Stephanie when she piped up: “why don't we stay in touch? I’d like to know you better, Billy. You've always been the shy one in this family, but we're all grown now. We can be easy with each other, right?” Bill's right hand was forming into a tight involuntary fist out of his cousin's sight next to his leg. She took his phone out of the pocket from where he'd withdrawn it several times during the past hour. “I'll go ahead and put my number in here for ya,” she said smiling.

Afterwards he went to the diner, now suddenly not caring about how he looked, and was eating a cheeseburger when his phone vibrated. He forgot it was in his pocket still. The number was unfamiliar. He just stared at it for a few arduous moments, slowly chewing the burger, then opened the text. Steph here. Saw your momma after the ceremony. She didn't even know you'd come. Gave her your number. You two oughta talk.

He put it down on the table next to the half-eaten burger and fries. A ball of something hot and sickening was rattling around his insides trying to burst out. He left three dollars, the half-eaten food, and his phone on the table, and went back to his truck.

His suit jacket was sprawled unceremoniously on the floor under the passenger seat. It looked too nice to be on a floor but he didn't care. In the mirror his face was lurid. He felt the anxiety and frustration radiating tangibly from his head. The window next to him began clouding over.

Then there was a rapping at it. He jumped to see his waitress smiling and holding up his phone. He fumbled nervously for his keys so long that he cursed power windows, and opened the door. He did so a little too violently and struck the waitress lightly, but forcefully, in the stomach. She ignored his profusion of apologies and angrily threw the phone at him. It missed, landing on the empty seat beside him, and she walked away muttering curses at him.

He shut the door. It started to rain on his way home. He told Liz that he hated weddings and would never marry anyone. She said he was just having a fit, but he insisted zealously. He needed more than anything in the world for her to understand this. She remarked how upset and crazy-eyed he was, and decided to spend the night at a friend's. After she had gone he paused alone in the apartment and tried to access his love for her. Every time he thought he felt it, it seemed to slip away. Then he pondered to what extent the mind can contrive feelings to satisfy what the heart thinks it should feel.

The suit jacket laid for months on the floor of the truck in the sun and stale air, where he'd occasionally reach for something in the glove box and make note of it in his periphery.