Six Years Wasted I Let Her Wear the Wedding Dress

Spencer Stephens was famous for his germ phobia.

Anything he'd touched, no one else was allowed to touch after him.

He especially couldn't stand sharing a spoon with someone, eating from the same bowl of ice cream.

Not even me, the woman he claimed to love most.

Once, I accidentally touched his spoon.

That same day, he threw the spoon away with a look of disgust and had the whole set of utensils sterilized eight times over, inside and out.

Mrs. Stephens had said, mocking, "That's just how my son is. Born with a germ phobia. You'll have to excuse him."

"Don't let it upset you. He loves you. Otherwise he'd never have begged me to let the two of you marry."

After that, I never dared touch his things again.

But that weekend, when I went to drop off the wedding plans for my boyfriend.

I saw with my own eyes his childhood sweetheart scooping ice cream into her mouth with his spoon.

Halfway through, she even scooped a spoonful and pushed it into his mouth. "Open up, Spencer. Good boy."

I was about to remind her that Spencer had a germ phobia.

But the next second, Spencer obediently opened his mouth and swallowed it down.

Then he reached out and ruffled her hair.

"Ice cream tastes sweeter when Irma feeds it to me."

In that moment, it was like a lightning strike.

Watching the two of them smile at each other, I finally understood. He didn't have a germ phobia at all.

He only had one toward me.

My hand, halfway to pushing the door open, fell back the instant his words landed.

Seeing me take a step back to leave, Anna Lambert, the housekeeper, looked at me, puzzled.

"Miss Butler, the young master's been waiting for you a while now. Aren't you going in?"

"No."

"When he has a moment, would you mind giving him these plans?"

I set the wedding plans on the table by the door, turned, and went home.

Only after I got home did the text from Spencer come through.

"You just had someone leave the file by the door? What if it got lost?"

There was a thread of reproach in his tone.

"And we'd agreed. You were coming to my place today so we could go over the wedding plans together."

"You drop off the file and don't even show up yourself. What's that supposed to mean?"

I listened quietly until he finished, then spoke, flat.

"The wedding. Is there even any point anymore?"

"Here we go again."

Spencer's patience snapped thin.

"What are you throwing a tantrum about this time?"

"Irma was here today too. The two of us sat in the living room waiting over two hours for you, and you didn't even show your face."

"Do you actually want to get married? Or are you just toying with me?"

I stayed quiet for a second, then said, calm:

"Spencer, you know yourself that today was supposed to be about discussing our wedding."

"So tell me, what was Irma Fox doing there for something like that?"

There was a beat of silence on the other end, then Spencer sighed.

"Deborah Butler, Irma and I grew up together. She's my mother's goddaughter too."

"She's home on summer break now. What's wrong with her coming by to sit a while?"

"I marry you, and what, I'm supposed to cut Irma out of my life?"

I almost laughed. Said first like that, it made me out to be the petty one.

As if I were the one backing him into a corner.

But the next second, I pulled up Irma's social media post and forwarded it to him.

"Then how do you explain this post? Anyone who didn't know better would think the two of you were discussing your engagement today."

In the post I'd forwarded.

Irma had shared a selfie of her and Spencer.

Both of them beaming at the camera, heads tilted toward each other.

For all the world a couple.

And above the photo, she'd added a caption:

"The family's discussing the wedding date. Big news coming soon."

The comments were nothing but rows of 999.

"Congratulations! Wishing you a lifetime of happiness."

"Irma, I didn't realize you moved this fastyou're getting married already? Still your childhood crush, the dream guy?"

"A perfect match, made for each other!"

Under all of it, Irma had only replied with one playful little sticker.

If anything, it looked like a quiet confirmation.

Spencer glanced at it and sighed.

"I didn't know Irma posted something like that. I'll have her take it down right away."

"Besides, she's a kid. She's got a mischievous streak, always messing around like this."

"Only people who don't know us would read into it."

"Deborah, we've been together six years. Who doesn't know you're my girlfriend?"

"We're about to get married. You know my mom never wanted this in the first place. I had to talk myself hoarse just to win her over."

Then his voice softened.

"Come on. Let's not do this anymore, okay?"

It came out more like a gentle reminder.

Keep pushing and you'll cross a line.

But I kept turning that one phrase over in my headSpencer's "six years together, who doesn't know you're my girlfriend."

I let out a thin laugh, and my finger tapped open his social media feed.

The last six months of visible posts came to nine in total.

Three were about games.

Three were food and scenery.

The final three were Irma.

Not a single one was about me.

Six years together, and I couldn't even remember the last time Spencer had posted anything about me.

Or maybe he never had.

Even back when we'd first gone official, the post he made was a blurry shot of my back.

I'd been a little hurt at the time and asked why he couldn't post a photo of my face.

Spencer had tapped the tip of my nose. "My girlfriend's this beautiful. I don't want anyone else looking at her."

But now, staring at that post, I really wanted to ask him:

"Then all those people liking Irma's photos, calling her sister-in-lawdo they actually know I'm your girlfriend?"

The words reached the edge of my tongue. I didn't say them.

I could already picture it.

The moment I asked.

The exact flicker of irritation, the way his brow would crease.

"Enough, Deborah. I'm running myself into the ground every day, dealing with the company alongside my dad."

"I come home, and you still want to fight over this petty nonsense."

Besides, it wasn't like this hadn't happened before.

Last time, when my parents came up from the countryside to see me and I couldn't get away, I'd asked Spencer to pick them up from the station.

He'd answered me, cold-faced:

"Your parents really have a knack for timing. It's Irma's graduation party today. I already promised her I'd go."

"And anyway, your parents aren't children. Why do they need someone to fetch them?"

In the end I was the one who gave up my perfect attendance, took the day off, and went to the station myself.

And the time before that, when my stomach hurt so badly I couldn't stand it, I'd called Spencer begging him to take me to the hospital.

He didn't reply until after the ambulance had already brought me in, and even then it came lazily:

"I was swimming with Irma. Didn't see your messages."

"Which hospital are you at? I'll head over now."

And then there was today.

Irma and Spencer, eating ice cream off the same spoon.

"Ice cream tastes sweeter when Irma feeds it to me."

His germ phobia was a joke.

"Deborah, my parents weren't happy you didn't show today either. They think you came off pretty ill-mannered."

Spencer's voice still came through from the other end of the line.

"Tell you whatcome over to my place first thing tomorrow morning, and we'll sit down and really hammer out the wedding plans"

"We'll see. I'm exhausted today. I want to turn in early."

With that, I hung up.

The next day, I had no intention of taking time off. I headed to the office like I always did.

But at the foot of the building, Spencer's car cut me off.

He gave two short honks and rolled down the window.

"Get in. I already called you in sick."

I froze, my brow knitting tight. "I never asked for the day off. Why would you go and decide that for me?"

"Oh, come on. It's just a job."

Smiling, Spencer pushed the door open and gently steered me into the car.

"I've told you beforeonce we're married, you'll be Mrs. Stephens, without a care in the world."

"The Stephens family will provide for you. My wife has no business out there working, parading herself in public."

Something bitter churned in my chest.

"So because I'm marrying you, I don't even get the right to hold a job?"

Spencer didn't answer. He just lowered his head, pulled out an alcohol wipe, and scrubbed his hand. Carefully.

Scrubbing, meticulously, at the spot where his hand had just touched me.

Six years together. I'd long since gotten used to Spencer's severe germ phobia.

But in that moment, the sight still stung my eyes.

My nose prickled.

I asked, "Spencer, am I that filthy?"

Spencer paused, then lifted his gaze to me, startled.

"Deborah, why would you ask that?"

I drew in a deep breath. I wanted so badly to demand it of him out loudwhy one touch from me meant disinfecting himself over and over.

It was always like this. After kissing me, he had to rinse his mouth.

After holding me, he had to shower.

Even after just holding my hand, he'd wipe himself down again and again with alcohol wipes.

Why couldn't I touch his spoon, couldn't touch his things?

While Irma could use his spoon, could share a single bowl of ice cream with him.

But looking at his blank, helpless eyes, I let out a wry little laugh and swallowed the words back down.

"It's nothing. Let's go."

When we reached the Stephens house, his parents were already seated in the living room, waiting.

Hearing me come in, Aaron Stephens silently took a sip of his tea, and Andrea rolled her eyes.

I steeled myself and stepped forward to greet them.

"Mr. Stephens, Mrs. Stephens, these are some homemade gifts I brought for you"

"Don't bother. The Stephens family wants for nothing. Take it back."

Andrea spoke from on high.

"Deborah, if my son insists on marrying you, then you'd better learn how to be a proper Mrs. Stephens. Don't be so penny-pinching."

A wave of humiliation washed over me, and I bowed my head.

Because my family came from the countryside, the gap in our backgrounds was vast.

Spencer's parents didn't like me.

It was only because Spencer had dated me for six years, swearing he'd marry no one else, that they'd grudgingly agreed to the match.

I'd thought they had accepted meyet still, in a thousand small ways, they found new ways to shame me.

"Mom!"

Spencer stepped in to rescue me. "It's still a token of Deborah's goodwill. Just take it."

Andrea gave a cold snort and tossed the gifts to the housekeeper without a second glance.

"Well, since you're both here, let's get on with discussing the wedding."

I breathed a little easier and sat down, just reaching for the wedding proposal on the table.

Then, out of nowhere, a crisp girl's voice rang out behind me.

"Mr. and Mrs. Stephens, lookdo I look good in this wedding dress?"

I went still.

Why was Irma here again?

Everyone turned to look.

Aaron nodded with a smile. "Irma's really grown into a fine young woman."

Even Andrea Stephens, who rarely smiled, let one slip now. "Stunning. That gown might as well have been made for you."

Her eyes flicked toward Spencer, knowing and sly. "Don't tell me my son gave it to you as a gift?"

Basking in everyone's praise, Irma Fox spun in a delighted little circle.

"Spencer, your parents think it looks beautiful. What do you think?"

Spencer nodded, indulgent.

"It does look good."

Irma's chin lifted in triumph, and she shot me a smug little smile.

But my gaze drifted slowly down to that gown, and the blood drained from my face.

"Spencer, is that the gown I picked out for my own wedding?"

"Yes."

He said it like it was nothing.

"She's a young girl, hasn't seen much of the world. She was just curious, only trying it on. It's no big deal."

Irma planted her hands on her hips and huffed.

"Spencer, who exactly hasn't seen much of the world?"

"You, obviously."

He laughed softly and pinched her puffed-up cheek.

"Aaagh! Mr. and Mrs. Stephens, your son is picking on me! I demand a rematch!"

The two of them pretended to scuffle, carrying on like a pair of bickering children.

Irma seized the chance to loop her arms around Spencer's neck and wrenched at his head.

Spencer just smiled through all of it, doting, even reaching out to steady her waist.

Afraid she might fall.

"Slow down, you little maniac."

I watched the whole thing, stunned.

With me, Spencer had always been mature, composed, never once letting this childish side show.

He never roughhoused with me like this.

Because the more he touched me, the more elaborate the disinfecting ritual he'd have to perform afterward.

Yet with Irma, somehow, the rules didn't apply.

"This gown's in the way. Let me get it off and then I'll really take you down."

Having lost the arm-wrestling match, Irma peeled the wedding gown off her body and tossed it carelessly to the side.

That gown had taken me two months of careful searching to find.

I'd wanted to marry Spencer in it, dressed in my finest.

But now the gown was soiled.

And my love had long since been torn to shreds, beyond saving.

Seeing my eyes fixed on the rumpled gown crumpled on the floor, my face dark, Andrea sneered, dripping with mockery.

"Spencer, didn't I tell you? Girls who come up from the country are always making trouble."

"One ratty gown, and she has to put on a face over it."

I forced the tears back and set down the wedding plans in my hand.

"I have things to do. I'll be going now."

"Deborah!"

I'd barely stepped through the front doors when Spencer came chasing after me, calling my name.

"What's gotten into you this time?"

He caught my wrist, baffled.

"We agreed to discuss the wedding today. We haven't even started, and you're already throwing a fit and storming off. How does that look?"

"It wasn't easy getting my parents to agree to this marriage. They set aside important matters just to wait for you to show up."

"Deborah Butler, even tantrums have a limit."

"No one is going to keep indulging your spoiled-princess temper, over and over again!"

Looking at his irritated face, I let out one cold laugh after another.

"Then tell me. Why is my wedding gown on Irma's body?"

"Why is it that every single time we sit down to discuss the wedding, Irma shows up to wreck it?"

"You think I'm the one being unreasonable? Spencer, you saw how your family treated me back there. If you also think this marriage is too much of a stretch, then maybe we should just call it off."

Spencer's brows knit tight.

"Didn't I just step in and smooth things over for you back there?"

Deborah, I've told you my parents have their reservations about where you come from. But I've worked hard to get them to accept you. We're about to get married. What more do you want?

And what about Irma?

I stared at his hand with open contempt. Every time you touch me, you have to scrub yourself down with alcohol wipes. Over and over.

So why not when you touch Irma?

Just now, in front of everyone, the two of them had chased and tussled and laughed together.

Their faces nearly pressed against each other.

And not once did Spencer's germ phobia so much as flicker.

His expression darkened, his brows knotting tighter and tighter.

Deborah, I think I've explained this to you more times than I can count.

Irma's mother was my mom's best friend. She died young, and afterward Irma's stepmother treated her cruelly.

My mom couldn't stand to watch it, so she kept bringing Irma to our house.

You could say she grew up under our roof. She's no different from my own sister.

So she could lounge on Spencer's bed in nothing but shorts.

But his bed? I wasn't even allowed to sit on it.

He couldn't stand the thought of my outdoor clothes soiling his sheets.

Even the chairs in the house had to be disinfected the moment I got up.

Watching my face tighten with humiliation, he hesitated, then forced the words out.

Deborah, I'm not doing it on purpose. I just have a severe phobia of germs.

But Irma was different.

On Spencer's turf, she could do whatever she pleased.

Irma and I go back to childhood. She's used to being around me, so the phobia doesn't kick in.

Now, listening to Spencer fumble through his excuses,

I felt something loosen, and a faint smile crossed my lips.

Right. The two of you are the real family. I'm the outsider who could never fit in.

And I didn't want to fit in anymore.

When he saw me turn to leave, panic flashed across his face. He caught me from behind, wrapping his arms around me.

That's not what I meant.

Deborah, you've been running yourself ragged lately, haven't you? Rest first. Once you've settled down, there's plenty of time to sort out the wedding.

I was about to tell him I was perfectly settled, that I'd thought it through and wanted to break up.

Spencer, come here a second!

Andrea's voice cut in at just that moment.

Coming! Spencer frowned. Deborah, I'll have the driver take you home.

Don't bother. I'll grab a cab.

As I turned to go, Irma deliberately brushed past me, throwing me a taunting look.

Deborah Butler, don't think being Spencer's girlfriend makes you anything special.

Mrs. Stephens has her heart set on me as her future daughter-in-law. You? You haven't even passed the test.

I'll be honest with you. I have feelings for Spencer too.

So I won't be letting him marry you that easily.

In the end, whoever gets to be Mrs. Stephens, well, may the best woman win.

I answered calmly. Sorry. I have no interest in fighting you for him.

With that, I shouldered past her and walked away.

Over the next three days, I took on a business trip the company had asked me to handle.

Three days of running myself off my feet. I came back so exhausted that I slept like the dead.

When I woke, a message from Spencer was waiting on my phone.

The wedding plan's been chosen.

The wedding's set for two weeks from now. Remember to let your relatives back home know to come.

I bolted upright, completely lost.

Which plan did you choose?

Spencer, you didn't talk to me about any of it. The plan, the date, you just decided everything on your own?

There was a pause on his end.

These six wedding plans, weren't they the ones you put together in the first place?

I know you weren't there, but I went with Irma's suggestions.

She thought a Korean-style lawn wedding would be perfect, and I figured you girls all like pretty much the same things, so I locked it in.

I laughed, weak and hollow.

Irma again.

He always assumed she and I wanted the same things.

But he'd forgotten. On my last birthday, he'd ordered me a mango cake, going off Irma's tastes.

I'd taken one bite and broken out in hives all over, ending up in the hospital.

Irma had chased after us, eyes red, sobbing out an apology.

I'm so sorry, I had no idea Deborah was allergic to mango, otherwise I never would have blended it into juice for the cake

And now even the wedding.

He could plan it with someone else, without me.

If that was how it was, then what did this wedding have to do with me at all?

It struck me as funny, and the laugh slipped out before I could stop it.

Spencer's rigid body suddenly went slack.

Deborah, since you're laughing, I'll take that as a yes.

His voice softened all at once.

Deborah, let's stop fighting, okay? Things were so much better before, when we were happy together.

I'm honestly looking forward to it now. What you'll look like in a wedding dress, marrying me? The most beautiful bride in the world, no question.

My gaze drifted slowly toward the distance, and a mocking smile touched my lips.

You'll get the most beautiful bride in the world, all right.

Just that the woman.

Wouldn't be me.

As for the wedding.

I'd give him one hell of a surprise.

For two solid weeks, I dodged every chance to see Spencer.

Either I claimed work was keeping me busy, or there were other matters I had to handle.

Spencer wasn't pleased, but time after time, he let it go.

Fine, I'll let you work these last two weeks.

Once we're married and you're Mrs. Stephens, there's no reason for you to be out working at all.

Then came the wedding day. Spencer and his family stood at the venue, waiting more than two hours.

And still there was no sign of me, no sign of anyone from my side either.

What's going on, Spencer? Didn't you say eight o'clock? It's almost ten now.

If this drags on any longer, the whole ceremony's going to run late!

Spencer checked his watch for the ninth time, his face gone ashen.

Give it a little longer.

Maybe something happened. I know Deborah. She's not the type to be late.

But not a single relative from the bride's side had shown up, and that was clearly wrong.

Spencer reached his limit, picked up his phone, and dialed that number again, the one that never went through.

Then, the next second, someone cried outThe bride's here!

Spencer's head shot up, joy breaking across his face, and he hurried over to meet her.

But the bride in the wedding dress was Irma,

and his expression iced over in an instant.

Irma, your usual nonsense I can let slide, but do you understand what today is?

Today is my wedding with Deborah.

Who told you to put on that dress? Take it off!

Irma fidgeted, her eyes welling up.

Spencer, why are you snapping at me?

Deborah's the one who ran out on the wedding. She said she was giving the bride's spot to me, that I should marry you instead.

The color drained from Spencer's face. What did you say?

If you don't believe me, go find Deborah yourself!

Though by now, she's probably already on a flight out of the country, halfway overseas, don't you think?