Five Years, Three Canceled Weddings, One Goodbye

The first wedding fell through because Brenna Whitfield said the date we'd chosen clashed with her fortune.

So Stanley Delgado changed the wedding date.

The second wedding fell through because Brenna said Stanley's groom's suit was stiff and dowdy, not as good as the one she could design.

So Stanley put the wedding off again to wait for the suit she'd design.

The third wedding was three days away when Brenna looked out over a hall full of red roses and curled her lip in distaste.

"What era do you think this is? Roses for decoration? It's ugly and cheap."

"Stanley, if you ask me, we should switch to hydrangeas and peonies. That's what's fashionable now."

As she said it she picked up one of the roses beside her, pressed lightly with her fingers, and the stem snapped, the petals scattering to the floor.

The planner looked pained. "The wedding is three days away. There's no way we can redo everything in time."

Stanley took a few steps forward. "Then push the wedding back another month and redecorate."

"Brenna works in fashion. You can't go wrong listening to her. Nora Quimby, what do you think?"

In the past, I would have laid it all out for him. The invitations had gone out, the venue was booked, breaking the contract meant paying penalties.

And besides, roses are my favorite flower, and a wedding should be decorated the way the bride and groom want it.

But I looked at the rose petals crushed under his foot, ground into the floor.

Like a wedding pushed back again and again, the joy and the anticipation nothing like they'd been at the start.

And suddenly I had no wish left to argue.

I opened the message about the arranged marriage my mother had sent yesterday.

I'd promised her that if this wedding couldn't go off smoothly either, I'd come home for the arranged marriage.

I typed out a few words. "All right. I'll come home for the marriage."

Once, twice, but not a third time.

This wedding, with no hope left in it.

I didn't want it anymore.

"Who are you texting?"

Stanley slid an arm around my shoulders and leaned down to look.

I slipped my phone into my bag. "It's nothing."

But Brenna sighed. "Is Nora upset with me? I suppose that's fair. It's your wedding, I really shouldn't have said anything. But honestly, decorating with red roses is pretty tacky."

Stanley laughed helplessly. "All right, little princess, enough complaining. I already said we'd delay the wedding. When the time comes we'll do it your way, hydrangeas and peonies. Happy now?"

Stanley gave my shoulders another little shake. "You're okay with that too, right?"

His arm was around me, the question was for me, but his eyes were fixed on Brenna, soft and indulgent.

Something in my chest went tight, and a sour ache rose up.

I couldn't help thinking back to our first wedding, set two years ago.

Pushed back because of one word from Brenna about her fortune clashing.

Stanley said he and Brenna had grown up together like childhood sweethearts, that they'd promised each other they'd be at each other's weddings.

So I stayed up all night sending apologies and explanations to everyone who'd received an invitation.

I found someone to pick a new wedding date, one that steered clear of any clash with Brenna's fortune.

The wedding was finally set for a year ago.

The day before the wedding, Stanley wore the suit I'd designed while we rehearsed the ceremony together.

Brenna said his suit was ugly and dowdy, not fit to be seen.

His buddies chimed in right after her.

"It really is pretty ugly. Brenna's design would look so much better."

"Other people's handmade suits take two or three years. How good could one made in half a year be?"

"You should just have Brenna design one for you. A wedding is the biggest event of your life, after all."

Stanley knew perfectly well I'd spent half a year making that suit by hand, stitch by stitch.

And still he nodded along. "Nora's taste really isn't as good as Brenna's."

"So I'll leave my groom's suit to you. Whenever you finish it is whenever we'll hold the wedding."

Back then I had gripped his sleeve, my eyes red-rimmed.

"Stanley, that's our wedding. Can you think about how I feel for once? Are you marrying me, or your childhood friend?"

The smile faded from his face. "This wedding only happens once. I'm not going to ignore their feelings just for you."

"Majority rules, Nora. Don't be unreasonable."

Because Brenna had said the longer a custom piece took, the better, the suit had ended up taking a full year to make.

And then, at the end of it, she'd said it hadn't turned out the way she'd pictured.

So in the end Stanley's groom's suit came off the rack at a suit shop, in the color and style Brenna picked.

I just never expected this wedding to be pushed back again because she didn't like the roses.

Brenna kept pulling at the rose petals, the bright red pieces dropping all over the floor, crushed under her feet as she moved.

I couldn't help myself. "The roses were delivered fresh first thing this morning, still with the dew on them. Stop pulling at them."

Bored, she tossed the rose in her hand aside and looked at Stanley with a mocking smile.

"Stanley, your girlfriend is so precious about everything. It's just one rose. So petty."

"Forget it, forget it. If you two want these tacky, cheap-looking red roses, then keep them. My mistake for sticking my nose in."

Stanley's friends exchanged glances and spoke up, put out.

"Stanley, your girlfriend really is a little petty. It's only some roses. Is it worth it?"

"Right, we think Brenna's suggestion is good too. Roses really are pretty tacky."

"Well, it's your wedding anyway. Do whatever you want."

They jostled their way out, knocking down a whole row of roses on either side as they went.

Stanley let go of my shoulder, his face darkening.

"Nora, it's just some roses. Was it worth making me lose face in front of my friends? Come apologize to them with me."

I dodged the hand he reached out. "I won't."

He saw how firm I was.

Stanley laughed in anger. "Fine. Fine, Nora. In that case, the wedding is postponed indefinitely. Whenever you apologize to them, that's when we hold it."

I looked at his furious, angry face.

And I couldn't help remembering how he'd once knelt to propose to me, swearing up and down that he'd give me a wedding I'd never forget.

How he'd sat with me and carefully picked out our wedding photos, debating which studio did the best work.

I said I loved the seaside, so he chartered a plane and took me there to shoot.

I said I wanted him to carry me on his back, so he carried me for the pictures.

Even the photographer said real couples always came out looking the most natural in their wedding photos.

All of it stopped the moment Brenna came back to the country.

Brenna was his childhood friend, the girl he'd grown up beside, the one he'd once confessed to and been turned down by.

The day she came home, it poured. Stanley had promised to come pick me up, and I waited until the sky was fully dark before I saw the post about him going to meet Brenna at the airport and throwing her a welcome dinner.

We'd made plans to go camping that weekend, but because Brenna said she liked sunrises, we climbed a mountain instead.

At the weekend dinner, I can't eat spicy food and stick to clear broth and mushrooms, but because Brenna liked it, he picked nothing but the fiery hot pot base.

Once I was rushing to get documents to a client, couldn't get a car, and asked Stanley to drive me. But because Brenna had broken up with her boyfriend and was upset, he took her out for a drive instead.

I used to naively believe the one who arrived out of nowhere could beat the childhood sweetheart.

But looking at it now, I'd lost completely.

"There's no need to postpone it. Let's just call off the wedding."

His phone cut her off mid-sentence.

"Stanley, Brenna was so upset after what your girlfriend said to her that she wasn't paying attention and got into a car accident."

His face changed. "Fine, I understand. I'll be right there."

His hurried figure disappeared at the far end of the rose-lined path.

The planners glanced at one another.

"Ms. Quimby, do you still want the roses swapped out for the ranunculus and peonies?"

I looked at the reception hall in front of me.

The floral arrangements wound around the crystal chandeliers, the rose wall on the raised platform for photos, the balloons floating above the center of every table, the strings of lights lining the red carpet as path markers.

Every last detail was something I'd stayed up late agonizing over.

And all of it had been brushed aside by a single sentence from his little childhood sweetheart.

The first time the wedding was called off, my mother had asked me, "A boyfriend who changes your wedding just to satisfy some childhood friend's whim. Why do you keep indulging it?"

Now I understood. I wasn't indulging anything.

I was waiting. Waiting for this exact moment, when my heart finally went dead.

"No need to change anything. The wedding is canceled. I'll have to trouble you to take all of this down. As for the deposit, follow the contract. There's no need to refund it."

Since I was already at the hotel, I went to find the person in charge.

I told them the wedding three days from now was canceled.

The hotel manager nodded. "So when would you like to reschedule it for?"

I shook my head. "It's not being rescheduled. It's canceled. There won't be a wedding at all."

Back home.

One by one, I contacted friends and family, apologized, and told them the wedding was off.

At the same time, I took down the double-happiness characters pasted on the walls, the decorative balloons, and the wedding photos, and carried them all to the trash cans downstairs.

Once all of it was done, I booked a flight home for tomorrow night.

Right then, a notification popped up on my phone.

I opened it. It was a post Brenna had put up on her feed.

She was sitting on a couch, both of her pale, bare legs stretched out.

And Stanley was down on one knee, dabbing medicine on a small red swollen spot on her knee.

The caption read: I already told him it was just a little bump, the skin isn't even broken, but he still rushed to put medicine on it. Nothing beats a childhood sweetheart.

Below it, a whole string of likes and comments.

"Of course. Stanley treats you with such care. Forget a little bump, if you shed a single tear he'd be beside himself."

"If you hadn't turned down Stanley's confession back then, none of this Nora Quimby business would even exist."

"If you ask me, you and Stanley are still the best match. Some latecomer will never beat childhood sweethearts."

"Exactly. You two should just get married. He'd definitely be willing to break up with her."

Without thinking, I looked down at the thumb of my left hand, at the faint scar on it.

Last week I'd cut my finger by accident while cooking, and all he'd said was, "The cut's tiny. Just put a bandage on it."

I let out a small, self-mocking laugh.

And gave that post a like.

When Stanley saw the notification that I'd liked it, his hand clenched around his phone.

It was already past midnight. On any other night I'd have called him long ago, worried he might be drunk, asking whether he needed a ride.

But tonight there wasn't a single call or text from me on his phone.

His brow furrowed despite himself.

Brenna pursed her lips. "I'm a woman, I understand women best. Nora's giving you the cold shoulder on purpose. She wants you to cave. Forget it, do whatever you want about your wedding. I try to give you a friendly heads-up and I end up being the bad guy."

"You should just head back soon. Otherwise that girlfriend of yours will blame us again for dragging you out to drink."

Stanley turned off his phone and said coldly, "Don't bother with her. Let her cool off on her own. She'll come around once she thinks it through."

The next morning.

I went straight to the office and handed in my resignation.

My coworkers were curious. "Are you quitting because you're getting married?"

I nodded. If I was going back to Southport for an arranged marriage, there was no reason to keep this job.

They all congratulated me, said my husband must love me a lot if he didn't want me working so hard.

I just smiled and didn't explain.

After I finished the paperwork and left, I ran into Brenna Whitfield.

"So you figure life's set once you marry Stanley, and now you're quitting to be a full-time wife?"

"Makes sense. When ordinary people like you finally land a rich heir, of course you cling on for dear life."

I ignored her. But she looked at the bracelet on my wrist and gave a knowing little smile. "That's the bracelet Stanley gave me when he confessed to me back then. I didn't take it. It suits you, actually."

I glanced down at the silver bracelet on my wrist. He'd given it to me the day I agreed to be his girlfriend. So it had really been Brenna's castoff?

Strangely, I wasn't surprised.

I just looked at her, at how much she wanted to provoke me. "You make Stanley delay the wedding over and over, again and again. It's all so I'll understand that between you and me, Stanley will always choose you, isn't it?"

"You don't have to work so hard anymore. Stanley. I don't want him. If you want him, go ahead and take him."

Brenna sneered. "Who are you kidding? Five years with Stanley, and you'd just let go?"

I didn't answer her. I slid the bracelet off, dropped it into her hand, turned, and walked away.

Back home, I packed my documents. Everything else, the cups, the toothbrush, the clothes, everything tied to those five years, I threw in the trash.

Then I cooked one last dinner. Five years together, I thought. At least we could break up with some dignity.

Stanley came home with a sour face. "What did you say to Brenna at the office today?"

I opened my mouth and he cut me off. "Brenna already said she's staying out of our wedding from now on. She's home crying by herself. Are you happy now?"

I took a deep breath. "Stanley, sit down. There's something I need to tell you."

"It's about the wedding again, isn't it? Wait until Brenna's calmed down."

"She's still crying right now. I have to go comfort her first."

He glanced at the garlic butter shrimp I'd made on the table. "Brenna loves this dish. I'll take it over to her. Just eat by yourself tonight."

I couldn't stop myself. "I spent a long time cleaning those shrimp to make that"

His voice jumped several notches. "It's just postponing the wedding once. It's not like we haven't done it before. You're really going to nickel-and-dime me over a plate of shrimp?"

"Nora, you know I can't stand it when someone makes a fuss."

I looked at the impatience in his eyes and wanted so badly to ask him: wasn't Brenna the one making a fuss, dragging our wedding out again and again?

But it felt pointless.

I looked at the shrimp hanging from his hand.

It had been flown in fresh that morning. We'd agreed to have it together tonight.

"Nora, take some time and think it through yourself. When you've come around, we'll talk about the wedding. I won't be home tonight. Don't keep calling me. It kills the mood."

The last thread of hope in me went slack. "Fine."

He remembered to go comfort Brenna, but forgot he was supposed to have dinner with me.

He didn't notice the wedding banners and the wedding photos stripped from the room either.

Didn't notice the suitcase beside me.

His attention had never once been on me.

When you're disappointed all the way to the bottom, a hope that goes unanswered somehow stops being so hard to bear.

It was only that the dignified breakup I'd wanted never made it out of my mouth.

I watched the room settle back into quiet, the food on the table untouched.

And something in me let go.

When it was time to leave for the airport, I sent Stanley one message. "Let's break up!"

Blocked. Deleted. Powered off.

The city shrank in my window as the plane climbed higher and higher.

And those five years seemed to fade with it, until they were a single black dot, and then nothing at all.