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."
