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Where we come from, there's a custom for fetching the bride: the bridal car must never turn back. If it does, the marriage is said to be cursed.
But on the wedding day, my fiancé Peter Heath's bridal car reached the turn to my house and suddenly swung around.
Mom and Dad had been watching the road, anxious, and made me call him. "Why did the car turn back? I told you the bridal car can't—"
He cut me off before I finished, irritated. "That's just some backward superstition. Joanna Reed's period came out of nowhere, so I turned around to take her to buy some pads first. It won't hold things up long."
I hung up. Mom let out a long breath. "Turning the car back is bad luck, sweetheart. Do you still want to go through with this marriage?"
"Yes."
She froze. I went on. "Just with a different man."
Then I called that man. "Come fetch me. I'll marry you."
……
The voice on the other end trembled with excitement. "Yes. Wait for me. Fifteen minutes and I'm at your door."
The second I hung up, I texted Peter. "Wedding's off. Don't bother coming."
His call came through the instant the message landed, his voice thick with impatience. "Nora Fox, all I did was turn around to help Joanna buy pads. You're a woman too. Why can't you show a little sympathy?"
"Or do you want to see her humiliated? Besides, how much time could it possibly cost? Marriage is a huge deal. You can't just call it off on a whim. You think this is playing house?"
"Ten minutes, tops. Stop making a scene."
I'd thought that on this call he would at least apologize first. Instead, from start to finish it was nothing but blame, without a shred of remorse.
I looked out at the wedding site, every inch of it decked in red. The wind had torn through last night, so the decorations outside the yard had to come down, and before dawn today my parents were up putting it all back together, then greeting relatives and friends, so busy they hadn't had a sip of water.
All of it just to wait for him to arrive and pour the first cup of tea a son-in-law offers.
Before the wedding, Mom had told me over and over to make sure he understood: the bridal car could only go forward, never turn back, or in our town it was seen as bad luck, something people would laugh at.
So I'd planned out the route ahead of time, walked him through it several times, how to come in, how to drive off once he had me, rehearsing it again and again.
Back then I'd said, "If you take a wrong turn on the wedding day and the car has to turn back, I won't marry you."
He'd sworn to the heavens he'd follow my route exactly, not a single step wrong.
Now he'd forgotten all of it.
My throat ached fiercely. My voice came out hoarse. "Why is Joanna in the bridal car? You went and picked her up before coming for me?"
There was a pause, then Joanna's voice came on. "Don't be mad at Peter. I suddenly wanted to come along and soak up some of the wedding luck, so I asked Peter to pick me up first."
"Who knew my period would start on the way. I'm sorry. I've bought the pads, and I'll have Peter come get you right away."
The hand holding the phone was shaking. The car sent to fetch me hadn't only turned back, it had picked up Joanna first.
"Peter, so this is what you did. Not only did you go for her first, you turned the car around halfway. My whole family saw it. I told you plainly, we have a custom here, a taboo, the bridal car can't turn back. If it does, the marriage isn't blessed. When you turned that car around, did you spare a single thought for how I'd feel?"
Still that same careless tone. "It's all just backward superstition. We're young people of a new age. Can't you stop being an old relic like your parents?"
"I already told you it was a special situation. Can't you show a little understanding?"
Then Joanna's voice came through again. "Peter, we're at the store. Can you go in and buy them for me?"
"Mm, sure."
Then he said one more thing into the phone. "What I love most about you is how considerate you are. Stop making a scene. And don't set off the fireworks so early. Joanna wants to watch, so wait until we get there."
Then he hung up.
The call had been on speaker, so my parents heard all of it. Mom's eyes went red, her hands shaking uncontrollably. "This is too much. The welcoming fireworks are set to go off at the lucky hour. How can we push them back for some outsider?"
Just then, a voice called from outside the door. "It's the lucky hour. Do we light the fireworks now?"
Dad stood there with the lighter in his hand, lost. "Sweetheart? What do you say?"
My eyes were steady. "Light them now."
