The Day I Stopped Being the Bride in My Own Wedding

On the day of the wedding rehearsal, I got to the venue to find my fiance, Preston Yardley, and my best friend, Polly Harding, deep in an argument over what color carpet the ceremony space should have.

Polly chased him down and got in a few swats before he finally threw up his hands. "Fine, fine, fine, dark gray it is, whatever you say, happy now, Your Majesty?"

The pleading words with that indulgent tone had even the staff laughing. "The bride and groom really are close."

Preston didn't correct them. Polly only bit her lip, her ears going a little red.

Nobody noticed I'd arrived.

Not until one of the staff spotted me and explained, "You've got it wrong. This is the bride."

Polly turned at the voice, saw me, and came running over to loop her arm through mine.

"Milly, do something about your husband. He's always picking on me."

"You're my best friend. How could I not know what color you like? And he still wanted to argue with me about it!"

Preston strolled over behind her and drawled, "Who's picking on who? You've been hitting me this whole time."

"That's because you deserved it."

I stood where I was, watching the two of them trade lines back and forth, and a strange haze came over me.

Scenes like this had been playing out since high school. Countless times.

They always settled everything for me in the middle of their bickering. My opinion never seemed to matter.

But this wedding was Preston's. It was mine too.

And not one person in that room had asked me whether I liked the dark gray carpet.

If this wedding didn't need my opinion from start to finish, then it probably didn't need me as the bride either.

...

In the middle of the squabbling, Preston caught sight of the bouquet the staff had ready and frowned.

"Swap these flowers out."

He gave a soft laugh and glanced at Polly. "I distinctly remember a certain someone saying she didn't like pure white flowers at weddings. Said they looked like..."

"Like a funeral."

Polly stuck her tongue out at me, her eyes crinkling with a smile. "Milly, you're not mad, are you? I just mentioned it in passing. Who knew this man of yours would have such a good memory? I'd forgotten I ever said it."

The staff member's eyes darted anxiously to me.

I looked at the bouquet too.

White bellflowers. My favorite flower. The one flower Preston had promised, before the wedding, would be the only kind we used.

But now he probably didn't remember saying that either.

"Swap them."

Even if I objected, no one was going to hear it.

Polly and Preston started up again, going through the tablecloths, the chair-back decorations, even the main color scheme of the venue, changing all of it.

The planner looked at the wedding that had become almost unrecognizable and finally couldn't hold back, murmuring to me, "Miss Fox, those were all things you settled on before with so much trouble. You went to several companies for them..."

"It's fine," I said. "Let them change it."

Either way, I no longer intended to have this wedding.

Polly wanted to try on my gown, and of course Preston had no objection.

"Polly's a designer. If there's anything off about the cut, she can give some input. It's not a bad idea to try it."

I stared at Polly as she rushed into the changing room, and the words came out barbed. "Since you care so much about her opinion, you might as well have her stand in for me at this whole rehearsal."

I met Preston's slightly startled eyes, and the bitterness in my chest swelled.

"That way she can check whether there are any problems with the ceremony flow, can't she?"

Maybe he caught the edge in my voice. Preston frowned and started to say something, but then the changing room door opened.

Polly walked out in the gown, spun in a circle, and smiled at Preston. "Well? Does it look good?"

Preston's eyes left my face.

He looked at Polly, and the open admiration in his gaze was like a knife, driven straight into my chest with precision.

It hurt. Badly.

"It looks good."

The gown had been made to my measurements, so of course it didn't fit Polly.

But he seemed to have forgotten that, or he simply didn't care.

Instead he agreed to all of Polly's requests to alter the size and the waistline.

Only when the two of them had finished did Polly glance at me in the mirror. "Milly, don't be upset. I'm just looking out for you. When the day comes and you're all dressed up and beautiful, that reflects well on me too, doesn't it?"

Preston finally turned back to me and smiled. "Just make the changes Polly said. She's a designer, after all. She's got better taste than you."

I stayed silent. I didn't say anything.

Preston took the silence as agreement and went back to discussing it with Polly.

I looked at the two of them leaning into each other, their backs to me.

Then I turned and quietly left.

Since the gown had already been altered to her measurements, they might as well swap her into the wedding too.

I pushed the door open and walked out.

Before I left, I took only that bouquet of white bellflowers.

I got into the car and set the flowers on the passenger seat.

For a moment I just sat there, lost.

Back then, when Preston proposed to me, he'd used white bellflowers too.

Even when I confessed to him and we got together, I'd given him white bellflowers.

White bellflowers meant something to me. They really did.

But Preston probably didn't feel that way.

When I got home and turned on the lights, the first thing I saw was the wedding photo I hadn't gotten around to hanging on the wall.

In the picture I stood in the middle, Preston on the left, Polly on the right.

Polly had her arm through mine, beaming, and Preston's hand rested on my shoulder, but his eyes were turned toward Polly.

When we'd gone to take those photos, Polly had made a fuss about wanting a best-friend bridal shoot with me and gotten into an argument with Preston.

In the end it turned into the three of us together.

How did I not feel something was wrong back then?

Maybe it wasn't that I didn't feel it.

I just didn't dare confirm it, and I didn't dare believe it.

My phone rang.

It was Preston's number.

I answered, and it was Polly's voice that came through. "Hello? Milly? Why did you leave first? We were looking all over for you."

I leaned back against the couch. "Wasn't feeling great, so I came home early."

Preston's voice came through, casual. "Told you. She's fine. Just worn out from overtime again, obviously."

Polly's voice again. "Then get some rest. Preston's going to drop me home first. I helped you out all day today, my back's aching..."

Preston cut in, laughing. "I'll take you home and rub your back while I'm at it, how's that? I just learned a new massage technique."

The familiar sound of the two of them roughhousing came through the line.

Then it was cut off.

The dial tone hummed in my ear for a good while before I set the phone down.

That night, I couldn't sleep at all.

I opened my feed and the first thing that came up was Polly's new post.

The first photo was of her and Preston together, each holding a bottle of liquor.

But the second photo was a hand wearing a man's ring, laid over another hand.

My wedding ring sat right there on the ring finger of that other hand.

The caption was just three words.

Fits just right.

I stared at that photo for a long time.

Preston hated drinking. In the past even one sip of beer would send him running to the bathroom to be sick for ages.

But the day Polly went through her first breakup, he sat with her and drank all night, drank until his stomach bled and he ended up in the hospital.

Funny thing is, I was supposed to be Polly's best friend, and I found out about her breakup from someone else.

I only learned my boyfriend had spent the whole night drinking with her when I got a phone call about it.

After that, every time Polly asked him out for a drink, he never refused again.

I liked that post of hers.

When I refreshed, it was already gone.

Preston's message popped up. "Still not asleep this late?"

I didn't reply.

I just felt a sting behind my eyes.

But my heart was unusually calm.

I supposed I'd gone numb.

I dialed a number.

"Professor, you asked me a while ago whether I wanted to come abroad and work on that teaching project with you. Are there still spots?"

A relieved laugh came down the line. "There is. I've been holding one for you."

"If you come, I'll have everything ready for you in a few days."

I hung up and called the wedding planner.

"Sorry to bother you so late."

"It's just that I'd like to change the name of the bride for the wedding."

"Change it to Polly."