It was a year ago when we had the engagement party at the clubhouse opposite 42nd Street. Under the disco light, we drank and our bodies glided against each other’s as we danced.
I never understood how an engagement was going to right our wrongs, but I screamed yes when I saw the 24 karat diamond ring. I accepted a lifetime of analyzing every of his gesture, every word uttered.
I had a good time until a friend of his who I had never met but had seen in a couple of pictures walked in wearing a red dress, her hair bouncing around her shoulders, a smile directed at him. She sat by him. I knew he was drunk, or it was just the best defense I could think of for his action or inaction. She planted a kiss on his cheek, more than once, and in multiple places. I watched how his body eased into her.
When I went to get myself another drink, I heard him say, “Do it before you never get the chance to.”
She planted kisses on his dark cheek. It was days later I realized what he meant by “before you never get the chance to”. He assumed after our wedding she would never have the chance to plant reckless kisses all over him. I walked away, afraid I would cause a scene. He came up to me later, drunk, and he revealed she was nothing to worry about, although she was his ex-girlfriend and he had really liked her, but was too broke then to keep her interested. That night, I wondered if I had coerced him into making me his bride. But I did not call off the engagement because of the incident. There was no way I would have been able to express myself when he asked why I wanted to end things. I admit now that I never trusted him.
I recall the day I introduced him to my best girls. How eager I had been to show my friends the mystery man they had to contend with over my time. We had been in a relationship for a year and six months and somehow he was yet to meet any of them. The first year was not an actual relationship; he had wanted to keep it on the low and take it slowly. The connection we had was obvious, and even before he was ready, I’d always wanted him to commit to me. The first year we called it friendship. It was a sham because I realized genuine friendship needed openness and honesty. It needed a kind of trust I didn’t have in him. Besides, friends did not embrace each other as we did. They did not inhale the odd combination of weed and cologne as they kissed; or stare into each other’s eyes and proclaim non-committal euphemisms of I love you. They also did not openly admire each other’s bodies and wonder what it was like to be inside of it; they did not want to have sex.
It was late afternoon when we sat at the bar with two of my best friends, Ariel and Tanya. Both I loved. Ariel was conservative and could be judgemental. The former trait intensified when I would not introduce her to the man I saw. She was my protective eye. While Tanya was more carefree, and every decision she took was based on the phrase besides you only live once.
So we sat for a drink with these two phenomenal women.
“You are cute,” Tanya said, not long after she added, “You sound so knowledgeable. Did I forget to mention you also have got a great sense of style?” She was leaning in and smiling, trying to flirt, I supposed.
I caught Ariel watching me. I knew from her expression she was fighting the urge to explode with laughter. Tanya was right. Mike was cute, knowledgeable, and he had a great sense of style. I didn’t want to be troubled because someone had paid him a compliment. There was hearty laughter amongst the four of us, and I watched in awe as Mike charmed them with his blinding charisma. At the end of the meeting, they had nothing to say, except I had hit the partner Jackpot with this man. He was such a sweet, handsome man. It wasn’t what I expected from them and I admit; I was disappointed. They could have rejected him or said I deserved better. I had a feeling afterward, and it was not the feeling of a person who had struck the jackpot.
Back at his apartment, we drank wine and spoke of the future.
“Your friends are… wonderful,” he said.
“I agree. When am I going to meet yours?”
“I have told you, I don’t do friends. I am a loner. But if you really want to see someone, I can fly my brother in.”
“It's okay,” I said, looking into his eyes.
The breakup was simple. One morning, I told him how I felt about him. There was a hidden part of him he did not share with me. I wanted to know him. I wanted to know him so well that he would believe he did not know himself as I did. By then we had spoken of what our wedding venue would look like. It would be in an open field. Ariel and Tanya, with the rest of my bridesmaids, would wear a pink silk gown, there would be chrysanthemums, and a black priest who would let us read our own vows.
A year had gone by since then and Tanya came to see me. She had some news to deliver. She studied me, but I could tell she was excited and could not wait to not to reveal whatever she was holding back.
“I kept in touch with Mike,” she blurted, and looked at me for a reaction.
“And?” I asked.
“Are you mad I stayed in touch with him?” she asked, making an apologetic face.
“No,” I lied, “It’s okay. You are a grown woman. You can be friends with whomever.”
“Good,” she said, holding my hand, “because we became good friends after you broke off the engagement. I couldn’t really be mad at him since you didn’t tell anyone why you ended things.”
“What is the point of this conversation, Tanya?”
“He got married today,” she said.
“What?” I asked and immediately comported myself.
Tanya showed me a video of the wedding. I exhaled when I saw the bride wasn’t his ex-girlfriend from our engagement party. On a closer look, I saw something else. Her bridesmaids wore a pink silk gown, and there was chrysanthemum all around. The wedding was exactly how I envisioned mine was going to be. It was almost better than my fantasy.
I smiled at Tanya. “I am happy for him.”
“Really?” she asked.
I nodded. Then I stood from the couch where I sat and entered the restroom. It was there the tears came, slowly and then freely.
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