Broken Dreams(3)

Anyway, about the whole job thing. Who was I to judge? I couldn’t hold down a job to save my life. Sadly, my parents had been paying my rent for quite some time. It was shameful, really, but I just couldn’t bite my tongue all the time. Every time I lost yet another job, I would get the “We aren’t going to be around forever to take care of you, Elaina” lecture.

A year after we met, Henry brought me back to Gemelli’s and proposed. I was in shock. I couldn’t believe a man of his caliber would even date me, let alone ask me to marry him. Once I croaked out the word yes, the crowded café erupted in applause.

The moment I mentioned the ring to my mom, the wedding planning started.

What a fucking epic nightmare that was! The flamboyant planner, a David Tutera want-to-be, had a vision which we weren’t seeing eye-to-eye with. Finally, I gave up. I let everyone do whatever the hell they wanted. I just smiled and nodded, all the while saying fuck you in my head.

The whole wedding wasn’t about what Henry and I wanted. It was more about everyone else, meaning my mother, getting what they wanted. I barely had a say in my dress!

I hate dresses. I’m so not a dress kind of girl. I would have been happy in a tank top and shorts with a pair of Jesus creepers on my feet. I may have even gone as far as a flowy skirt, if I was feeling a little wild.

Have I mentioned that I hate weddings? I mean, come on, people! Why spend tens of thousands of dollars when I could have picked out something from my closet, strolled down to the beach, and had the Justice of the Peace marry us. We were desperate for a simple wedding but, again, it wasn’t about what we wanted.

Poor Henry had to suffer right along with me. He tried to stay out of the drama, but he also wanted to see me get at least one thing that I wanted. I think I tore his head off more than a few times. He deserved a medal of highest order after dealing with me…and my mother.

I should have focused my anger on something more like a punching bag with my mother’s face on it, instead of going mental on him. He was a good sport, though, taking everything in stride. He even went to bat for me a few times, even though he knew it was a losing battle. Thankfully, he still loved me, with or without my drama.

Anyway, so there I was, counting down the minutes until I could take off those stupid shoes, when I heard several screams coming from the congregational seating area. I looked at my father, who shrugged.

What now, I thought. Were the pews not quite the correct color wood, or were the flowers drooping? The bows? Maybe they were crushed some? I rolled my eyes, thinking about what a clusterfuck the wedding planning had turned out to be.

As my father started to pull open the door to check out what was going on, I heard more people screaming. Then I heard my brother, Nick, yelling “Run!” over and over again. It’s hard to believe that someone could possibly be more dramatic than me, but he was worse than a Lifetime movie. It was always zero to sixty with him. At least I gave it a few seconds before I acted like a complete psychotic nut job.

Nick was a couple years older than me but, at times, he acted like he was a decade younger. I wondered when, or if, he was going to grow up. An ironic statement coming from me, but whatever. Unfortunately, we looked like each other so I couldn’t deny that we were related.

I sighed. Then I realized people were going completely insane in there!

“Dad, what’s happening?” I said in an irritated tone while picking at my bouquet full of flowers, which I had a great dislike for. He closed the door in haste and looked at me. He was white. Not like the “old guy who stayed out of the sun” white, but white with fear.

My father was a strong man. I always counted on him to say the right things at the right times. At that moment, he was speechless, which filled me with some serious concern.

“Dad? Say something.”

“I…I, uh…” He couldn’t formulate a sentence so I pushed him out of the way. I needed to see for myself. I wasn’t always polite. Combine that with my slight impatience issues, and I could be a little obnoxious.

The screaming was turning panicky, and I could hear people scrambling. I burst through the door and all I saw was our family and friends running around like maniacs. I was looking for Henry when I locked eyes with my Maid of Honor/best friend, Claire James, who was running toward the corridor where my father and I were waiting.

She was beautiful in her Tiffany blue dress. It looked stunning against her pale skin and ginger hair. The bridesmaid’s dress color was my choice. Only after hours of pissing and moaning did my mother finally relent to the blue. Claire was barreling toward me. “Oh, my god, Elaina! Oh, my god!” She grabbed me and started sobbing.