Wedding Night

a hand over my mouth, quelling a shocked laugh. No.
No
.
    Should I say— Should I apologize—
    NO.
    But shouldn’t I at least explain—
    I raise my eyes warily to his. His face is blank. He might not have heard anything. Or he might have.
    There is simply no way to bring up this subject that will not backfire horrendously and make us both want to die. What I need to do is go. Move my feet. Now. Go.
    “So … Thanks for the … um.” I replace the helmet on the hook. Exit, Fliss. Now.
    All morning, I feel aftershocks of embarrassment.
    At least I managed to streak from the taxi to my front door with no neighbors seeing me. I ripped off the purple dress, had the quickest shower known to mankind, then called Noah on speakerphone while I was trying to do speedy makeup. (There is no point in rushing mascara application. I know this. So
why
do I always fall into the same trap and end up wiping blobs of it off my cheeks and forehead and mirror?) Evidently Noah’s sleepover was a 100 percent rip-roaring, triumphant success. Wish I could say the same about mine.
    I couldn’t bring myself to call Lottie back, and anyway I didn’t have time. Instead, I texted her, suggesting drinks at seven P.M.
    Now I’m back at the office, speed-reading a review of a new luxury safari lodge in Kenya, which has just come in,about two thousand words over the limit. Clearly this journalist thinks he’s writing the next
Out of Africa
. He hasn’t mentioned the pool or the room service or the spa, only the hazy gathering light over the savannah, and the noble bearing of the zebras drinking at dawn, and the shimmering grasslands whose ancient stories beat on in the sound of the Masai drum.
    I scribble
Room Service???
in the margin and make a note to email him. Then I look at my phone. It’s surprising that Lottie hasn’t confirmed. I would have thought she’d be dying to tell me how many bridal magazines she’s consumed today.
    I glance at my watch. I’ve got some time now. I can make a little sisterly call. I lean back in my chair and speed-dial her, making a “Cup of coffee?” request to Elise through my office window. Elise and I have a pretty good sign-language system going on. I can communicate, “Cup of coffee?” “Tell them I’m out!!” and “Go home, it’s late!” She can communicate, “Cup of coffee?” “I think this one’s important,” and “I’m off for a sandwich.”
    “Fliss?”
    “Hi, Lottie.” I kick off my shoes and take a swig from my Evian bottle. “So, are you on for drinks later? Do I get to meet Ben?”
    There’s silence at the other end. Why is there silence? Lottie doesn’t do silence.
    “Lottie? Are you there?”
    “Guess what!” Her voice throbs importantly. “Guess what!”
    She sounds so pleased with herself, I can tell she’s pulled off something special.
    “You’re getting married in the school chapel and the choir is singing ‘I Vow to Thee, My Country’ while bells peal throughout the land?”
    “No!” She laughs.
    “You’ve found a wedding cake made of profiteroles
and
cupcakes, all covered in sparkly icing?”
    “No, silly! We’re married!”
    “What?” I stare at the phone blankly.
    “Yes! We’ve done it! Ben and I are married! Just now! Chelsea Register Office!”
    I clench the Evian bottle so hard, a stream of water soars into the air and lands in splotches all over my desk.
    “Aren’t you going to say ‘congratulations’?” she adds, a bit petulantly.
    I can’t say “congratulations,” because I can’t say anything. My mouth has seized up. I’m hot. No, I’m cold. I’m panicking. How did this happen?
    “Wow,” I manage at last, trying to keep calm. “That’s … How come? You were going to delay. I thought you were going to delay. That’s what we agreed. That you would delay.”
    You were meant to DELAY
.
    As Elise comes in with a cup of coffee, she looks at me in alarm and makes the “Is everything OK?” sign. But I don’t have a sign for “My bloody sister has gone and wrecked her life,” so I just nod with a rictus smile and take the cup of coffee.
    “We couldn’t wait,” Lottie’s saying happily. “
Ben
couldn’t wait.”
    “But I thought you persuaded him?” I close my eyes and massage my brow, trying to get my head round this. “Whathappened to
Brides
? What happened to a little country church?”
    What happened to Bridezilla? I want to moan faintly,
Bring back Bridezilla
.
    “Ben was totally on for the church