Have Your Cake

She gripped the railing and spoke to her left hand.

Maybe next time I should leave it at home.

I glanced at her ring finger, but said nothing. I already knew she was bothered.

As we poured out of the dance club, sultry on sexual overtone, we politely declined offers for an extended evening. Beyond steamy smoke and mirrors, I assured ambitious amateurs that our phone numbers would do them no good.

A few steps away, Laila was exposed under the jaundiced glow of a street lamp. The multifaceted cut so carefully selected for her would glimmer under even the grimiest bulb.

Man, don't waste your time. She's married. 

The corners of her smile fell a little.
Anyone could see this was new to her.

Know Your Role

The truth is that he simply didn't like the way our names looked together on the outside of an envelope. 

Mr. and Dr. S. B.

It is the reason he drank whiskey from the bottle while I was at work.

It is the reason he flipped coffee tables at 2 am and apologized in the afternoon.

It is the reason he threw Christmas gifts at me one by one and then begged me to open them. 

It is the reason he growled into my subconscious after dark. You are a dirty bitch.

But for a moment, I believed him.

Post Script Incrimination

Mrs.
Mr.s
Mr's
Mister's
His

She's plain. 
The groom's grandfather described my dear friend to a stranger. She shakes her head and insists that it's because she doesn't wear flashy jewelry or red lipstick.

There's always a warm one waiting somewhere. 
Ten minutes before the ceremony, and with a toothy grin, his brother hints that Jason's freedom isn't entirely sold.

I withheld judgement. I supported. I bought the amethyst dress. I flew to Texas and assured myself that foreboding could be dismissed. I curled her hair and I stood beside her. I smiled and laughed. I carried her flowers. I brought her red wine and bustled her dress. I twirled the little girls who told me I looked like Barbie. I danced with her new husband.

Deflating in coach on the way home, hushed criticisms resonate. My eyes are tired and, instead of working, I stare out the window at the snow covered acres below.

 Lord knows I am jaded, but I have never left a wedding feeling quite like this.

Dear Katie,

My sweet, brown eyed friend,

Please know that you are golden. You are strong. 

You deserve the best life has to offer. 

     xx

     Lulu

P.S. If he hurts you, I will kill him. 

Presage

Jason asked me to marry him.  

Her voice was thin and distant. The immediate swell of disquietude was respectfully hidden by a thousand miles and a cell phone. Through my teeth, I told her that I was happy. I may have even forced an invisible smile.

I said yes. 

Katie was my housemate for a year or two during grad school. Back then, we both needed each other. My courage. Her sanity. Red wine and tomato bruschetta for dinner every night. She was good for me. But even then, I knew she needed me more.

You're going to be there, right? 

Only four months ago he left her to "figure things out." But she was buried deep beyond the jurisdiction of reasonable advice by then. Now he asked for a commitment she had already made. In a precipitate both belated and breakneck, we exhaled into the space between us.

Of course.