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In the background, Chloe's helpless voice drifted through, "Brandon? Where did you go?"
Then her voice got closer; he must have put it on speaker.
"Emily? Oh my god, I feel terrible. I really didn't mean to... I went to your place to grab something for Brandon. I saw your beautiful dress, and just wanted to try it on. Then I tripped on the hem and... the dress ripped. A big tear... I am so, so sorry!"
She started crying.
Brandon immediately comforted her.
"Chloe, it's okay, don't cry. You didn't mean to... Emily won't blame you, right Emily?"
I closed my eyes.
"And Emily," Brandon continued, "Since the wedding is postponed anyway, we can go to Vera Wang next week. I'll order you a better one, okay?"
"Brandon," I interrupted. "Why was Chloe in our new house?"
"Oh, uh... the heating in her apartment broke. I told her she could be there for a few days—"
"And why was she trying on my wedding dress?"
"She was just... you know how girls are. She was curious—"
"No, Brandon. I don't know. Because I'd never try on other people's wedding dresses."
He went silent for a moment.
"Emily, are you being jealous? It's just Chloe—"
"You're right." I suddenly felt drained. "It's just Chloe. It's always just Chloe."
"Babe—"
A car horn interrupted him.
Chloe's voice came again. "Brandon, the doctor is calling you... he says he needs you to sign the consent forms because I don't have family here..."
"Shit, okay, coming." Then he said to me, "Emily, I gotta go. We'll talk later, okay? Love you."
He hung up.
I stood at the entrance of City Hall, looking at the marriage certificate in my hand, and suddenly laughed.
Too late, Brandon.
You have your Chloe.
I have my Nathan.
And we are done.
A black Maybach pulled up to the curb. The driver stepped out, a calm Black man in his fifties with a kind smile.
"Mrs. Black?"
It took me a second to realize he was talking to me. "Oh, uh, yes. I guess that's me."
"I'm Michael. Mr. Black sent me to take you home." He opened the door for me. "He wanted to ensure you got back safely."
Inside the car, there was a bouquet of white roses and a card.
I opened it. It's Nathan's sprawling handwriting:
Tomorrow at 2 PM. Come to my place, please don't be late, Mrs. Black.
- N
I couldn't help but smile.
My mom was waiting at the door.
As soon as she saw me, she rushed over and hugged me tight.
"Oh, baby. My baby girl."
"Mom, I'm okay—"
"Okay? Okay?" She pulled back, cupping my face. "You just got married! You didn't tell me! I didn't get to... I missed your wedding..."
She was crying.
My strong mother, the woman who never shed a tear in a boardroom, was crying.
"Mom..." I started crying too.
"I'm sorry. I just... I couldn't take it anymore. I couldn't stand there and let him choose her over me one more time."
"I know, baby. I know." She pulled me inside.
"Come on. Your dad popped the champagne. He said we're celebrating getting rid of that bastard."
Sure enough, my dad was in the living room, two glasses of Veuve Clicquot already poured.
"There's my married daughter!"
He handed me a glass. "To Emily, for finally getting some damn sense!"
"William!" My mom glared at him.
"What? It's the truth!" My dad grinned. "Nathan Black, he is smart, successful and respectful. And most importantly, he's loved you from the start."
I almost choked on my champagne. "What?"
My mom and dad exchanged a look.
"Oh, sweetie," Mom sat down, patting the sofa for me to join her. "Did you really not know?"
"Know what?"
"Nathan," my dad said, "He has been crazy about you for years. Since you saved him at your grandmother's vineyard."
I remembered that summer.
I had just graduated from high school, spending the break at Grandma's in Napa.
Nathan was twenty-four then, fresh out of his Stanford MBA, attending a wine tasting.
He was severely allergic to all things made of grapes.
I happened to have an EpiPen. I saved him, took him to the hospital, and brought him food every day he was admitted.
I thought he was just being nice when he gave me his number before leaving.
"If you ever need anything, and I mean anything, call me. I owe you one."
"After that summer," Mom continued, "He started showing up a lot. At first to thank us, then it became regular visits. At least once a month."
"He would ask about you," Dad said. "How's your school life, what were you studying, if you were dating anyone..."
"We thought it was sweet," Mom said.
"He clearly liked you, but he never pushed. Waiting for you to grow up a bit, to be ready..."
"Then your sophomore year," Dad's tone changed, "You called and said you were with Brandon."
I remembered that call. I was so excited and happy.
What I didn't remember was how... cool my parents' reaction had been.
"Nathan came by once after that," Mom said softly.
"He said... since you had someone you liked, he would step back. He asked us not to tell you about his feelings, saying he didn't want to complicate your life."
"He stopped coming around as much after that," Dad said.
"He'd send gifts for holidays, show up for big events, but... the light for you went out, you know?"
I stared at my champagne.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because you seemed happy," Mom said.
"In the beginning, you glowed with Brandon. We thought... maybe we were wrong. Maybe Brandon was the one."
"But after Chloe came back..." Dad shook his head.
"We watched you dim. Every cancelled date, every broken promise, every time he chose her..."
"We wanted to wake you up, " Mom said.
"But you wouldn't listen. You loved him so much."
"I was an idiot," I said.
"No," Dad said firmly. "You were in love. It's not the same thing."
Mom squeezed my hand.
"So when you called today and said you married Nathan... Emily, I haven't been this happy in years."
"Me neither," Dad admitted.
"That kid... he's a good man. And he really really loves you. It's the kind of love that waits."
I thought of Nathan's eyes today, when he saw me at the clerk's office.
It wasn't surprise.
It was... relief?
"The wedding is tomorrow," I said.
"What?" Mom sat up straight.
"Nathan said the wedding proceeds as planned. It's at 2 pm. Tomorrow"
Mom and Dad exchanged another look, then smiled simultaneously.
"That clever son of a bitch," Dad said.
That night, lying in bed, I stared at the ceiling.
My phone kept buzzing.
Brandon: 15 missed calls.
Texts: 27 unread.
I didn't check them.
