The Parting Gift(37)

Her thoughts had gotten away with her somehow. Before she knew it, her aunt kissed her mother goodbye, and pushed Sara into a black plush carriage waiting outside.

“Oh, and Sara,” her mother ran toward her, “Aunt Tilda will explain what needs to be done to secure a husband; you listen to everything she says. Do not embarrass us! Your father has, well, he has some debts, dear, and you’re our only hope of securing a man rich enough to take care of us. Do you understand?”

Was that a rhetorical question?

Her mother droned on, “And, dear, I know you are…well, you’re wicked-looking, but if you could please swallow your pride and do whatever it takes, we would be grateful. After all, this is your one and only chance for any sort of affection from another person. And we all desire affection. Even ugly children desire acceptance.”

Hearing enough, she bit her lip to keep from talking. Sara nodded her head and closed the door to the carriage. Her body felt numb. She knew all about emotional rejection; it was her cross to bear, but to be reminded by one’s own mother time and time again was the worst pain imaginable. Turning her head toward the window, she pulled her knees up to her chest and sighed. Aunt Tilda reached across and patted her hand much like a stranger would do to comfort a small child.

“No fear, my girl, I have a grand plan. A plan even you can’t ruin.” She smiled cheerfully before putting a covering over her eyes and going silent, most likely to sleep.

It’s an adventure, it’s an adventure, Sara kept repeating over and over again in her head to keep herself from crying. Being mortified in front of her family because of her looks she could handle, but being humiliated in front of the ton was quite another. “Dear God, if you can do miracles, I ask for one right now. Make me pretty; make me loveable. I don’t care if I let my family down, I just don’t want to feel this way ever again.” The stress of the day overwhelming her, she drifted off to sleep.





Also by Rachel Van Dyken





How I ended up here, I have no idea. Well actually, I take that back. I do. The whole thing started when my boyfriend of two weeks asked me to be his date to his best friend’s wedding. Being the na?ve idiot that I am, I said, “Well, of course,” because naturally I’m in love with him after fourteen days and will do anything he asks (cue large sigh here).

So, you can imagine my surprise at the predicament I’m in – not that I shouldn’t have seen it coming. A girl should have a sixth sense about some situations. He never let me see his place, nor did he take me out in public, nor did I ever actually meet any of his friends. It was a series of coffee dates and quick yet passionate kisses on the cheek, which led me to this church on this particular day. Desperate? No, I’m not, but perhaps I’m a little too hopeful.

Dear friends, who also happen to be happily married, are always reminding me I’m young enough to be independent, free, and I should enjoy this time in my life. Please. I’d roll my eyes and say choice words to them, if they could take their eyes off each other long enough to notice. Which brings me to why I’m too hopeful. I want what they have. However, that is no excuse for the sorry situation I find myself in today.

Oh, to leave this place! But I can’t. My only ride is with my stupid (you guessed it) ex-boyfriend who is still in the corner sobbing his eyes out. And you may ask, “Amanda, that’s odd. Why is your now ex-boyfriend sobbing his eyes out?” To which I will answer, “Because he’s lost his mind.” Literally tossed every brain cell in his possession into a trash can and set it on fire, no joke. Looking at him just makes me all the more sick to my stomach. As I said before, I should have known. Used, like some worthless replacement for what he really wanted all along, that’s what I feel right now, and it’s the simple truth.

With all the snot running down his face and the tears, I find myself wondering what I ever saw in him. What’s wrong with me? Normally I’m not this stupid. I go for the jocks, but because of bad experiences which we don’t need to review, I decided to go for the nerdy guy. Sensitivity might be a nice change. Well, I got the sensitive part; not what I had in mind.

It would have been nice to know an important little detail. The best friend, whose wedding I just inadvertently destroyed, is a girl.

Furthermore, there was no way for me to know this girl was the love of his life, and I was actually going to a wedding to witness my date stand up in the middle of the ceremony – God, mayor, and everyone else I have known since high school—and say, “I object!”

I can’t make this stuff up, not even if I tried. Naturally, the groom was a little ticked off. You could tell by the fact that his face and neck got so red his head looked like it was going to pop right off his body. Next thing I know, my ex-boyfriend was grabbing me, yes grabbing me, by my dress strap, I might add, and tugging me to stand up with him. Sorry, but my loyalty doesn’t run that deep. I briefly contemplated slamming my head against a wall.

You can imagine the ruckus he caused, since the bride not only fainted, but took all six of her bridesmaids down with her, simultaneously knocking over the giant candelabrum which set part of the church on fire. The highlight of my day was watching the incredibly muscular fireman put the small blaze out. Sometimes my life is pathetic, I admit.

But back to my snotty-nosed ex-boyfriend, maybe if I sneak away quietly he won’t notice I’m gone. Gathering my purse and coat, I walk toward the door. Sweet freedom. I can see it. I can smell it. And I can feel it.