Saying I Do

Chapter 3

After Dean and I walked down the aisle hand in hand out of the room, I stood on my tip toes and kissed him furiously. "We're married!" I exclaimed, leaning back and spinning with my arms high in the air. He leans down and lifts me up. Hands braced tightly against my back and legs.

I squeal and watch as the crowd inside starts to rise and follow the same path we took out of the room. We all were moving to another location at a country club where we made sure to include a dance floor because if there is one thing I love besides stories, it's dancing. Being half black, I was blessed with some movement in my hips and I have always made sure to use them before they grow too stiff with age.

Dean is still carrying me when I get that feeling of pressure in my stomach. "Hold on." I say. Dean stops and sets me down. I hand the bouquet to him and say, "I have to go to the bathroom real quick. Wait for me in the car."

He smiles, "Ok, babe. I love you." He kisses me and heads off. I sigh and head in the opposite direction, looking for the bathroom.

This place is a maze. The entire place is covered in this bronze and gold paint and with all of the mirrors and pearlescent tiles, a bathroom feels so out of place for such a grandiose place. I eventually see a women's sign that is bright blue and white on the right side of the second hallway I walked down. I wonder how many brides, grooms, or people getting engaged have had to pee right in the middle of a ceremony and have had to hold it or have had to book it as fast as possible only to battle through the tightest of pants or the fluffiest of dresses. What if it were a combination of the two? The horror.

I enter the bathroom and see it decorated in white tile and paint with gold trim along the mirrors, sinks, and even the toilets.

This place was in no way cheap, I will tell you that.

I open one of the stalls, and realize that my thoughts were so valid. Battling all of this tulle is the most frustrating thing I have ever had to experience. Jumpsuits are not even close to a wedding dress of this magnitude.

I finish and flush the toilet. I make sure that my dress doesn't touch the toilet when I resituate myself.

When I open the stall door, the door to the bathroom begins to open too and who walks in? None other than fucking Francis. "What the hell?" I shout.

He comes closer to me and I hold up a hand. "I need to wash my hands." I go over to the sink farthest from him and look down at my hands, taking my sweet time. Until he comes closer and I make eye contact with him in the mirror. He cut his hair. It used to be a curly carrot top. Now, it's a military buzz cut. He never had much facial hair except for the occasional peach fuzz, but today it is also freshly shaved.

I don't turn around when I walk over to the paper towel dispenser. "Why are you here?"

"I wanted to talk to you. Couldn't think of anywhere more private."

"No, why are you here? At my wedding!" I turn to face him now and he is close. Way too close.

"You invited me."

"I didn't." I remember giving my mom a list of people to send invites to one week and I would take care of the other half. I thought it would speed up the process a bit and cause less stress for myself. No where on those lists should have been Francis Santos.

"Then why do I have this?" He pulls an invite out of his suit jacket pocket.

"Maybe it was meant to go to Seria. The mailman must've mixed your mail with hers." It was a weak prediction because I could clearly see his name displayed in typed cursive.

He cocks his head and lowers his arm by his side.

"Alright, I don't have an explanation for you, okay? I'm sorry that you felt like you had some goddamn obligation to show up and let me rub my happiness all over your face. You can leave here knowing that I'm on cloud fucking nine. Cool?" I start to head for the door. My hand nearly on the handle when Francis grabs it and backs me into the wall, his hands on either side of my face. The chill of the wall sends a shock through my body as it touches my bare shoulders.

I try to push him off, trying to make as little physical contact as possible. I can taste venom in my throat when I say, "Back away from me, right now."

"Why? You know that you miss what we used to have, Jasmine. You don't fully love him. What makes him better than me? Why did you choose Mr. Bowties and Patterned Button-Down over me? You love me and I'll always love you and no matter how many times you brush me off or block me. You can't erase me from your mind. I'm still in there no matter how many times you try to convince yourself that I'm not."

I feel my body on fire. I feel like I'm being judged by a greater being. He has always carried this aura of danger and temptation. Yet, whenever I've been alone with him, I've always felt small. I feel small in this moment and I cower under his towering body, but I've grown from that weakness. I felt like he could demand anything from me and I would do it to make him happy. I never did anything that made me happy.

When I wanted to brand his arm with the word "NO" just so he would remember that it exists and it is the most important word in the universe, he would ignore it. He would persuade me that whatever he wanted was what I wanted even if I never was fully convinced. I was weak and I was never satisfied. I was angry and upset. Crying as he lay right beside me, sleeping soundly.

I gather the words to form themselves out of my mouth. "You are nothing to me now, Francis. You need to get the fuck away from me and you need to move on." I surprise myself with how cold and heartless my voice sounds, but if anyone needs to hear these words spoken in such a way, there is no one else but him.

He looks at me so seriously that I'm afraid for a tiny moment that he is going to hurt me. He doesn't though, instead he takes a hesitant step back and I don't wait to hear him say anything else out of those lips that spill lies. I yank open the door and push past him, finding my safe outlet, finding my husband. Why can't the past just stay there?