Wenclair One-Shots

Like a Prayer (Part 3/3)

It was raining.

The day that was supposed to be the happiest of Enid's life was accompanied by dark clouds scarring the sky, raining with the ferocity of a child enacting a temper tantrum. Watching the rain patter against the window, the whole thing felt oddly fitting.

It raised the hackles of those around her, confused and seemingly offended by Enid's easy acceptance of the omen, yet receptionists and managers of Hillsbury Lodge still went out of their way to assure Enid. Many whispered promises were said, explaining that the wedding will run as smoothly as previously planned, for every few minutes, a pretty woman or balding man with a nametag and dress shirt would visit her in the bridal suite, desperate to keep the white-veiled woman updated. The venue employees were insistent that while the Autumn shower was completely unexpected, however, they stored and kept emergency tent canopies in the clubhouse basement specifically for these types of unanticipated developments.

So, despite the ill-tempered weather and the vague warnings of a familiar stalker from the night before, the wedding was still planned to take place. After all, since the darkened sky lacked the crackling of lightning, the ceremony posed no overall safety concern.

By afternoon, the rain had even calmed slightly. So, as a result, Enid was clad in white, the hem of her dress embellished and flourished with woven flower petals, and the train was smoothed out by the hands of her bridesmaids who cooed from behind. A round of applause was led and conducted by her friends when Enid's makeup and hair, curled and organized into small ringlets, were finished and completed.

A red tint colored Enid's cheeks and — just like that the look was complete. A blushing bride was ready for a wedding's disposal.

Yet ice skittered down her spine when the clock struck five — it was not long until there was a rap at the door. Knowing it was time, Enid pushed her hands down her dress — straightening lumps on her gown that did not exist. As she tried to busy her nerves, Enid's bridesmaids assembled in a line, rushing out the door. When Enid tried to follow them, she was met with her father, almost stumbling into him, in fact.

His hair, which was balding at the back of his scalp, had been carefully combed. His beard seemed to have the same treatment, and Enid immediately wondered if he did it himself or if her mother had brushed through the ginger strands of hair.

His suit was a light green color and seemed to fit around his shoulders well. The only aspect of his appearance that was misplaced was his peony corsage which was on his jacket, so Enid reached out her hands to straighten the flower.

"There,' Enid said, patting the lapel of his blazer. "You're perfect."
He squeezed her hand. "Thank you, Enid."

As much as Enid wanted to return the watery smile emerging on her father's face, she found herself incapable.

Her father was not a man of many words — in most instances, a man of none. Yet Enid found his words lacking for the first time in her life.

It felt like he missed a cue in the script.

"You look perfect, dad."

"So do you, kiddo."

He didn't call Enid kiddo. Was he supposed to?

Before she could ponder for any longer, she was suddenly under a white canopy, a colony of eyes trained on her as she cleared her throat. She didn't remember being ushered outside, but her father's arm was wrapped around her own, and he led her even further down the aisle. She was careful not to stumble, yet her heels dug into the aisle running that sank into the wet grass.

Distantly, she could hear some cousins of hers giggling from a back row, along with some old neighbors whispering back and forth.

"She looks lovely," An old woman murmured, and her husband fidgeted with his hearing aid, "Yes. Yeah — what?"