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In which my ex happens to invite me to his wedding and my options for dates are very limited.
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It's funny how one piece of mail can invoke so many emotions.
The first thing I felt was confusion.
The card I received was small, one-sided, and seemed far too fancy for a simple greeting. I instantly recognized it as a wedding invite, something I had gotten far too used to during the past few years of my life. I thought just about everyone I knew had gotten married, but apparently there was still one or two left. I began reading the card then, the elegant gold writing inviting me to do so.
We invite you to the wedding of Tucker--
And that's where I stopped reading for a moment, and let my shock set in.
I finished the card, then scanned over it once, twice, and then returned to stare at the name, hoping that it'd suddenly change into one I could manage. But after a couple minutes with nothing happening, I felt the urge to simply rip the card in two.
I suppose that's when I started feeling angry.
As if on cue, the person needed the most at the moment walked through the front door. Her arms were cluttered with shopping bags; however, it didn't stop me from surging towards her.
"Read this," I urged.
"At least let me set down these bags." I glanced back down at them, growing more curious as to what she bought with every passing second. I pushed those thoughts to the side as the card once again came back to the forefront of my mind.
"But we need to talk about this." eyes flitted up to the card before she looked back to me.
"Let me give you a fashion show and then you can talk about that as much as you want."
"Deal."
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"Okay, and these heels?" I glanced down at one of the last things Kirstie had tried on. They were a pair of white and black heels that fit her so incredibly well. What amazed me even more was how I wasn't sure if I could even take five steps in them, yet she had been pacing around the room in them with no problem.
"You're the only person I know that can pull off 80 inch heels."
"80 is an exaggeration."
"So? They still look incredible on you."
"I really like them too," she said before heading back to the mini-pile of shoe boxes against one of her bedroom walls. "But I feel a little guilty about keeping this many pairs."
"You rock all of them, I see no problem with it." She looked over her shoulder back at me.
"You're a horrible influence."
"And you're very welcome." She simply smirked before turning back to her shoes to begin taking them off.
"So I guess my one question is how Tucker managed to find someone," she spoke after a couple of moments. "He's an asshole."
