I met my ex-boyfriend at my best friend's wedding. Luckily, I...
The last notes of the church organ lingered between the stained glass windows, and sunlight filtered through the rose-patterned window panes, casting tiny specks of gold across the red carpet. I was squatting beside my bestie, Lillian, gently pulling her floor-length lace veil from her high heels—it was the antique veil her mother wore at her wedding, embroidered with tiny pearls at the edges. "Be careful, honey! This veil is two years older than both of us combined!" Lillian smiled and patted the back of my hand. Her manicure, studded with tiny diamonds, shimmered in the light.
Just as I stood up to adjust the hem of my dress, I caught a glimpse of a figure at the banquet hall entrance—Marcus, my ex-boyfriend of almost two years. He was wearing a crisp navy suit and a perfectly tied tie. The crocodile-print watch peeking out from his cuff was a gift from me for my 25th birthday. He held a glass of champagne, the amber liquid swirling around the sides. His eyes glared straight at me, and I panicked.
My heart skipped a beat, and my fingers instinctively clenched around the white bouquet in my hand, causing the petals of the lisianthus to wrinkle slightly.
Luckily, Lillian and I had just gone to that black-owned nail salon in Brooklyn last Saturday to get a new look: burgundy polish with small gerbera daisies and tiny silver glitter on my fingertips. I quickly lowered my head, pretending to study the pattern, gently stroking my nails, silently praying he wouldn't come over. Even more coincidental, the groomsmen in black baseball caps suddenly approached, their hood peeks dangling from their suit jackets, looking casual. "Hey, the sweet potato pie just came out from the buffet. Lillian's mom saved a few for the bridesmaids to try first." He smiled and handed me a tissue, a look of understanding in his eyes.
I nodded immediately, as if grasping at straws, and followed him to the dining room. As I passed Marcus, I deliberately tucked my newly bought Burmese curly wig, belonging to a collection of glueless wigs, behind my ear and raised my voice to chat with my best man: "Last time for Lillian's birthday, her mother made sweet potato pie and I ate three pieces! Then I tried to make it myself, but the recipe didn't taste the same at all—do you know if she added cinnamon?" Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Marcus pause, but he didn't say anything. He just walked away, his glass in hand.
Once we were behind the dessert table, I leaned against the marble countertop and breathed a sigh of relief. My back was a little damp. The best man handed me a piece of steaming sweet potato pie, its golden crust dusted with a fine layer of icing sugar. "That handsome guy just now couldn't stop staring at you. He started watching you from the moment you squatted on the floor adjusting your veil." He took a bite of his pie and mumbled, "Do you want me to tell him later? You're busy helping Lillian greet guests and don't have time to chat right now?" I took a bite of the sweet potato pie. The warm filling, scented with butter and cinnamon, instantly soothed my panic. "No, thank you!" I couldn't help but laugh, a little frosting on the corner of my mouth. "It's mainly because I don't want to cause any unpleasantness at Lillian's wedding. It's been so long."
Later, for the dance, the band played classic soul music. Lillian and the groom led the first dance, and the guests gathered around and applauded. I was swaying gently to the music when I saw Marcus approach from the crowd, holding a glass of juice, as if he wanted to invite me to dance. My heart tightened. I was about to make an excuse to get a drink when Lillian suddenly grabbed my hand from behind. "Baby, come on! Our bridesmaids are going to do the 'electric slide'!" Without hesitation, she pulled me into the circle of bridesmaids. The other girls quickly gathered around, hand in hand, and slid their feet to the rhythm. Marcus stood by and watched for a moment before finally turning and joining the men.
At the end of the ceremony, the guests were saying goodbye to Lillian and the groom at the door. I was helping Lillian hold her bouquet when I suddenly saw Marcus among the group. He glanced at me and nodded gently. The previous struggle was gone, and instead, there was a hint of relief in his eyes. I nodded back, secretly thankful: thankfully, my new manicure helped, the kind-hearted best man came to my rescue, and Lillian pulled me in to dance—all these little coincidences had helped prevent the awkwardness of the past from ruining my best friend's happiest day. When I left, Lillian's mother gave me a big box of packaged sweet potato pie and said, "Remember to heat it up when you get home. It won't taste good if it's cold!" I hugged the pie and looked at the starry sky. I felt warm and at ease in my heart.
Just as I stood up to adjust the hem of my dress, I caught a glimpse of a figure at the banquet hall entrance—Marcus, my ex-boyfriend of almost two years. He was wearing a crisp navy suit and a perfectly tied tie. The crocodile-print watch peeking out from his cuff was a gift from me for my 25th birthday. He held a glass of champagne, the amber liquid swirling around the sides. His eyes glared straight at me, and I panicked.
My heart skipped a beat, and my fingers instinctively clenched around the white bouquet in my hand, causing the petals of the lisianthus to wrinkle slightly.
Luckily, Lillian and I had just gone to that black-owned nail salon in Brooklyn last Saturday to get a new look: burgundy polish with small gerbera daisies and tiny silver glitter on my fingertips. I quickly lowered my head, pretending to study the pattern, gently stroking my nails, silently praying he wouldn't come over. Even more coincidental, the groomsmen in black baseball caps suddenly approached, their hood peeks dangling from their suit jackets, looking casual. "Hey, the sweet potato pie just came out from the buffet. Lillian's mom saved a few for the bridesmaids to try first." He smiled and handed me a tissue, a look of understanding in his eyes.
I nodded immediately, as if grasping at straws, and followed him to the dining room. As I passed Marcus, I deliberately tucked my newly bought Burmese curly wig, belonging to a collection of glueless wigs, behind my ear and raised my voice to chat with my best man: "Last time for Lillian's birthday, her mother made sweet potato pie and I ate three pieces! Then I tried to make it myself, but the recipe didn't taste the same at all—do you know if she added cinnamon?" Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Marcus pause, but he didn't say anything. He just walked away, his glass in hand.
Once we were behind the dessert table, I leaned against the marble countertop and breathed a sigh of relief. My back was a little damp. The best man handed me a piece of steaming sweet potato pie, its golden crust dusted with a fine layer of icing sugar. "That handsome guy just now couldn't stop staring at you. He started watching you from the moment you squatted on the floor adjusting your veil." He took a bite of his pie and mumbled, "Do you want me to tell him later? You're busy helping Lillian greet guests and don't have time to chat right now?" I took a bite of the sweet potato pie. The warm filling, scented with butter and cinnamon, instantly soothed my panic. "No, thank you!" I couldn't help but laugh, a little frosting on the corner of my mouth. "It's mainly because I don't want to cause any unpleasantness at Lillian's wedding. It's been so long."
Later, for the dance, the band played classic soul music. Lillian and the groom led the first dance, and the guests gathered around and applauded. I was swaying gently to the music when I saw Marcus approach from the crowd, holding a glass of juice, as if he wanted to invite me to dance. My heart tightened. I was about to make an excuse to get a drink when Lillian suddenly grabbed my hand from behind. "Baby, come on! Our bridesmaids are going to do the 'electric slide'!" Without hesitation, she pulled me into the circle of bridesmaids. The other girls quickly gathered around, hand in hand, and slid their feet to the rhythm. Marcus stood by and watched for a moment before finally turning and joining the men.
At the end of the ceremony, the guests were saying goodbye to Lillian and the groom at the door. I was helping Lillian hold her bouquet when I suddenly saw Marcus among the group. He glanced at me and nodded gently. The previous struggle was gone, and instead, there was a hint of relief in his eyes. I nodded back, secretly thankful: thankfully, my new manicure helped, the kind-hearted best man came to my rescue, and Lillian pulled me in to dance—all these little coincidences had helped prevent the awkwardness of the past from ruining my best friend's happiest day. When I left, Lillian's mother gave me a big box of packaged sweet potato pie and said, "Remember to heat it up when you get home. It won't taste good if it's cold!" I hugged the pie and looked at the starry sky. I felt warm and at ease in my heart.
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