The Other Woman

“And I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride.”

I stood in the back of the church, all the seats having been taken. The spot of shame for late guests and awkward plus ones. The chilled champagne I brought -now lukewarm- in one hand, my mauve colored heels in the other. All around the guests cheered; the love of my life kissed his bride.  

You know you had that one friend growing up -when you didn’t understand love or commitment or any of those adult subjects - but you both promised by the time you were old, if both of you weren’t married, that you’d marry each other. I wonder how many of those commitments went unfulfilled. Nevertheless, Theo was that person for me. In seventh grade, we’d been walking from the bus stop on a hot afternoon in May, when he broached the subject. 

“Do you wonder what we’ll be like when we get married?”

“We, as in me and you getting married?” I scoffed.

“No, no, like to whoever we find out there. Will we still be friends? Will our spouses hate each other? Inquisitive minds want to know.”

“I mean, who’s to say either one of us gets married. I’ve heard of people being single their whole lives and being completely content.”

He slid me a disbelieving look. “They can’t be completely happy, humans are social creatures. They need enrichment and companionship.” 

I shoved him off of the broken and cracked sidewalk. “People aren’t like guinea pigs Theo! Even so, some of us like being alone.” 

He was going through a scientific phase at this point in his life, blaming anything he could on biology. He once tried to blame my neutral taste in clothing on the idea that I “subconsciously” wanted to blend into my surroundings; seamlessly homogenize with the cream colored school walls and melt into the crisp gray tile floor. I refuted the notion saying I did wear color - he just couldn't see it. Which was in fact true, because white was the combination of every color. 

He rejoined me on the sidewalk and just hummed along, as if my retaliation meant nothing to him. As we approached my house, with its green shutters and white paint, he said, “How about this, let's agree to marry each other if we never marry anyone else.” 

Thirteen year old me wanted my friendship with Theo to last forever. However, I wasn’t naïve enough to believe we’d always be friends, let alone married. So I didn't see it as a problem when I agreed to his proposal. A ticket out of growing old with twenty cats? Count me in. What I wasn’t expecting was for his jean clad legs to get down on the sidewalk and quite literally propose to me. 

“Summer Joyce Taylor, will you agree to marry me if we aren’t married by thirty?” 

My cheeks flamed as I pulled him up. “What are you doing?” I sputtered. “Yes, yes, you know I will but my dad could have seen that - you don’t just droop down on one knee in front of my house!”

He laughed at my embarrassment and shoved my shoulder. “Good, now neither one of us will have to be alone, even though some,” he raised his hands in mock quotation, “like to be alone.” 

I had scoffed at the idea of us being more than friends - but deep down I knew. I knew I liked this skinny kid that lived next door to me. I liked that we’d known each other for years. I liked that he’d seen me run my bike into the dumpster, and I’d seen him get gum stuck in his braces. I could make fun of him just as much as he could of me. The familiarity was something I clung on to for dear life.

It was a funny thing though; I’d watch him date girl after girl for years. There was Selena who claimed to be the pilates princess. In reality, a better name for her would’ve been the “petty princess.” She’d place her manicured hands on her spandex covered hips and raise hell, till her oat milk latte with extra syrup was made to her liking. Then there was Sarah, who we found out was Morman, looking for another boy toy to add to her collection. And my personal favorite, Simone, who only talked to Theo in a ear piercing, shrill voice. If she was aiming for baby talk, it landed flat, sounding more like she was conversing with the dead. 

 But he always came back to me. Whether single or taken; we’d go out to eat, go to the movies, or play board games. Though our promise had a contingency on being at least thirty, he held onto the premise of not leaving me alone. Not for my twenty-first, when my pillow that night was a cheap plastic toilet seat. Not when I got locked out of my apartment, the spare being hidden in a spot I couldn’t reach. Nope - every time I called, he came. 

The only problem now was the girl at the altar, wasn’t me. And that meant when I would call, I most likely wouldn't get an answer. 

The girl Theo decided to lock down was Stacey, and she had the biggest ears known to man. Even Theo thought so when he first met her. I would tell him to quit creating insecurities for her, but turns out, she was well aware of her likeness to Dumbo. Over dinner one night, the three of us talked about how insensitive people could be when it came to things you couldn’t change.

“It’s not like I’m going to drop thousands of dollars to get my ears tucked? I feel like people have worse issues, you know?” she said. 

Me and Theo nodded simultaneously, sharing a look, knowing we both would say massive ears were on our lists of worse issues. In my defense, I turned her problem into an innovative solution. 

“Why don’t you just get a bunch of piercings? You have a great canvas space for it, and when people look, they’ll see what a badass you are!”

Turns out, she loved the idea - as I could currently see her jewelry clad ears behind her sheer veil that rested on the back of her head. 

You could say I subjected myself to first class torture; watching the guy you’re in love with  pine after a girl who was eerily similar to me. Same middle name? Check. Same eye color? Check. Same taste in obscure 90’s rock bands? I didn’t even know how, but check. I decided I would rather have Stacey comfortable with me and Theo’s friendship, than care that I would break my own heart in the process. 

Theo and I discussed our relationship once. It happened to be the day before he proposed to Stacey. We were drinking on my dirty back porch, enjoying the cool breeze from the setting sky. I don’t know if it was the relaxed atmosphere, or the beer in his hand, but his words flew freer than they ever had. But the problem was, one of us was more sober than the other. 

“I don’t know what I’d do without you Sum Sum.” You knew he was teasing with drunkenness when my nickname was uttered. 

“You too Theo,” I replied.

“No, I don’t think you understand. I need you.” His warm brown eyes searched mine. I tried to plaster a look of calm on my face, but my body would not allow it, could not allow it. My heart beat with an erratic rhythm most associated with heart attacks. My hands clutched the neck of the beer bottle with such intensity, I thought I could already feel the shards of glass in my palms. He looked away and shook his head. 

“I’m messing this up - shit. I’m messing this up.”

“Messing what up?”

“You know.”

I did know. I knew deep within my soul what he was getting at. 

“Tell me,” I whispered. 

Instead he set his bottle down on the dusty porch table, and leaned in close. I tried to deflect, questioning if I had something on my face or spinach in my teeth. Don’t get me wrong, I desperately wanted him to kiss me. But I wasn’t going to be the other woman; I was the woman. And when his nose brushed mine and his eyes drooped, I almost threw my arms around his neck and took what I wanted. But like all good things, they end before they’ve truly even begun.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean-” I covered his hands and said, “It’s alright, let's get you some water.” And that’s what we did. We padded into the kitchen with an immense space between us. The silence left room for my thoughts to be louder, which was the catalyst for the world’s worst confession of love.

 He was mid-sip of water when I said, “I don’t know if you want to talk about what happened out there, or if you’ll even remember what happened, but I have to say something. I’ve waited years for you to say what you just said; I mean I would’ve preferred more than just ‘You Know’ - all ominous and stuff - but that's what you gave me so that’s what I’m working with.”

His eyes grew as I went on. 

“I know you’re dating Stacey right now, but how can you love her and love me at the same time? You can tell me it’s a friendship kind of love - don’t look at me like that - but I want to know how much of that you meant, and how much of it was the beer talking. Because I love you and we both know it.”

He wouldn’t tell me the whole truth, now or then. And after my sub par declaration, he just got real close and whispered, “We both know, but it’s easier this way.” 

He ended up passing out on my second hand couch and didn’t remember a single word of our conversation the night before. Not a single word. And as if nothing had happened, he proposed to Stacey the next day. A week before the wedding he called.

“We changed the time of the wedding.”

 I just about screamed at him. “You don’t go changing the time of your wedding this late! Now everyone has to be contacted and  -”

“It’s all taken care of Summer, I promise.” He sounded somber, depressed even. But he wouldn’t spill no matter how hard I pressed or what sort of incentive I devised. I even offered to not embarrass him during my wedding party speech - I had tons of humiliating stories just waiting to be shared. But I didn’t get very far before he hung up. 

Apparently I hadn’t experienced true heart break. No, that would be now, standing in the back of this stuffy church, watching Theo kiss Stacey, knowing that he lied to me about the time of his own wedding. Everyone was already in their seats. Vows were already spoken. Souls already bound in holy matrimony. 

“And I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride.”

It clicked like a puzzle piece of a cruel picture, put together to reveal an ugly reality. He didn’t know how to say goodbye to me, to our friendship, to our relationship. His promise was before thirty; we were both twenty nine. The promise the once brought me comfort, he used as a scape goat. And with his hand intertwined with his bride, he looked at me. We spoke with our eyes, our souls slipping away from each other. 

I was late to the love of my life’s wedding, but I was certainly early to leave.