Her Choice

The prosecco has gone straight to my head, and now I can’t tell what’s excitement and what’s alcohol. I’m floating round on a happy buzz, and the slight asphyxiation from my dress doesn’t help.

“All set?” Elsa, my maid of honour, asks.

“Yup.”

She continues to fuss about, checking and double checking I have all of my ‘good luck’ charms; something borrowed, blue, old, new and the sixpence. It’s hard not to smile, seeing how seriously she’s taking her duties. At her wedding I was only a bridesmaid, but as soon as I asked her to be my maid of honour she declared she’d be the best there ever was. Gone midnight at my hen party I declared, with only a little slurring, that she’d succeeded, but she wouldn’t rest until today was done with.

“Elsa, we’re good,” I say, as her panic starts to get to me again. When she checks her clutch-bag for the fourth time I give up. “I’m going to sneak downstairs quickly.”

“What? No, Lizzy, you can’t.”

“Why not? It’s my wedding.”

“What if someone sees you? It’s bad luck to see the bride’s dress before the wedding.”

“Only for the groom. And no-one will see me. There’s prosecco going, and they should all be getting in their seats by now.”

“But-”

“I’ll be fine,” I sigh, and slip out the room before she can complain again. I know she hasn’t got her shoes on yet- they were driving her mad- so I have at least a few seconds before she can drag me back.

The low murmur of excited yet hushed chatter drifts up the stairs as I creep across the landing and peer down. No-one’s down there now, not like last time I snuck out here. That was when my fiancé, my dearest Adam, and I stole a quick kiss before either of us got ready. We’d debated long and hard about whether to see each other before the ceremony, but my nerves had gotten the better of me. Not that I told him that. ‘To hell with tradition’ was what I’d told him, so he didn’t think my fears were about marrying him.

Leaning further over the balcony, safely weighed down by the ridiculously large train on my dress, I can’t spot anyone in the foyer. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I need to know how many people have turned up. A dozen or so people have been upstairs during the morning to wish me the best and hand over presents early, but I’ve had too many nightmares about walking down an aisle flanked by empty chairs. I shudder, glance back to check that Elsa’s still busy fighting the straps on her heels, and slip downstairs.

As stupid- and expensive- as this dress was, wearing it feels amazing. It feels like a suit of armour, thick and sturdy, and I stand up tall and feel so powerful. It’s intoxicating. Pity I can’t get away with wearing something like this everyday; it would make board meetings so much more bearable. Until I passed out from heat exhaustion or lack of oxygen. Maybe there’s a reason we don’t wear this normally.

The hotel lobby is empty, nothing but all the signs and decorations, and the odd abandoned glass by a plant pot. I can still hear them though, and every now and then a voice rises above the others, and I grin as I recognise it. That was Uncle Peter, and that sounds like Damien, the best man. He better have the rings with him, lord knows Elsa’s warned him about it often enough.

One of the hotel staff comes out of the reception room, and it takes her a few steps to spot me, despite the cloud I’m trailing. Her eyes go wide as she fears she’s gotten in the way, but I raise a finger to my lips.

“I just wanted to sneak a look,” I whisper.

She gives me a conspiratorial grin, before creeping over to the door that leads to the main hall. Pushing it ever so slightly ajar she peers in, before looking back at me and nodding.

“It’s safe,” she mouths, and I’m there in an instant.

I know I don’t have long before they’ll come upstairs to get me. I’ve already had the talk with the registrar, gone over all the boring things like ‘are you doing this freely?’ and all that. Of course I am, although I know plenty of people still think of me as a gold-digger. Let them. They’re just jealous, and I’ve done my damnedest not to invite any of them today.

“Good luck,” the staff member whispers to me, and I nod at her as she heads off to carry on with her work. As I watch her go, wondering how many of these she’s seen, and whether she actually cares about them any more, my eyes fall on the library door.

I bite my lip as I study it. That’s where Adam is supposed to be waiting. He didn’t like the idea of standing at the ‘alter’ for too long, and threw a pretend strop that he didn’t get to have a big entrance, ‘complete with theme music’. I'm still not sure if he has chosen any music for his entrance; although he’d loved the idea, his brothers had tried to talk him out of it. In place of their parents, both sadly long since dead, Adam’s brothers have taken it upon themselves to make sure their little brother doesn't make a fool of himself.

Well, any more of a fool than they think he is any way. The pair of them are the ‘gold-digger-accusers’ that I’ve been forced to invite.

To hell with it. I know I’ll be pushing it, but I want to see him. I trust him- of course I do, I’m about to marry him. But… I know how seriously he takes his appearance, given how conscious he is of the age difference between us. I don’t care, I really don’t, but sometimes his attempts to look thirty-odd years younger backfire. I just… need to check that he’s not gone overboard today.

It’s hard to sneak in heels, but the guests in the hall are making more than enough noise to cover my steps as I clip over to the library door. It’s already a little ajar, and with the gentlest nudge I get it open enough to see-

My heart skips a beat.

The blood drains from my face.

I feel sick, right down to my core.

There in the middle of the library is my beloved Adam, light of my life, beacon of sensibility and my rock through all my problems. And held in his arms, lips pressed firmly against his, is my mother.

The world reels around me. I don’t trust myself to move and not fall over, so I’m stuck watching.

They pull apart and gaze lovingly into each others eyes, just like Adam and I did during our engagement photo-shoot. When my mother said she was going to cry today, I didn’t think she meant like this.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

“So am I,” Adam says, and from his tone he really means it. There’s a wobble of emotion there, despite the fact that in our four years together I’ve only seen him cry twice. “I could-”

“No. Just… just make her happy. This is over. I’m sorry.”

This? What was this?!

My brain’s just starting to function again when I hear hurried footsteps above me.

“Lizzy!” Elsa has finally won against her wardrobe, and when she sees me she hurries over. “Come on. We’re supposed to be upstairs.”

I can’t think straight, and next thing I know I’m back upstairs. At last Elsa notices that I’m shaking slightly and that I haven’t said anything.

“Lizzy? Are you alright? Nerves finally getting to you? Come on, there’s still some prosecco. It’s been long enough since your last glass, and we had a good breakfast. I’m sure you won’t fall over. Here now, drink that.”

As I continue to be speechless Elsa’s babbling gets more panicked. She’s known me long enough to know how rarely I’m lost for words. Today though… My mother.

The other bridesmaids bundle in from their rooms, and all around me the buzz of wedding prep reaches its climax. A few of them notice that I’m quiet, but they assume it’s generalised nerves. I’m not even sure I could put into words what I’m thinking just now. One of the officials comes up to collect us, and before I realise it I’m being paraded downstairs.

“Wha- no, wait,” I start to say. But I can’t even get that out. Maybe it’ll be alright? Can I just forget it, pretend I didn’t see? They said it was going to stop, whatever it was they had. Isn’t that… enough?

“Nerves are perfectly normal,” the official says when I’m still mostly disconnected at the door to the hall. “It’ll be alright. The registrar will give all the lines, just say what you need to and it’ll be fine. Try to enjoy it, okay? It only happens once after all.”

“You hope,” my bridesmaid Katie mumbles. The voice of experience there; she’s younger than me and already divorced. Her comment gets a glare from the others and she puts her hands up in apology. “Sorry. Just saying.”

“It’ll be fine,” the official says firmly. “You’ll be fine.”

And then before I can say anything else, before I can ask Elsa what I should do, before I can even come to terms with what I saw, the doors open. A hundred pairs of eyes stare at me.

I could still run. I could turn and leave, and Adam would be the one who’d have to sort it all out. He’d be the one that got asked all the awkward questions.

I step forward, and after the first step they’re all easier.

It sounds so stupid, but I’ve waited so long. It’s not the idea of marriage that I’m desperate for, it’s marriage to him. I love him, and that love will be strong enough to get us through.

As I pass each row the humiliation rises. Does anyone else know, about Adam and mum? My mum. It would be better if it was a sister or a cousin, but my mum? Maybe our age difference really does get to him that much. I’ve always known that he was closer in age to my parents, but I didn’t think that mattered. I thought… I thought we loved each other in spite of that. Does he just think I’m some stupid child, some pretty thing to be strung along and played with?

By the time I reach the front my breathing is strained again. I’ve gotten myself worked up, I know it, but that thought doesn’t help calm me down. If anything it makes it worse, and I feel even more childish and angry. My face must be a picture; as the registrar smiles at me there's a flash of panic in her eyes, and she quickly looks away and starts her readings.

We don’t make it through the first section, have barely done the apologies, before Adam interrupts.

“I’m sorry, could we have five?” he whispers to the registrar. Not even the first row can hear him, but the fact he’s said anything sends a ripple of confused mutterings up the length of the hall.

“It’s not typical,” the registrar whispers back, and I feel for her. She’s got a schedule, and a deadline, but right now it's clear I don’t want to be here.

It’s funny isn’t it, how the little things set us off? I took a deep breath to collect myself, and was about to say ‘I’m sorry, I’m fine, continue,’ when I saw Adam’s eyes flicker away. Behind me, to where my parents are sitting.

My petty, childish anger takes control and I slap him.

“How could you?” I hiss. The tears are already bubbling out and there’s no volume to the words, but the whole hall is silent.

“Lizzy, what-”

“I saw you. In the library. With-” Even confronting him I can’t say it aloud. The betrayal is still too sore.

I expected horror. I expected remorse, or fear, or sorrow. I didn’t expect acceptance.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “It was nothing. Just a goodbye.”

I raise my hand to slap him again, but he catches my wrist. Just under the bracelet that my mother brought me, my something new. I feel sick and my legs wobble.

“This isn’t the place to do this,” he says in my ear. “We can call this off. Go upstairs and talk about it.”

“No!” I yank myself free of him and stumble away, until I’m level with my mother, though I still can’t look at her. “Choose. You were my first love. I gave you everything… now choose who’s more important to you.”

He swallows, and I can see his mind trying to find a way out of this. I haven’t given him one though. I want my answer.

“It’s like you said,” he says at last. “Our first love is so special to us. If I could, I’d choose my first love again, but I can’t. I love you, Lizzy.”

“But not just me!”

“No. My first love will always be first in my heart.”

He’s trying to be cryptic, he’s trying to confuse me so he can get out of it, but I won’t let him. “You kissed my mother!” I scream at him. Though I hear the hall erupt around us I don’t care. I just want him to tell me why.

“Yes.” He says it so plainly, like it’s nothing. “Like I said, my first love means everything to me. Your mother was my first love.”

“What?” The anger is fading now, replaced with confusion.

“You’ve never really registered how old I am, have you? I’m fifty-nine, two years younger than your mother. We met at university, fell in love, dreamed of doing all this together. Then she graduated, got a post-doctorate position at another university. It was harder to keep in touch in those days, and we figured it would be easiest if we just went our separate ways.”

“You dated me to get my mum?”

“No! God, no, not at all Lizzy. The first time I saw you, you reminded me so much of her. That’s why I spoke to you, but I fell in love with you. It was your personality that I loved, I really mean that. I didn’t even know you were her daughter until you took me home to meet them. That… that was the first time we’d seen each other for almost forty years.”

I can still remember that meeting, after we'd been dating for six months. It had been awkward, but I’d always assumed it was because of the age gap. Afterwards my father spoke to me and asked if I was sure, but my mother… she’d looked heartbroken.

Because she was.

I turn to my mother, and I can still see that pain in her face. She still loves him, after all this time, even though she’s been happily married to my father for thirty years.

I can’t do this to her.

I turn to the registrar as a numb detachment washes over me. “I’m sorry. We won’t be needing your services today. Thank you for coming, and I’m sorry for the inconvenience.” Taking a deep breath I stand tall and address the room, more grateful than ever for the armour I’m wearing. “The food and drink has all been paid for, as has the room hire. You might as well stay and enjoy yourself.”

And then without meeting anyone’s eye I walk back down the aisle. Still unmarried, still powerful.

“Lizzy!”

I almost made it out the front door before my mother catches up with me. Everyone else is too stunned to move, still trying to process what’s happened and what their reaction should be. After all, free food is free food.

“Mum.”

“Lizzy, please, I’m so sorry-”

I cut her off with a hug. “It’s okay. We’ll be okay.”

“But-”

“We have to give him up mum.” The thought occurs to me there and then, as I hold my sobbing mother in my arms while my own tears have run dry. “We both love him too much. We have to let him go.”

“I’ve already done that once.”

“Then do it again.” My voice turns hard and I can’t help it. “Because it’s him or me.” I let her go and spin on my heel, storming away.

I’ll give her space to decide; her first love, or her daughter’s love.

I don’t know which I would choose.