This is a work of semi-autobiography and therefore should be considered fiction. Names and events have been altered. "Seven Years Bad Luck" is an ongoing series. This is part seven.
The inside is as impressive as the outside, though I’m a little too distracted by the noise to notice. I clack noisily to the left and enter an open space. There are people rushing around, as well as people simply standing and shooting the breeze. I’m unfamiliar with everyone here. No one takes any notice of me.
I scan the crowd, ducking balloons, and wander further into the back. That’s when I finally see someone I recognize.
“Tina!”
“STEPHANIE, so glad you could make ittttttttt!” Tina cavorts over to me in her wedding dress and gives me a delicate arms-length hug. Those hugs always make me wish I could check to see if I smelled. The wedding dress is strap-less, so it’s probably just a precaution but still. Paranoid.
“It’s so good to see youuuuu, so glad you could make itttttt.” Tina’s got a slight sorority girl lilt to her voice, and I recall that she’s only just graduated from our university last spring. She was only in the year below me, but it already feels like an age since I went there.
“So sorry I’m late, I got the date totally wrong.” I’m speaking like I’m breathless, although I didn’t rush walking in. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t bring you a gift.” Cringing, I remember what had led me to realizing my mistake in the first place. Idly looking at the invitation, wondering what the heck I could buy.
I’m not close to Tina at all. She’s someone who shared my major in college, and we had taken a couple classes together and were friendly. Mostly we are friends of friends. I was surprised that she remembered to invite me. I didn’t have the slightest clue what to get her as a wedding present.
She looks gorgeous in her gown, her loosely-curled auburn hair falling over her shoulders to accentuate the column of her chest, neck, and face. Her hazel eyes are even brighter than they normally are, her grin almost stretching too wide. This is going to be a good wedding, I can tell.
“Oh my god, you didn’t have to, I’m just glad you’re here! Wait. We have presents!”
She rushes frenetically to a huge dining table standing at the back, framed by flung open french doors leading onto a porch. She rustles through the copious wrapping paper covering it. Soon she emerges with something that –I have to take a moment to squint to make sure of what I’m looking at.
“Ta-da!” She wields it by the handle. It’s a painted owl. Huh.
“It’s a mug!” Oh.
“Thank you!” I enthuse, and take the big mug with two hands, slightly too befuddled to say anything else.
“You’re welcooooooome –oh! Daddy, there you are!” And she gallops off again, to hug a tall raw-faced man who had come in from the hallway. I don’t know which to feel, overwhelmed or underwhelmed. I peer at the huge mug in my hands –it could easily take two of my curled up fists inside. Remember vaguely that owls had something to do with her old sorority.
I looked around. The inside is as impressive as the outside. The wood floors are burnished to a pretty shine, the walls butter-colored, and the mirrors on the wall bright edged. Everyone seems to know where to stand, and what to do. I’m at the edge of things, lost.
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