Chapter 4
The spill had reached my shoes.
I stared down and watched it move. The liquid from the broken stemware had spread thin across the polished floor and caught the chandelier light, scattering it in a wavering gold line. My hands were in my lap and I could see them shaking. They looked bloodless, the knuckles standing out white against my pale skin, the nails a dull gray. I tried to curl my fingers and couldn't get them to stop.
A man in a black vest and white shirt came toward us with a broom and a dustpan, and a woman behind him carried a white towel and a small bucket. The room had gone quiet except for the low hum of the air conditioning and the clink of the dustpan against the floor.
The bride stepped forward before they could reach me.
"Just clean around her," she said. Her voice was low but sharp enough that the staff paused. "We're not moving the chairs. We have photos in ten minutes."
She was standing with her arms still crossed, her white sleeveless gown bright against the gold chairs. She didn't look at me when she said it. She looked at the man with the broom, as if I was part of the furniture that needed to be worked around.
The man hesitated. He glanced at the spill pooling near my flat, at the two shattered stemware fragments lying a few inches from my foot. One of the shards had a thin stem still attached.
"Ma'am, we need to—" he started.
"I said around," she said again. Her pearl earrings caught the light when she tilted her chin. "She's fine right here. Just get the glass."
I felt my breath catch. I wanted to tell him it was okay, that I could move, but my chest was still tight and my legs didn't feel like they would hold me if I tried to stand again. The light reflected in the spill kept moving whenever someone shifted, and I couldn't look away from it.
Then I felt a hand on the back of my chair.
Megan had not moved from my side. She was still in her light blue one-shoulder dress, her hair pinned up, her other hand still lightly holding my arm. She leaned down so her mouth was near my ear.
"I'm getting you water," she whispered. "Don't listen to her."
She didn't wait for an answer. She let go of the chair and walked straight past the bride toward the bar at the side of the hall. I watched the bride's eyes follow her, her mouth tightening. She didn't say anything to stop her, not with the staff and the guests watching, but her crossed arms pulled tighter.
The staff knelt and began to work around my feet. The woman laid the white towel over the spill and pressed, the liquid soaking up and turning the cloth pinkish where it had mixed with something. The man used the edge of the dustpan to carefully nudge the larger fragments together. The sound of glass scraping against the polished floor made my shoulders rise.
Megan came back with a plain glass of water, no ice, no garnish. She crouched beside my chair so we were at eye level and pressed the glass into both of my hands. My hands shook harder when I tried to hold it.
"Both hands," she said quietly. "Small sips."
I nodded. The water was cool. I brought it to my mouth and drank, and the first sip steadied the shake just enough that I didn't spill. The second sip went down easier. My breathing, which had been shallow and fast since I'd tried to stand, began to even out by a fraction. I could feel my ribs expand a little more each time.
The bride made a small sound, an exhale through her nose.
"Megan, she doesn't need room service," she said. "She needs to sit still so we can finish."
Megan didn't stand up. She stayed crouched beside me, her hand covering mine around the glass to keep it steady.
"She needs water," she said, not loud, not looking up at the bride. "Two minutes."
It was the first time I had heard her talk back to her. The bride's face flushed. She uncrossed her arms and then crossed them again, her ring flashing.
The staff finished lifting the towel. The floor where the spill had been was damp but clear, the chandelier reflection now whole again. The man held the dustpan out slightly toward me, the shards inside it.
"Do you want us to throw these away, miss?" he asked me, not the bride.
I looked at the broken stemware. Two fragments, sharp and clean. Evidence that something had actually happened, that I hadn't imagined the jerk and the crash and the way the room had frozen.
"No," I said. My voice was hoarse and low, but it was steady enough to hear. "Can I keep them?"
He blinked, then nodded and tipped them carefully into a folded napkin the woman handed him. He placed the little bundle on the edge of the white tablecloth next to my chair, within my reach.
I took another sip of water. My hands were still pale, still trembling, but less. I chose to tell the truth, at least to the one person who had stayed.
"I'm not just dizzy," I whispered to Megan, so only she could hear. "It's the treatment. I shouldn't have tried to stand."
She squeezed my hand around the glass and didn't look away.
May you like
"I know," she whispered back. "Just stay here. I've got you."
The spill was gone. The fragments sat wrapped beside me. I was still weak, but I was hydrated, I was awake, and I was not going to pretend anymore.
