Chapter 4 - Blue Light From the Window
I didn't sit down. That was the rule I gave myself after he shut the door. If I sat on that bed in this dress, I wouldn't get back up.
The lamp beside the couch was still on, low and warm, and it made everything look smaller than it had an hour ago. My veil kept catching on my lip gloss. I pushed it back with both hands and left it there, bunched behind my shoulders. The lace sleeves itched at my wrists where the tears had dried.
I walked to the window because I couldn't look at the ring anymore.
The glass was cold through the lace. Downtown was spread out below me, all blurred lights through the double pane, reds bleeding into yellows. Our suite was high enough that the cars looked like slow toys on the street. I pressed my forehead to the glass and just breathed for a minute. In. Out. The glass fogged and cleared. Fogged and cleared.
My phone was still in my hand. I hadn't realized I'd picked it up off the dresser.
I stared at his name on my recent calls. Daniel. The photo was from last summer at my mom's lake house, him squinting into the sun. I hit call before I could talk myself out of it.
One ring. Two.
I watched a taxi pull away from the hotel entrance twelve floors down.
Three. Four. Then his voicemail. That flat generic greeting he'd never bothered to record. "You've reached Daniel Carter. Leave a message."
I didn't leave one. I hung up and stared at the blurred city until my eyes burned.
I tried again. I told myself maybe the elevator had cut the signal, maybe he was in the parking garage under us where calls dropped. This time I counted the rings out loud to keep steady.
"One," I whispered. My breath fogged the glass. "Two."
Same voicemail. Same voice that wasn't really his voice.
I ended the call and opened our texts. The last one from him was at 4:12 that afternoon. Running late to venue. Save me a breath. With a stupid grinning emoji. I'd answered, Always. Everyone below us had watched us say vows five hours later like that text had never happened.
My thumbs hovered. I typed, then deleted, then typed again because anything longer would sound crazy.
Are you still in the hotel?
I hit send. The blue bubble just sat there. Delivered. Not read. I watched it until the screen dimmed, then tapped it awake again. Still delivered. I set the phone on the windowsill and didn't touch it, like if I didn't touch it he might answer faster.
The veil slipped forward again over my shoulder. I grabbed a handful of tulle and lace to keep it out of my face. The dress suddenly weighed a hundred pounds, all that lace and lining pressing on my ribs. I hadn't eaten since noon. The high neck scratched my throat every time I swallowed.
Down on the street, a bus hissed to a stop. Tiny people got on. Tiny people got off. Life kept moving like it wasn't my wedding night and I wasn't standing barefoot on hotel carpet watching my phone not light up.
I picked it up again. Still nothing. No dots. No call back.
Then I heard it.
Down the hall, muffled through our closed door, the elevator dinged. That bright little chime. A pause. Then the soft rumble of doors closing.
I went still. My breathing stopped in my chest.
I didn't run. I told myself not to run. I crossed the carpet fast but quiet, the skirt hissing around my ankles, and pressed my ear to the door. The hallway was silent again. No footsteps. No voices. Just the hum of the ice machine somewhere and that faint warm smell of hotel carpet cleaner.
He was gone. I knew it in my stomach before my head caught up. If he'd still been in the building, he'd have picked up. If he'd been coming back, he wouldn't have let it go to voicemail twice.
May you like
I walked back to the window and picked up my phone again. No missed call. No text.
I stayed there with the blue light all over my white dress, watching the blurred city, waiting for a reply that didn't come.
