N West Moss

Word Count 320

I did not want a wedding. Let me start there. I don't like to dress up, nor do I like crowds or people looking at me. I’m not a fan of organized religion, and most pomp and ritual strikes me as an attempt at indoctrination. I begged my fiance to elope, but it was not to be.  

My best friend who had flown in to be my Man of Honor had fallen spectacularly off the wagon into a vat of crystal meth. Not only was he unable to make the cupcakes as promised, he sort of had to be watched. I didn’t have a lot of money then, and I was worried about the amount of barbecue we had ordered and whether someone would eat the one portion of salmon that we bought for my dad (and yes, somebody did eat it, before Dad could get to it).  

My big brother who lived in Hawaii couldn’t be at the wedding, but he and his partner Fed Ex’d us a special gift indeed: a beautiful white orchid for Craig’s boutonniere, and the loveliest, most redolent white ginger lei for me to wear, in lieu of carrying a bouquet.  

Sadly, a stupid guest ruined even that. She came up after the ceremony and commented in a snide voice, “Oh I wondered why you were walking down the aisle with a string of garlic around your neck.” What a jerk. 

That was all over 15 years ago, and I like to think that I would do less hiding and suffering now. I’m more mature, surely, and people’s bad behavior is more expected and less upsetting. I wouldn’t have to worry so much about money, so I could buy, say, two portions of salmon. I’d rather never be a bride again, but marrying Craig was the best thing that ever happened to me, so I’d do it all over again if I had to.

N. West Moss is the author of the memoir Flesh & Blood, coming from Algonquin in October 2021, as well as the short story collection The Subway Stops at Bryant Park (Leapfrog)