\Episode 62\
Tiffany
"...by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride," the priest says, and I shift to accommodate the weightless feeling of total surrender. And I'm a jerk. I've been giving him the cold shoulder for weeks now, but we are meant to kiss in this small hall. We could have had the wedding at the garden behind Larry's family mansion, but this place is lovely as well. Just small and oddly accommodating.
Larry steps up to me, and I have to tiptoe to reach his lips. He inclines his head, albeit slightly, just so we can kiss. It is awkward and messy. Like we are teenagers and this is the first time we are kissing. I don't know how to feel when the kiss ends, but I know the exact moment I realize this is never going to work.
Amila waves at me from the second row, her eyes bright, her lips opened, tongue sticking out. Her hair is braided, and she's wearing light makeup. Beside her, Laurene holds my stare. It's like she's saying so many words all at once that they become glossed over before they reach me. I don't know what I'm thinking, only that when soft music comes on and we have to dance, I let Larry hold my waist in his warm hands and lift me about like I weigh absolutely nothing.
After the wedding, Laurene and my sister come to greet me. They wrap their hands around my neck, and we stay like that for a while, just breathing in each other's smell. Then, they let go.
"This is going to be so lit!" Amila says in that excited way she always speaks, and I'm tempted to almost let myself go and become as happy as she is.
"What is?" Laurene asks, looking at Amila thankfully.