It had been months of arduous planning, dress fittings, cake tastings, scheduling every moment of the special day down to the millisecond. Her mother’s constant texts and calls, ensuring every single aspect went to plan. From the engagement, to the engagement party, to the bridal shower, to the bachelor party. From the rehearsal, to the ceremony, to the reception.
Each day began the same way for Aspen. She’d open her eyes to dawn breaking behind her faded yellow curtains. Her phone, vibrating incessantly beside her head would take her attention, the few moments of peace of morning ripped away without a second thought. She’d slide her thumb along the bottom of the screen, accepting a call she couldn’t be less interested to take. And then her day would start.
“Are you sure lavender is the right choice for the bridesmaid dresses? You don’t want to come off tacky. You’re starting your new life in just a few weeks, do you really want to start it by being unoriginal?” Beatrice would start every conversation this way, and Aspen would always respond, “I’ll fix it.”
It wasn’t just her mother’s watchful eye that made the six month process unbearable, however. Her fiancé’s attitude was nonchalant, a complete opposite from her mother. Convincing the two of them that the wedding planning was exactly where they both wanted it to be was virtually impossible.
“Babe, uh…” Jordan would start. “This isn’t going to be like, super formal, right? You know I like to keep things small. I want this to be fun for me, too.” And Aspen would always respond. “I’ll fix it.”
She wasn’t happy, she knew she wasn’t. But Jordan was safe, and his parents had the capital. Once they were married, she’d be able to live a life of comfort, never worrying for money again. The marriage would finally appease her mother, who very publicly viewed her daughter as an unremarkable young woman.
Aspen had grown up on “the bad side of town,” nowhere, Florida. Her parents had very little money, and her father left when she was young. Due to her good looks and lucky happenstance, Aspen’s mother Beatrice found a rich husband in her late thirties, but by that time, Aspen was an adult and moved out. She did what she could to provide for herself, living in a tiny apartment, eating mostly prepared food and working late nights at a bar.
She didn’t love bartending, but it paid the bills. That was, until she served a certain handsome, wealthy young man named Jordan. He fell in love in a matter of seconds, and within a few months, she was living in his home in St. Augustine, working only a shift or two a week. Though he had insisted she didn’t need to work, she needed it for her independence.
Day after day, Aspen would add what her mother strongly suggested, and cancel what her fiancé didn’t want a part of. Jordan, unlike Aspen, was fine with their less than romantic relationship. He had what he wanted, a beautiful woman to stand by his side, to post pictures of on his social media, to create the illusion of a perfect life for others to view and feel envious of.
The slow build-up of stress drew Aspen closer and closer to the offer that had been made the year prior. She had cast away the opportunity immediately upon opening the letter, but its ominous promise began to creep closer and closer to the forefront of her mind. Like a snake slithering to its destination, hidden by the growth of the forest floor, completely undetected by its prey.
Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.
Except the snake was a crazy person, and instead of eating its prey, it offered her an escape route.
It happened the night before the wedding, as emotional outbursts often do. Aspen stressed over details at Jordan’s kitchen table, an object that would soon become half hers. The thought made her cringe. Her face was drained of color, jaw clenched as she typed harshly on her crappy old laptop. Jordan’s new $1200 laptop sat across the room from her, unused, but the thought of picking it up as if it was her own made her sick to her stomach. She typed in the search bar, desperate for a reprieve from her anxiety.
Pre-wedding fears
She clicked on the first article.
“Feeling nervous about your upcoming wedding? We can help. Ten helpful tips for calming your pre-wedding jitters.”
Breathing a sigh of relief as she read the title, Aspen sat back to scroll. At least she wasn’t the only one who felt like this. She scrolled down on the page.
“1. Take a breath. Breathing deep and slow can help calm your nervous system.”
She rolled her eyes at this obvious tip.
“2. Talk to a friend. Express your fears and let it all out.”
“3. Remember why you love him. You made this decision for a reason.”
With no close friends to turn to, and no recent love to remember, Aspen was stuck. She ran her fingers through her dusty red hair. She continued to scroll, obvious “hacks” to feeling better that did absolutely nothing for her nerves.
“10. If you haven’t felt any relief, reread that letter.”
“Huh?” She whispered, blinking hard to make sure she read it correctly. She leaned into the screen.
“10. Take care of yourself, put your health first. Make sure to drink enough water, eat, and get enough sleep.”
Aspen looked around the empty house. She was so sure at that moment that she had read those words, but she was exhausted, stressed, and feeling hopeless. It was likely that she had misread those words. She cleared her browser history and closed the top, her hand coming to the top of the laptop to close it when a flash on the desktop caught her eye. A little faded purple envelope icon now sat on her desktop. Her green eyes went wide as she slammed it shut.
Aspen stood from her chair in a rush, pushing it back with a loud scrape. It was then that Jordan entered through the front door, following the sound of keys scraping against a lock clumsily. She watched as her drunken fiancé fell through the doorway.
“Babe, you wouldn’t believe the night I had!” He exclaimed. He crossed the floor to her, lacking grace in every single step. He leaned in and took Aspen’s hands in his. “I am just… so lucky to have you.” He slurred.
Aspen looked to the floor and then back up to Jordan. Looking into his stormy grey eyes, the way his brunette bangs fell in front of his face, the perfectly sculpted jaw and collarbones, she was reminded of why she said yes in the first place. In the first month they saw each other, butterflies fluttered in her stomach and chest every time his grey eyes landed on hers. They danced in clubs, they picnicked at the beach, they attended fancy movies and gatherings. She loved his company, his brutish lack of complication, his ability to be happy in many different situations, and the way he loved to show her off.
Romance faded in the months after. He spent more time alone. He invited her out less, but he still went. His friends always seemed to hold their tongues around her. Their dates dwindled and dwindled until it was rare to have more than one in a month. But he was still kind to her when he was around, and he seemed perfectly content with what he had. Was she the crazy one for feeling unfulfilled?
Jordan’s romantic skills picked up when she began to worry about their relationship. He asked her on dates again, but it wasn’t quite the same. It was the past June that he asked her to dinner at a nice restaurant, followed by a stroll on the beach.
She could remember vividly the way he took her hand and dropped to his knee. And for a little while, things felt good again.
But she didn’t feel the butterflies anymore.
Standing before her in his wobbly state, Jordan looked entirely content, and it made Aspen feel more sick. Thankfully, Jordan would feel the same way as his stomach emptied itself on the floor beside her. She jumped out of the way to avoid the mess. Aspen stifled an exasperated laugh. This wasn’t the first time he overindulged on alcohol with his friends, it wasn’t even the first time in two weeks. He partied without her the night before their wedding and acted like it was a great shared experience.
She cleaned him up and put him to bed, and it was then that she decided this was the last time. It was time to open that letter for the first time since she’d received it a year prior.