Left by the wayside
Your dress is dirty but it doesn’t matter now, and your arms still ache from holding the train that you then ripped off, left by the wayside, along with your love for Nathan.
A stupid argument, that’s all it had been… brewing for days.
Changed his mind, he’d said.
Cold feet, wedding jitters, your mother had said.
As you walk towards the mountains, you see your life stretched out like the road ahead of you, the double yellow lines that remind you of London, and you feel even more homesick.
You concentrate on them, walk on them, sure that it’s safe, no cars in either direction, none since you’d slammed the door of the convertible Nathan had hired as a surprise.
Him calling you by the wrong name had been another, despite getting it right during the beachside rehearsal.
Even if he came back for you, you’re not sure you’d accept, but you wonder how long it’ll be before your parents worry, come looking, how long you can go on like this.
You hope your father comes alone. Your comrade.
You’ll explain, tell him that Nathan had assured you it was a coincidence. No reason why the name would be stuck in his brain other than the obvious, that she’s only ever been the mother of the bride.
Picture above courtesy of morguefile.com.
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