before Michael’s deadline. After today, Hayden would surely never feel that way about me again. But wasn’t that what I wanted?
My palms were wet and covered in smeared mascara. I wiped them on my dark wash jeans, not caring about any make-up stains that might ensue in the process. I knew I looked borderline homeless, or maybe like a mental patient who had escaped from a nearby hospital. But right now I was really grateful that I was in New York City. You could have yourself convinced that you were the craziest person this side of the Hudson River, but some loon was always nearby, challenging you for the title.
I took a couple of more deep breaths, my chest rising and falling so hard I had to unzip my puffy down jacket. I gently pressed my fingertips into the pulse point in my neck and willed my heart to slow down. A beat later, my phone buzzed in my purse. I jumped from anxiety and then moved my hand from my neck to my chest. I really needed to calm down. Slowly, I reached into my bag for my phone, handling it like it was a bomb about to explode. Hayden’s name lit up on the screen in the form of a text message. I hesitantly unlocked my phone, bracing myself for the inevitable flash of anger. A message charged with hate and disdain for me.
But it wasn’t. And somehow that made it even worse.
“Amalia – I don’t understand, but I guess I don’t need to. You chose someone else and I have to respect that. Don’t worry, I won’t chase you anymore. But I can’t promise I’ll stop loving you.”
H
I glanced down at the ground for a moment before slowly tucking the phone back into my purse. A chilling breeze blew through my disheveled hair, and, just like that, I was freezing again. Still unable to move, I just sat on the ground of Times Square for a few more seconds. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t blink, couldn’t process a single thing.
Then I screamed. I don’t think anyone heard me, it’s always so loud in that part of the city, but I still screamed. I screamed and cried, and screamed some more. I screamed so loudly and for so long, that my voice felt and sounded metallic when I finished.
I had no idea how much time passed, but when my legs finally felt strong enough to move I walked up to the corner of 7th avenue and hailed a cab back to my neighborhood, Murray Hill. I numbly stared out the window the entire car ride and gazed at everyone mindlessly walking around. Scurrying along at lightning speed to get to their next meeting or to their lunch plans, or nowhere at all. Just trained like animals to rush through their life out of desperate fear that might miss something important.
That was the first time I really allowed myself to feel it. The first time I truly thought: I have to get out of New York.
Four months later
“I don’t know how I feel about this one,” I smoothed the silky bodice with my right hand, while trying to wrap the alarmingly long crystallized train in my left. “It’s a bit too much dress for me.”
The room was cold and I shivered while standing in the gown. Although it was only the end of May, the manager of this establishment had the air-conditioning on the highest possible setting. Which made it pretty darn uncomfortable to stand in a sleeveless dress. If only to make this afternoon with my mother more pleasant.
As soon as I caught Amalia’s eye, she grimaced. I could tell from that one look that she completely agreed. The train had to be somewhere near four feet long. Too long even to just take pictures in! I didn’t even want to check the price tag. Then my eyes fell on to my mother, who was already making her way over to me.
“Well, darling, it is your wedding day,” she spoke in a stern voice through a tight, fake smile. She tucked a piece of her short brown hair behind her ear and looked me square in the eyes. “When else will you get to dress up like a princess?” She crossed her arms in front of her, challenging me. I had no idea why she cared so much.
I lowered my eyebrows and shook my head. I didn’t really feel like that was entirely the point of finding the right wedding dress. I was standing on a small podium in front of a giant mirror with two supporting mirrors on each side, allowing me to see this giant, glitter-covered cupcake from every angle. I hadn’t even booked the venue for my nuptials yet, but my mother had insisted that we grab the first appointment we could get at Wedding Atelier on Madison Avenue. Apparently, the average bridal gown called for three alterations, taking anywhere from three weeks to three months in between visits. I made a mental note to really watch my weight during this next year. You can always take the dress in, but you certainly can’t add more material.
I still couldn’t believe I would be getting married and graduating from my Master’s program in the same year. A smile tugged on my mouth as I remembered Alex’s perfect proposal to me on New Year’s Eve. But just as quick as it brushed my lips, the smile faded and the anxiety of school nestled its way back into my chest. I was hoping that working with Dr. Greenfield would help prepare me for what I was going to do after graduation. Or at the very least, guarantee one letter of recommendation. I had narrowed down the application process to three Ph.D. programs, all in New York. I tried to talk to my mom about how overwhelmed I felt, but instead of lending an ear, she convinced me to get the wedding planning out of the way so I could focus on school when it was all sorted out. I could tell she was much more interested in my wedding than my career path. She finally gave me enough anxiety on the matter that I caved and reluctantly agreed to let her come with me. I played the “maid of honor card,” asking Amalia to come along as a buffer.
“I understand it’s my wedding day,” I emphasized the word my. “I just don’t think this is the right dress for me. I want something a little less,” I paused, searching for the right word. “Overwhelming.”
I looked to Amalia for help, and with the smallest nod I knew she completely understood what I was talking about. She walked over to the sales associate that had been helping us and whispered something in her ear. I wondered if she was trying to come up with a plan to have my mother kicked out of the store.
My mother let out an exaggerated sigh and downed the rest of her complimentary champagne. She then turned to a different sales associate and gently shook her empty champagne flute, indicating that she’d like a top-off. I shook my head and wished my dad could be here instead of her, but she had insisted this was a “woman thing,” and wouldn’t have it any other way.
A beat later, Amalia and a dark-haired sales associate came strutting over to us holding a rack of more suitable and demure wedding gowns. I felt a smile tug on the side of my lips, while my mother’s morphed into a purse.
“That one,” Amalia pointed to lace-covered gown and the sales associate quickly held it up and smiled, patiently waiting for my approval. I eyed the gown. It was nothing short of magnificent. There were slim, tank-like sleeves that were completely made of Chantilly lace, the neckline fell into a sweetheart style, but not too plunging. The rest of the gown was silk with an overlay tastefully covered in the same lace as the sleeves, and the train was even a manageable length.
“May I see the back of the dress?” I took a step off the podium and walked closer to the gown.
The back of the dress was low-cut. Stylish with a hint of sexy. I wouldn’t be able to wear a bra with the gown, but most brides had one sewn in anyway. From the waist down to the beginning of the train were about thirty satin-covered buttons. I put my hand on my chest, unable to speak for a moment. I felt a small stream of tears flow into my eyes as I imagined marrying Alex in that dress, and didn’t even try to stop them from coming out. I hadn’t put on any make-up out of fear that I’d somehow manage to smudge some on the dresses and owe fifteen thousand dollars in gowns.
“I’d like to try that on,” I whispered through a sniff, feeling a slight rush of excitement. Amalia winked and smiled back. “Can you come into the dressing room with me and help me with the buttons?”
Amalia touched