The Wedding

My foster mom, Lay, doesn't care about anything or anyone.

Except me. And now, Jude.

It had been almost a year since Lay quit a dangerous line of work. She wanted a peaceful life, choosing to ignore the consequences of her decision instead of dealing with them.

A month after, she met Jude. He had managed to lock her down after a year and four months of dating. I didn’t understand how.

The last hug Lay gave me was when I was nine years old and had accidentally ran over a chipmunk with my bike. I was distraught while she was grinning from ear to ear and telling me how good of a spy I would be.

Now, my days were filled with her gushing about activities they did as a couple. When my mother said her and Jude taking their pills together before bed was “so romantic”, I wanted to throw up. The diamond on her engagement ring was so big that I almost mistook it for the size of a Ring Pop.

The wedding was held at his family home. His afterparty was decked to the nines. White and gold stone pillars gestured to the open bar, orchestra, and pre-installed dance floor. The dress code was black tie, and every guest had a namecard. Laughter and chatter echoed through the yard, silver and gold hanging lights twinkling above each table. The ground was still a tad damp from a freak rainstorm, but otherwise, there was nothing to worry about.

My best friend, Bernie, came back from the bar with a lemonade. I was glad that we were given our own table. I barely knew anyone from Jude’s extended family, and Lay didn’t have any family or friends close enough to invite to the wedding besides us.

“Liking the party so far?” Bernie asked, downing his drink. I shook my head disapprovingly as he wiped his mouth with the back of his suit sleeve.

“I guess,” I replied, trying to figure out what timeless musical piece the orchestra was playing to no avail. “As long as Lay’s happy, I’m happy. She deserves a fresh start, and if Jude can give it to her, I’m all for it.”

“Oh excuse me darling, but are you Layla’s daughter?” a voice sounded from behind us. I turned to one of Jude’s relatives, who was sporting a name tag on the front of her pantsuit. Bertha.

“That I am,” I said. “Nice to meet you, Bertha! Are you Jude’s aunt?” I asked, trying to be polite.

“Great-great-aunt,” she answered confidently, pushing her specs higher up her nose. “Why don’t you two look alike?”

“Lay adopted me.”

“That explains everything. You have the soul of a dark horse, while Layla is your opposite, a fairy casting healing spells in the dead of night.”

I heard Bernie cough back a laugh. In my peripheral vision, he suddenly seemed very interested with the ice cubes in his glass.

“Perfect for my dear Jude,” Bertha said, casting a glance at the couple. “I wish I had a husband like that. Come to think of it, he was so frantic this morning. I was coming out of the bathroom when he came bursting out of his study across from me. It had to have been minutes before he had to walk down the aisle!”

“Oh wow,” I said. “Sounds like he wanted everything to be perfect, then.” The power of the super-fiance.

“Anywho, I hope you kids enjoy the party. I think Jude wants to give a toast at some point before everyone gets on the dance floor.” Bertha waved goodbye with a gloved hand, walking back to her table of similarly dressed relatives.

“Keep it together,” I said to a snickering Bernie.

“Of course, dark horse. Anything for you,” he said. He dodged me just before I could shove him and got up, smoothing down his pants. “I’m gonna head to the bathroom before loverboy’s speech. Wouldn’t want to miss it.”

As he left the table, I tried to relax. The air was warm, the stench of grass mixed with cologne and perfume wafting through my senses. Everywhere I looked, I saw the same expensive suits and dresses on faces that I didn’t recognize. The feeling of being out of place was beginning to close in on me. Even though I had met a handful of Jude’s relatives and family members, none of them were noteworthy enough to be worth remembering. During one of our earlier breakfasts, he had also mentioned that they were only able to meet up after a handful of years because of how far away they lived.

“Ulta!”

My mom was calling me. She hadn’t moved from her chair, but her eyes immediately locked on mine, checking to see if I was okay.

I gave her a nod, and she offered a small smile in return. It was then I realized I was never out of place to begin with. The unfamiliarity of this event was making my nervousness spike. I just needed to power through tonight, and life would go back to normal in the morning.

Jude tapped a spoon against his champagne glass. “I would like to toast to my wife, Layla Stone,” he said, prompting the whole party’s silence save for the shuffling and scraping of chairs.

“Layla, you make me a better person. Ever since the day we bumped into each other at the library, you are all that I have been thinking about. I was so nervous to ask you to dinner that I almost choked,” he confessed sheepishly, resulting in a couple awws from the crowd.

Suddenly, my phone buzzed. I had silenced all notifications except for a filter where certain people could still reach me despite the alert. It was a text from Bernie, in all caps. The spacing in between his words was concerning.

“JUdE BAd. GET LAY nOW”.

I didn’t know what he meant. As soon as I stopped reading his text, a photo came into view.

It was a journal entry with last night’s date scrawled at the top. The first sentence read that someone, a she, was “responding well to the drugs” and was ready to move to phase 2.

My eyes widened. There was a pill of the medicine Lay was taking taped to the top right corner.

Before I knew it, I was rushing towards the couple at top speed, heart pounding in my ears. Whatever Jude was saying failed to register. Adrenaline coursed through my veins as I jumped, screaming as I aimed my fist at his throat.

Cheers.