Mending Maggie [COMING SOON]

1.| almost perfect

True love doesn't exist.

I thought it did, not that long ago. I thought it did right up until last Friday Afternoon, in fact.

I could see it, in my head: a life of true love playing out before me. I could see it: nights making love till late and sleeping in in the mornings. I could hear it: his laugh at late night TV almost waking me but not quite. I could taste it: his lips, his morning breath, his saltiness when I'd take him in my mouth.

I thought I had it, true love.

It wouldn't be perfect, I knew that. I wasn't delusional, I knew every love story has its flaws. It wouldn't be perfect, but the life, the love, I saw ahead of me... it was pretty damn close.

And yet... that was Friday Afternoon, when I still believed in true love, before Friday Night happened.

And now that Friday Night has happened...

True love doesn't exist.

Of that, I am absolutely sure.

The off-white and lilac wedding invitations stare back at me, the cursive font all attitude and mockery where it should've been frills and lovey-dovey, sentimental bullshit.

My off-white and lilac wedding invitations.

Our wedding invitations.

A dagger twists in my chest, humiliation and resentment building like bile in my throat.

"You don't think they'll take these back, do you?" I lift one of the thick envelopes limply between my fingers, turning my face from the traitorous reminders to meet my mother's gaze.

My mother, the only one I've been able to face so far with my shame. And heartache. So much ache.

But her eyes, big and brown and all too caring, bring a rush of embarrassed color to my cheeks and I look down at the card-stock again.

How could they accept a return on these things?

The creamy cards, decorated with sweet lilac petals, invite our guests to join us in honoring the union of Margaret Carter-Lewis and Jacob Little in holy matrimony.

Holy.

An invisible fist clenches around my heart.

Unless there's another Margaret and Jacob out there...

"Oh, baby." Without my realizing she's approached, Mom's hand is soft on my cheek, her tone soft, like she's speaking to a child. Protecting me. "We'll call and check, all right? I'm sure they can at least give a partial refund."