Currents

Twenty-four ~ Wedding

Twenty-four ~ Wedding

"What does one wear to a wedding?"

Opening the door on Wednesday morning to see Brent hovering there surprised me. He was wearing a top this time—my mum made a real impression on him—and got straight to the point. 

"One wears one's best attire, of course," I replied, leaning against the doorway with an amused smirk. 

His eyes narrowed. "Are you mocking me?"

"Are you mocking me? I don't talk like that, and you don't have to, either."

"Well, forgive me if this is a little outside of my comfort zone, Rosalie." Brent folded his arms, brow wrinkled. "I don't want to make a fool of myself. I doubt you'd appreciate that."

I sighed and dropped the attitude. Beneath his hard exterior, I could tell Brent was nervous about this wedding and could empathise with him. It was fear of the unknown, mixed with fear of being judged. Thanks to my mother, he'd already had a taste of the latter. 

"Do you own a suit?" I asked. 

"Yes." 

"A suit will be fine." 

He scratched at the back of his neck, displaying an uncharacteristic bout of discomfort, before clearing his throat. 

"Do we have to, you know, colour co-ordinate?"

I couldn't help but smile, hoping he realised it was one of affection rather than mockery. Though he'd hate to admit it, it was a sensitive consideration. 

"Do you own many ties?" I asked. 

Brent didn't seem the type to own much formalwear. He spent most of his days on the beach, so what cause would he have for suits?

"Only a few."

"What colours? I can just pick a dress that matches your tie."

"Blue, black, a greenish-coloured one..."

His level of awkwardness wasn't easing, making it clear he felt far outside his comfort zone. Despite that, he wanted to make an effort. With Brent holding up his end of the agreement, I needed to do the same for mine. 

"Not to make this any more difficult," I said, "but is it navy blue? Royal blue? Duck egg blue? And the green, is that like a mint shade or a teal or—?"

"Rosalie, you lost me at eggs."

"You know what might be easier?" I stepped aside to gesture for him to come through the door. "We'll look at my dresses and you can pick one the same colour as your tie."

Hesitation flooded his features, but he didn't protest. We shared no words as I led him upstairs, our footsteps echoing on the marble staircase. I didn't realise how intimate it would be until the four walls of my room emphasised the enclosed space around us.

I imagined it would have been the same for Brent when he let me into his hut that first time—an imposition on his private, personal area. This might not be my real bedroom, but it had begun to feel that way over the weeks—not to mention the huge double bed that dominated the room and had featured in so many of my fantasies recently.

Eager not to entertain that image for too long, I tugged open my wardrobe and tossed any dresses that resembled shades of blue or green onto my duvet. Once satisfied I'd exhausted all options, I laid them out so Brent could view them. 

"Black's out of the question, then?" he asked. 

"Yes. This is a wedding, not a funeral." 

As soon as the words left my mouth, their horrifying implications dawned on me. Silence fell as I squirmed at my callousness, furious with myself for being so insensitive and speaking without thinking.