Madness! The Whole World Over - Julian Casablancas

The First Part

Roslyn stretched her leg and watched as the hole in her pantyhose crawled like a fissure up her calf. If there was any hair left on her calf after yesterday's wax appointment, it would have been standing on end.

She reached beneath her skirt (the only part of her dress that didn't stick to her like clingwrap) and retied the satin ribbon of her lacy garter. It had slipped down over the course of the morning. That was by far the least of Roslyn's concerns.

The ring on her finger was a half a size too tight. It rested right below her joint, rather than at the base of the finger. There was no time to get it fixed before the ceremony — if Nolan had just asked her, she would have told him what size to get. Or better yet, she would have told him not to buy it at all. It suited her like fish suited trees; it was slim and elegant with a band of silver, whereas the rest of her jewelry was made of chunky gold.

Her first thought when Nolan had gotten down on one knee had not been, ohmygodimgettingmarriedallmydreamsarecomingtrueladeedaa. It was, Ew, that thing is hideous. Seriously, whoever made that thing should be thrown in jail. Does he not know what kind of metal I wear after all this time?

And then it was, Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no, this cannot be happening. I'm only twenty four, practically a child bride! I don't even know what to say...

And then she said yes.

Roslyn's dress was immaculate. Her hair was flawless, down to the last ringlet, thanks to the expensive hairdresser that had fussed over her earlier. Her makeup was starting crease with frowning. There weren't any improvements she had the time to make — nothing else she could do to delay things.

Nolan was probably combing his already perfect hair, or applying more of that obnoxious cologne she hated. She hoped he wasn't trying to passive-aggressively argue with her uncle Ted. The two of them had held animus since last Thanksgiving, when they'd each rooted for opposing football teams. Ted's team had won, Nolan's had lost, and neither one would let the other forget it. Ugh, men.

"Stop ruining the flowers," said Roslyn's mother, who had come to help her put on her veil. Roslyn hadn't noticed the puddle of petals that had gathered around her tasteful Albert Madden stilettos. She'd been picking them off one of the roses in her bouquet. Her mother caressed the top of her head —gently, since there was at least a few hundred bobby pins stuck in there — and smiled softly.

"My baby's getting married," she murmured. "In my mind, you're still the gap-toothed little girl who used to pick her nose and play with cabbage patch dolls."

Roslyn still saw herself, in her mind's eye, as that same child, now inhabiting a larger body. "Mom, I haven't done either of those things in like, fifteen years."

"Oh, phooey. You'll understand what I mean when you and Nolan have your own kids."

"Don't hold your breath on that account," snipped Roslyn. She tried to take a deep breath, willing away revulsion at the thought, but her bodice was too tight.

Picking up the veil, which lacked everything but the simplest eyelet embroidery on the end, the elder woman said, "You've got lipstick on your teeth."

It was just the two of them in the little bridal suite. Roslyn's bridesmaids were elsewhere, probably flirting with Nolan's groomsmen like they had done at the rehearsal dinner. Her mother opened the curtains in the corner and let the light shine on Roslyn, who stood stiffly in the mirror, utterly unimpressed with the way the sun caught on diaphanous layers of ivory tulle. It did not make her feel any warmer. Underneath a sea of finery, her usually bright eyes were pale and fishlike, hung half-open in indifference.