This is a continuation of the Episode story Another World. There will be only five chapters, one from Lani's point of view, and the other from Jed's point of view. To avoid confusion, read Another World on the Episode app first, before starting this...
"I can't believe you have me in white, Yang!" my cousin, slash sister complained. "Besides, the bride should be the only one in white."
"Trust me Libby, ain't nothing about you is pure," I retorted, as I packed my last bag. "However, my dress is black, ergo, you have to compliment that with the ivory."
"You are all kinds of backwards," she retorted.
"I'm not a traditional bride, so sue me," I shrugged. I stared at my custom Pnina black princess ballgown, alongside my Cinderella Christian Louboutins, and I could not hold back the waterworks.
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This is really happening tomorrow afternoon. Tomorrow, we will be where it all started with Jed and I. We will be boarding the same ship we did nine years ago, except for this time, it's not for someone else's wedding. Tomorrow, at twelve o'clock pm, Jedediah and I will stand in front of the ship's captain, and he will pronounce us as husband and wife. Oh, how I have been looking forward to this day, since the day Jed and I reunited, two in a half years prior. Libby stood in front of my mirror with her maid of honor's dress pressed hard against her frame. Libby despised ivory, or anything close to white, although I saw her beam in awe, as she pictured herself in the dress, almost identical to mine. She swayed the ivory colored ballgown from side to side, admiring herself from every angle.
"Picturing your wedding dress, Yin?" I quizzed. "Yeah, but it wouldn't be anything like this," she replied. "Hmmm," I said, as I made circles with my hands, analyzing her. "I'm picturing you in a mermaid style red dress, with a black sash." Her expression softened a bit, as she continued analyzing herself. "Yeah, I guess I can get away with it, considering the fact I won't have my dad on my arm," she said, as she began facing rear. Yin was never a crier; the only two people she would ever let see her cry is myself and Junior. I can tell the subject was still very painful for her, as she hasn't seen or spoke to her parents since the night of her eighteenth birthday. Now, it's almost three years later, and still, she hasn't budged, nor has Uncle Mike or Aunt Meg. "Hey," I said, as I placed my hand on her shoulder, "I apologize for making you relive that night."
"You don't have to apologize for that, Yang," she sniffed. "You shouldn't feel bad about my own fudge sickles."
I snickered at her choice of substitute swears. Here we are, both almost twenty-one years old, and we still have our swear deal. Over the years, Yin and I have dished out over thirty thousand dollars a piece, and the jar is still rising.
