The next morning
844 Words
My phone vibrated.
“Mmm.” I groaned, trying to shake off the haze of sleep.
Zzzz.
I stretched a hand out from under the covers, feeling around blindly, searching for my phone. It was on the drawer near my bed, so I slid it over without even looking. I put it back down almost immediately, ready to fall back into slumber. I was so exhausted from last night. The girls insisted on another round of drinks after the desserts from the cafe, and I think one of the girls ended up dropping me off somewhere—I'm not even sure what happened. I was beyond drunk, and all I could do was pray I wouldn’t wake up with a hangover.
I mean, imagine a bride waking up with a hangover on her wedding day. That would be the most hilarious thing anyone could ever witness.
I also hoped I hadn’t made too much noise for the neighbors. The apartment complex was made up of about 5 units, and though the floors were shared, everything else was private. Our apartment was cozy—one bedroom, two bathrooms, a small living room, and a sitting room downstairs. The bathroom upstairs, and the one downstairs, kept things manageable, but the one thing I couldn’t stand was the lack of soundproofing. It was supposed to be installed months ago, but I was still waiting for it. I’d have to talk to the landlord about it.
My phone vibrated again, and my irritation grew. Why wouldn’t it just stop? Who could possibly be calling me right now? After last night’s chaos, we’d agreed to postpone the wedding for a later date. The official registration was supposed to be this afternoon. Jonathan and I had planned a relaxing day afterward—just the two of us, cozying up in the apartment and enjoying our first wedding day as Mr. and Mrs. I figured I’d sleep in until it was time to get ready.
But the phone kept vibrating.
I couldn’t ignore it any longer, so I reluctantly reached for it, slowing grasping through the sheets, I realized that Johnathan's side was empty. Had he not come back last night? My phone was underneath his pillow as always so I reached for it and answered, already groaning, “What is it?”
“Hello, Ms. Heather, is that you?”
The voice was familiar—Fiona.
“Hello,” I said, trying to sound more awake than I felt.
“Yes, Ms. Heather, I’m calling regarding the wedding dress,” Fiona said. “It says here that you’ve canceled the order. Is that true?”
My eyes snapped open, and I sat up straight, clutching the phone. “Pardon?” I repeated. “Did you say canceled?”
“Yes. Your dress order was canceled by Jonathan Milla,” she repeated, reading something off-screen.
My stomach dropped. “What?” I gasped. “No, no, no. Jonathan and I—we just postponed. We’re not canceling anything. That has to be a mistake on your end.”
A sinking feeling spread through me as I waited for her to respond.
“I don’t think it was a mistake on our end,” Fiona said. “It says here that your dress was requested to be canceled by Jonathan Milla.”
My breath caught. I could feel my hands trembling. “That’s not true,” I said, my voice rising with panic. “We’re not canceling anything. Maybe one of your assistants made an error. Please, look into it. This isn’t right.”
“I’m terribly sorry, Ms. Heather,” Fiona said quickly. “I’ll speak to the assistant who handled the call with Mr. Jonathan. I’ll call you back in five minutes.”
“Okay,” I said, barely keeping it together. The call ended.
I set my phone down in disbelief, my heart hammering in my chest. I couldn't even process it properly yet. Instead, I glanced at the screen again. Dozens of emails. One after the other. Each subject line made my stomach tighten with dread.
All of them were from wedding vendors—the cake shop, the tailor, the venue, the florist.
I clicked on one of the emails.
"Dear Bride,
We are so sorry to see you go. We would have loved to offer our services for your wedding, and we still hope your day is wonderful. A r****d has been issued to your specified account."
My hands shook as I clicked through each email, reading the same heart-sinking message from every vendor.
The flower shop.
Refund issued.
The venue.
Refund issued.
The tailor.
Refund issued.
I dropped the phone onto the bed, my mind reeling. What was going on? Jonathan had never mentioned anything about canceling the wedding, let alone all of our plans. This had to be some sort of mistake. But why was everything being canceled without my knowledge?
I felt the weight of it all bearing down on me. My stomach churned, and panic started to creep in. What was Jonathan thinking?
- Writer
