1
Harper
I can barely see the line I need to sign through the blurred mess my tears have created, but I scrawl my name in blue ink across it as fast as I can and it’s done. I’m officially divorced. It would have been sooner, but my now ex-husband Charles is an asshole and decided to draw it out for a while. Why? I’m not sure. To torment me, is my best guess. We’ve been over and done with for more than a year and a half now. And still, crossing the “t” in my reclaimed maiden name of Whitney on my divorce paperwork, hurts in a way I can’t exactly explain. I don’t miss him, but I hate this sense of failure.
The next envelope in the pile of mail I’ve avoided cuts in a way it shouldn’t. I run my fingers over the embossed stamp on the back before slipping my finger inside and tugging it open.
Mr. & Mrs. Whitney
request the pleasure of your company
at the celebration of marriage between
Lyla Elizabeth Whitney
&
Gentry Tucker Bodine
on Saturday, June 20th
at six o’clock in the evening
Whitney Farms
The Big White Tent
100 Whitney Way
Dinner and Dancing to follow
I don’t know why my sister insisted on giving me an invitation. We live on the same property. I helped her stuff the damn envelopes myself. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to see my sister’s day coming. But the “plus one” she slapped next to my name on the front of my envelope feels more like a slap to the face. Despite telling her several times there’s no way I’m bringing a date, she still suggested keeping an open mind in case an opportunity presented itself.
I gave that advice a big eye roll.
After Lyla moved back to the farm, she and Gentry took the old cabin I once shared with Charles at the back of the property, and I moved into the main house with Nan and Paw. I suppose moving back in with my grandparents post-divorce really completed the small-town narrative. Married my high school sweetheart, never left town, got cheated on, got divorced, and still haven’t left town. Pathetic.
In my nearly two years of single life since Charles left, I’ve done a lot of reflection, and I’ve generally arrived at the same conclusion. My life is small. And there’s a big difference between a simple life and a small life.
I check my calendar because I’m terrible at remembering what day it is. We’re two weeks out from Lyla’s big day but that doesn’t mean anything around here is chill. People are arriving tomorrow actually—including her friend Cora, who’s coming in from Boston for all the wedding shenanigans. We have the bridal shower, the bachelorette and bachelor parties, a brunch, rehearsal dinner, and the list goes on. The Whitney family, along with almost everyone in the South, takes weddings pretty seriously. This is an event. One to be talked about. It’s been in the local newspaper. Everyone in our small town is talking about it. Roughly two hundred people will be in attendance.
After Cora arrives, we’ll still have so many details to finalize. Thinking about all this only dredges up my own wedding memories. When I married Charles, there was a similar chain of events. Charles was so annoyed by all of it, he made me cry three times in the week leading up to our wedding day. The morning of, he told me he wished I came without the package of my family. But here I sit, with tears in my eyes as I sign the divorce papers.
I walk out onto the porch and watch the setting sun cast long shadows over the fields. Taking a seat on the porch swing, I’m just in time to be greeted by Lyla and Gentry pulling up. They’re back from town. Mack, their German Shepherd, jumps out and rushes toward me as soon as their door is open. I lean down to be greeted with his gentle licks and nudges.
“Hey, Mack baby. Who’s a good boy?” I say in my best baby voice.
“Hey, Harper,” Lyla says.
“Hey, where are ya’ll coming back from?” I ask, and my sister holds up a bag of dog treats and an iced coffee. “Isn’t it a little late for coffee?” I add, laughing at her buzzed cheerfulness.
“Never,” she says. “Listen, I’m glad I caught you. I was thinking. Starting tomorrow when Cora gets here and up until the wedding, I vote Cora and I stay here in the big house with you and Gentry, and Cora’s brother can stay in the cabin. What do you think?”
“Oh, sure,” I say. “Sounds fun.”
“Not to me,” Gentry interjects, his bottom lip jutting out. He’s clearly not happy about this arrangement.
“Not happy about your boy’s only slumber party?” I tease.
“You sister thinks it’ll be fun not to have any sexy time until our wedding night,” he pouts.
“That’s so much more than I needed to know,” I say, holding my hands up in front of me. My face involuntarily scrunches up and I gag.
“Oh, come on! It’ll make it more special. But I also know myself, and thus another reason Cora and I should stay here while her brother stays in the cabin with Gentry,” she says, giving me a knowing look.
And I know my sister too. She’s not one to keep her hands off Gentry. They’re electric. This entire ordeal will certainly be a challenge for them. So at the very least, they need distance.
“I didn’t know Cora was bringing anyone,” I say, wanting to change the topic to anything other than their sex life.
“She convinced her brother to come with her because she has an awful track record in the romance department and didn’t want the pressure of finding a date. She tempted him with an open bar. He’s single, you know,” Lyla says, wiggling her eyebrows at me.
I roll my eyes at her. “Okay, that’s my exit cue. I’m going to bed.” With that, I turn toward the kitchen door and wave over my shoulder at Lyla, who’s still jabbering on about Cora’s little brother. But I’m not listening to any of it. As far as I’m concerned, he’s a leper. A leper with some other sort of disease affecting his genitals too. As a matter of fact, he’s a leper with diseased genitals and hairy moles all over his back.
Since Charles left, I’ve taken up stock in the middle of the bed. Which is exactly where I tuck myself in now. I glance around my room. This used to be the room Gentry was staying in for a while. I decided to keep the dark green paint job and black curtains he left behind. Well, I kindly requested he leave the curtains. I liked the calming effect of the dark palette. It didn’t feel too manly. Just comfortable.
I flip from my left side to my right, trying my best to get comfortable. My long blonde hair cascades over my shoulders and I take it between my fingers. Every now and then I consider cutting it but can never work up the courage. My entire life, I’ve never had more than a trim. When I started dating Charles, he would frequently remind me that short hair was not my look and I should keep it long for both our sakes. A very small part of me occasionally got the urge to cut it just out of spite, but then I’d think better of it.
At some point I fall asleep, with white wedding gowns twirling in my head. I can’t see the woman’s face or hair. Just wisps of white flowing outward and falling all over everything.