Page 112 of Niccolaio Andretti (The Five Syndicates)
And that was all I remembered before everything went black
.
But it was too late.
With those words, I had already condemned my own flesh and blood.
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Chapter 3
I stared at my own refection in the grimy glass door of the subway train, trying to avoid the crush of jostling people that pressed against my back. I looked less like a bride-to-be and more like a college waif with my red hair pulled into a pony tail and my blue eyes devoid of make-up. I should have put make up on but I had gotten caught up in my book and then when I realized how late it was, I was running just to get out the door.
The train peeled into my station before jerking hard to a stop, throwing the person behind me against my back. I held my breath as the door whooshed open and then the crowd was spilling around me into the underground station. Glad for my sneakers, I pumped my way up the two sets of cement stairs, which left me more than a little breathless when I staggered onto the street above. Cars honked and the sidewalks were packed with pedestrians. Feeling claustrophobic on the busy street, I passed panhandlers, food trucks that sizzled with the smell of hot grease and overflowing garbage cans. I let out a breath of relief when I reached my destination, the Paper Pelican.
The store was quiet with only the clerk standing at the counter. I glanced at my watch. I was a bit early and Matt generally was a bit late. I spent in inordinate amount of time browsing through the aisle, trying to look like an avid shopper. Where was Matt? I checked my phone. No messages. I debated on what to do. He hated it when I called him out for being late, but the store was only open for another 30 minutes. I had deliberately picked this store for our wedding invitations because it was only two blocks away from his office. I decided, with a bit of trepidation, to send him a text.
Me: I’m just at the Paper Pelican. Are you on your way?
Matt: Got busy. Sorry. You’re on your own.
I felt the pinch of a headache at the base of my neck. This was the second time that Matt had stood me up at the Paper Pelican. He didn’t seem to realize that I was half paralyzed with indecision about everything that involved our wedding. I needed guidance and input from him. I couldn’t seem to get organized on a single detail and our wedding loomed a mere twelve weeks away. Maybe I could bring him some invitation samples to dinner.
Me: Where do you want to meet for dinner?
Another long pause before he responded.
Matt: Stuck in a meeting. Will be home late.
He always did this. Why didn’t he care about the wedding? We had so many things to cover and he was refusing to help. Didn’t he realize that I was over my head here? I needed his help.
I felt slightly sick as I looked towards the counter. Why hadn’t I hired a wedding planner? Oh right, because Matt had convinced me that we would have a lot of fun planning this wedding together. I took a deep breath. I could do this. I just needed to be decisive. I squared my shoulders and walked up to the front counter. The clerk looked annoyed. We both knew that she probably wanted to start closing the store shortly.
“I’d like to order some wedding invitations.”
She grabbed an order sheet and then stood poised with a pen. “Do you have a wedding palette colour?”
“Uh. Not yet.”
“Do you know how many invitations you need?”
I took a deep breath. Matt still hadn’t given me his guest list. “Perhaps between 50 and 200?”
“Do you prefer a reply card and envelope or a reply postcard?”
I shook my head. “I’m not sure.”
“Do you know what kind of printing you like?”
I felt a wave of heat wash over my body. “What are my options?”
“Letterpress, engraving, embossing, thermography, and flat printing.”
This was impossible. This is exactly why I needed Matt here. How could I possibly know what to pick? What did he like? What did he want? “I don’t know.”
“Do you know what kind of paper you want?”
My hands were curled so tight, my nails were digging into my palms. “Not yet.”
