Chapter 6: Hello Kitty and the Coke Incident

At the reception, I had no appetite, my mood heavy. I picked at my salad, moving the cherry tomatoes from one side of the plate to the other. The band was playing a jazzy rendition of “Sweet Caroline,” and someone’s grandma was already leading the line dance. Couples swayed, and laughter rose and fell in waves.

Watching Aubrey happily marry the man she loved, how could I not be moved? Her laughter was bright, infectious, her eyes shining as she looked at her new husband. For a second, I imagined myself in her place—white dress, hope in my eyes.

But thinking of my own situation, my eyes stung with tears. I blinked them away, hoping my mascara wasn’t running.

During the interactive games, the DJ started tossing plush toys. People were shouting and laughing, ducking as a giant teddy bear sailed overhead.

Marcus was quick and caught the Hello Kitty plush. A chorus of “Aww!” went up when Marcus handed the Hello Kitty to Lillian.

Hello Kitty is my favorite. Our place is filled with pink Hello Kittys—some he’d given me in college, some we’d picked out together in New York, some he’d gone out of his way to find and buy for me. He’d once driven across state lines to pick up a limited edition for my birthday.

I wiped my tears, about to get up—when I saw him hand the plush to another bridesmaid, without hesitation, his eyes full of affection. He even tucked the toy into her arms, smiling that gentle, familiar smile. My heart sank.

That look used to be for me.

My body went stiff. I slowly sat back down, my heart a tangled mess. I pressed my napkin to my lips, trying not to let anyone see me falter.

How ironic.

But how could eight years of love be let go so easily? I kept running my thumb over the ring he’d given me for our fifth anniversary, hidden in my purse now.

I still clung to a sliver of hope. Maybe Marcus was just trying to punish me, to teach me a lesson. He’d done this before. The silent treatment, the cold shoulder—maybe it was his way of dealing with disappointment.

Unwilling to give up, I tried adding Marcus’s contact again. I stared at the screen, watching the little spinning icon, praying for a response.

I messaged: “Marcus, I know I was wrong. Can you forgive me?”

I thought he just wanted me to give in.

But my message sank like a stone in the sea—no reply. The three dots never appeared. I waited until my phone locked itself, my reflection staring back at me in the black screen.

Marcus went to the restroom. I sat alone at the table, my feelings a mess. The noise of the party felt far away, muffled like I was underwater.

Just then, the bridesmaid came over and whispered, “My name’s Lillian. Tell me some funny stories about Marcus.”

She looked me up and down. “Has he ever dated anyone? What kind of girls does he like?” She said it with a little laugh, but her eyes were sharp, curious.

I looked up, about to answer, but saw her glance into the distance and pause. Suddenly, she spilled her Coke all over herself. The ice rattled against the glass, brown liquid splattering down her dress.

I was stunned, not understanding what just happened. It was so sudden, almost theatrical.

I was about to get up for some napkins when Marcus rushed over, pushing me aside. I stumbled into the next seat, red wine spilling all over me. The cold liquid soaked through my dress, and I gasped, more from shock than pain.

He snapped, “Natalie, if you want to throw a tantrum, pick a better time! Do you know where we are?”

He whipped off his suit jacket, wrapping it tightly around Lillian, as if she’d suffered some terrible wrong. He didn’t even glance at me, and for a second, I wondered if I was invisible.

“What did I do?” I demanded, full of confusion and hurt. My voice wavered, but I stood my ground.

“Still arguing? You spilled Coke on Lillian, and you think you’re in the right? Apologize to her!” Marcus’s voice was cold and harsh, his eyes full of blame. I’d never seen him look at me like that—not even when we fought over bigger things.

I stared at him, the accusation burning hotter than the wine soaking my dress. After eight years together, after everything we’d shared, how could he not know what kind of person I am? Jealous tantrums—throwing drinks—I’d never stoop that low. If he really believed that, maybe we were further apart than I thought.

Just then, Lillian piped up in a soft, pitiful voice: “Marcus, it was my fault. My hand slipped and I spilled the Coke on my dress. Please don’t blame her.”

She blinked up at him, all innocent tears and trembling lips—straight out of a reality show audition. My heart sank. This kind of manipulative drama—I’d only seen it in novels. Now it was happening to me. I watched the way she leaned into him, tears glimmering on her lashes, and knew exactly what she was doing.

“Apologize. I’m telling you again.”

Marcus grabbed the whiskey on the table and filled my glass. My hand shook as I reached for the glass, the ice clinking louder than my heartbeat. “Drink. Show some sincerity.” His words were sharp, like ice water poured down my back.

Tears pricked my eyes. “Marcus, you know I can’t drink.”

He had to know. My stomach is weak; I can’t touch alcohol. I’d told him a dozen times, he’d watched me get sick after just a few sips.

“How could that be? Didn’t you drink a lot at that party not long ago?” he said coldly.

He was talking about the time I’d accompanied him to a business dinner. He’d caught a cold and was on antibiotics, so he couldn’t drink, but couldn’t refuse the investor’s toast. So I’d downed the drinks for him. That night, my stomach burned with pain, and he—burning with a 102-degree fever—sat by my bed, feeding me water.

He’d even promised, “Natalie, don’t drink anymore. I can’t stand to see you like this.”

But only a few months later, he’d forgotten. The memory stung, a sharp jab to the heart.

Seeing me hesitate, Lillian suddenly started to cry, burying herself in Marcus’s arms, sobbing softly: “Marcus, don’t make things hard for your childhood friend.”

People around us started whispering. I could feel the eyes on me, the heat of their judgment, the pity and gossip swirling like a storm.

I took a deep breath and picked up the glass. “I won’t apologize. But today is Aubrey’s wedding, so I’ll drink. Marcus, after this glass, we’re done.”

A flicker of hesitation crossed Marcus’s face, but he didn’t stop me. I watched him, searching for any sign of the boy I once loved, but his eyes were closed off.

I downed the glass in one go. The burn hit my throat, hot and mean. I forced myself to swallow—everything. The room spun, but I managed to stay upright.

“Come on, let’s get you changed,” Marcus said in my ear—but the words were for Lillian. He steered her away, leaving me standing there, soaked and shaking.

Marcus led Lillian out the door, his jacket draped over her shoulders. I watched them go, my heart finally giving up.