Cold Feet

The dress was heavy. Despite all the time she had spent shopping for one, all the hours spent getting it just right, she could feel the weight of it dragging at her shoulders.

It was beautiful, snow white with a curving line of embroidered flowers climbing from the hem to the opposite shoulder. Thorns lay hidden among the colourful petals, showing the hardships that love can carry with it, hidden among the vibrant joy. Those thorns were hers, just as the the flowers were hers. And now, looking at herself in the mirror, she wondered which was truer.

Running from nearly the floor, she hated when dresses dragged across the ground, up the long, slender length of her across her chest to where a single rose would be placed on the wedding day, the flowers almost made her cry. Did she want this? Truly want it?

Questions and confusion bubbled inside her like autumn stew. Bursting at the top, stinging her hand as the boiling droplets touched her skin. It was a beautiful dress, and in it she knew that she all but shone. Yet to her own eyes, the colours were dull. Washed out, the way fallen leaves looked after an evening rain.

She fussed with the neckline. At first it had seemed an amazing idea, a plunging V that had made her feel wonderful when she first saw it. Captivating without being garish. From the first moment she had tried it on, the dress had felt like it was already hers. Now, in the mirror, she looked like a stranger.

Taking up a nearby water glass, condensation beading on its side, she pressed it against her wrists. First one, then the other, rotating it so that only cold glass touched her skin. It was an old trick, she could not even remember when she had learned it, but it usually worked.

Driving down the anxiety, lowering her temperature, slowing her racing heart. Except her heart was not racing. It was steady as the beating of a powwow drum.

What a strange thought that was. A strange memory to dredge up. She had not been to a powwow in years, they weren't her culture and she thought that she shouldn't even be thinking about it. Yet there it was, the thought in her head.

Thump thump. Thump thump. Thump thump.

He had told her once, on that bright, sunny day as they watched the round dance, that the drum was the heartbeat of the nation. She had felt it resonate there, her own heartbeat matching the steady rhythm of the strikers on the huge, hide drum.

Thump thump. Thump thump. Thump thump.

Not her nation, though. Not her people. Even if... but no. That thought was dead and buried. It had been clear, had it not? Clear that nothing could ever happen there, they had both agreed without words years before. Agreed, and yet...

Turning the glass again, focusing on the feel of the glass against her skin, the wetness of the condensation dripping off her fingers, she tried to understand. Tried to comprehend what was wrong. People got cold feet all the time. It was normal, isn't that what her therapist had said? Her mother and her sister, too. Fear, anxiety, uncertainty, it was all normal.

Despite that knowledge, she could not help but believe that this was something else. Yet, they had said that was normal too, hadn't they? Said that every woman, no every person about to take the leap that she was felt this way. Each one of them felt as though they were different.

Maybe she was just confusing herself. Putting too much emphasis on something as meaningless as a touch of nerves. She wanted this marriage. She loved Philip, didn't she?

What a question. She laughed, ignoring the ragged edges of the sound. Of course she loved him, he was kind, gentle, smart, funny, and handsome. He loved animals, travel, and learning. He was everything she could conceivably want. Everything that should make her happy.

And she was happy with him. Had been for years. That was why they were doing this ceremony in the first place. They knew that they didn't need it, their commitment was strong, their lives intertwined in the best way she could imagine. Having never thought about wanting what they were now going to share before meeting him, she was still surprised by the strength of that wanting.

Until then, until that moment, looking at herself in the mirror, she had never entertained the thought that she could want anything else. But now, tracing the line of flowers with her free hand, those thoughts crowded her mind. Thoughts that maybe she was making a mistake. That she would look back in five, ten, fifteen years and regret this decision. It was was plainly foolish. But still, those thoughts were there, demanding.

"My good luck," said a voice from behind her. "Best part of not marrying you is I get to see the dress before the big day."

Silas ambled up behind her, smiling into the mirror as he admired her dress. A rebellious wish flared suddenly, just behind her heart, a wish that she thought was long done away with. A wish that he admired her in that dress, a wish that - but no. That wish was dead and buried. She had cast it off long years before.

"Good to see you," her voice was steady, she was certain of that. Steady as a train on good rails. Steady as a gently flowing river. But his eyes changed as she spoke, focusing on her face, narrowing in that thoughtful way of his.

He didn't say anything, though. Did not speak his concern for her, only wore it on his sleeve. She was certain that he thought he was hiding it so well. But his poker face was terrible. Always had been. Sometimes she would joke that she could read him as easily as a child's treasure map.

And he would say the same. Less eloquently, with a little more stumbling over his metaphors. Words were her department, after all. He only played at them while she had mastered their use. They were hers in exactly the way that her life was hers, and she used them as easily as breathing.

Turning to look into his eyes, beautiful hazel eyes with tiny flecks of gold - no, stop it. She chided herself for thinking like that. Silas was a handsome man, too. Long brown hair tied back in a loose tail, coppery skin that always seemed to gleam in the light. Handsome but off limits.

Why was she thinking like that? Why did his just being there make the butterflies that had been laying dormant in her stomach suddenly take flight?

"So," she asked, spinning slightly on the ball of one foot so that the dress flared out, flowers rippling. "What do you think?"

One corner of his mouth quirked up in that half smile of his. "You're going to knock 'em dead."

Exactly as he was. Exactly what she knew he would say. Exactly the way he had always said it. Silas was the only person she knew, the only one of her friends and family who never mentioned how lucky Philip was. The only person not dazzled by the upcoming wedding. The only one with eyes only for her.

"Cliche," she said on a laugh. This laugh was easier than the first one. They were always easier around him. "You really don't have an original thought in your head, do you?"

He laughed with her, protesting her calling him unoriginal. Stating proudly that he had had a full two thoughts that day alone that he didn't think anyone else could have. Though when she asked what they were, his impish half smile returned and he winked.

"Bad choice," she said, raising her hand as though to smack him. "I'm in a fancy dress, so you can't fight back this time."

"Oh no," his smile was still in place, making his eyes sparkle, "wouldn't want to ruin that. It looks expensive, I'll wait until after the honeymoon to get revenge."

After the honeymoon. Her hand fell to her side at the thought. The wedding was so close, that was why she was wearing the dress. Making sure she liked how it looked and that it really was exactly what she wanted before the big day.

Questions bubbled to the surface, questions and fears and anxieties.

He must have seen something in her face, something hinting at the turmoil beneath. His eyes lost their sparkle, focusing on her, analyzing her expression, her stance, the way her hands hung at her sides, and the set of her jaw.

"What's the matter?"

But she couldn't tell him, could she? How could she possibly explain something that made so little sense, even to her: the one feeling it? No, there had never been any major secrets between them, she was certain of that, but this one she had to keep to herself.

She was going to marry Philip. She wanted to marry him, that was all there was to it. Except... except there was more. There was something else, the feeling that she was throwing away a chance - throwing away a different trail she could walk.

Looking into his eyes, she searched for what she wanted to see. Searched for a look, a flutter, a feeling that she had given up on so long ago. But as always there was nothing. No peculiar regard, no stolen look, or hint of admiration. Nothing.

Maybe she had been wrong about him. Maybe there had never been anything between them. Maybe he was just better at hiding his feelings than she ever believed.

Still looking into his eyes, eyes that lacked what her traitorous heart wanted to be there, she thought about all the girls he had been with since they met. All those times he had introduced someone to the group, or announced that he was together with someone she knew. There had never been any hint that she could see until he said the words.

He was a black box, except, there had been hints. There had been long glances, or hidden smiles. There had always been something that she could put her finger on, she was being silly, thinking that he had hidden those feelings from her. She had always known, but chosen not to see until the last moment.

And now -

"I don't want him," she blinked, horribly certain that she had spoken aloud. Terrified at how easily the thought had come. But his face did not change, his calm, concerned eyes just remained locked on her face, waiting patiently for her to tell him.

"Men really can't read minds," she said with a forced laugh. "I mean, it's obvious I'm just nervous. Seriously, Silas, you need to work on reading people."

"Been a weakness of mine forever," his voice was easy and gentle, that was something he had always been good at, hiding what he felt when he spoke. It was the eyes and the small tightness at the corner of his sardonic smile that told just how worried he suddenly was. "Hopefully you don't expect Philip to do that, we're not magic, you know."

Maybe he couldn't read minds, but that didn't mean he couldn't read her. She could tell that he knew something more was on her mind. Could tell that he was worried, but uncertain what to say.

For a long moment they just stood and stared at each other. Eyes locked, waiting for the other person to break first.

Emotional chicken, God but she felt like a child. Trapped by wanting to say something, anything, and by hoping he would speak first. But she knew he wouldn't. Even if, in some weird alternate reality, he wanted her, he would never say it. Not when she was so close to making official something he thought that she wanted.

He broke eye contact first. Smiled a sad smile and made to turn away. "I don't want to bother you," he started, "but if there's anything-" she grabbed his arm, feeling the taught muscles of his forearm.

Opening her mouth she fought with herself, battled between finally saying what she realized in a rush that she had wanted to say for years and saying nothing at all. The latter won.

"Do you have a date for the wedding?" It was a gambit, a last hopeless thrust. He hadn't said he would be bringing anyone before, but they had also been seeing less of each other recently. She had been so busy with all the preparations over the last few weeks, and he had happily given her what space he thought she needed.

"No," was that quieter than usual? Softer? She couldn't tell, but he didn't meet her eyes. "No, Sasha wanted to come so I'm bringing her. You don't mind having my baby sister at your wedding? I know you had said that you weren't keen on a bunch of kids running around."

"She's hardly a kid," her own voice was strained now, the confession she had subconsciously fought for so long trying desperately to get out. "Of course I'd love to her have her at ou- at the wedding."

His smile was beautiful. Everything about him was beautiful from his gleaming hair to his smile to his eyes. For a crazy moment, she thought about throwing her arms around him, the way she had seen some of his past lovers do and pressing her lips against his. But only for a moment.

The sadness in his eyes, was it because she was projecting? Maybe he was just worried about her. Maybe he knew she was holding back and was hurt that she didn't trust him with whatever was on her mind.

But she couldn't tell him. Could never tell him.

"I'll let you finish up here," he said, easing out of her grip and stepping away. "You look amazing, almost stole my breath, you know?"

Stopping by the door, one hand on the frame, he looked back at her and all the butterflies took off again. Fluttering around her stomach, trying to force her feet to run after him screaming that she wanted him. That everything was wrong because the dress was for a different man, that she would call it all off and run away with him.

"You know you can tell me anything, right? I'm here for you, and I always will be."

"Of course," she could feel tears in her eyes and hated herself for them. "Of course, I know that."

He smiled, and was gone.

The first tears fell just as the door clicked shut. Turning back to the mirror, she pressed her hand to her cheek, the one that had been on his arm. To herself she could be honest. Surely she was the one person in all the world that she could share her deepest truths with, her most hidden shame.

"I wish I were wearing this for you," she whispered to the weeping bride in the mirror. "I wish it was you."

In the end, the decision made itself. Now that she knew what she really wanted... it would cause so much trouble. Her whole life would be upended, but... but wasn't that better? Wasn't it better to rip the Band-Aid off now rather than wait for the slow, painful unravelling down the line?

She could taste the salt of her tears as she looked at herself in the mirror. The dress was beautiful, and for the first time since putting it on that morning, it didn't feel as heavy. Her decision was made, she could only hope that it was the right one.