Uninvited

"Oh, yeah! Alex is getting laid tonight!" Chad howls into the afternoon sky, back arched, wide chest straining the buttons of the rented black suit.

Blood rushes to your cheeks, and your eyes dart left and right, checking for witnesses. The parking lot behind the church is packed with cars and pigeons, but no humans. Your face cools down, and you look at your best friend pouring you a glass of champagne-flavored beverage.

God bless discount stores!

It's lukewarm, and the bubbles are gone, if it ever had any, but it does its job. You feel the tingling build up in your face. You're ready.

"Let's crash ourselves a wedding!" You hand the empty glass back to Chad, who dunks it in the trash can in slow motion. Silly, dependable Chad. Always coming up with crazy stuff to cheer you up.

The church covers the sky like a wounded starship. One of those modern multi-faith buildings, an excuse for some foreign architect to prove his skills. Four elegant shoes rhythmically crunch the gravel in front of it.

Pain.

Sudden, sharp, pinprick-like pain in your heel. You signal Chad to wait and start unlacing your shoe.

"Dude, gross!" He pulls his tongue out. Chad has a thing for feet. A thing you proudly defined as an inverted fetish.

"Just go inside, I'll catch up." You dismiss his exaggerated dry-heaving with a motion of your hand.

"I'll get us some babes. Remember: we're with the special girl!" He walks backwards for a little while, shooting imaginary handguns, then rushes away.

Special girl.

Chad's theory. The bride is more sociable, invites too many people, and can't see them all. But if she does come to greet you, it was some other "special" girl. And if you make it through the ceremony, nobody will question you being at the party. Simple, elegant.

Found it!

You fish the tiny culprit out of your shoe and put it on again. Swipe away the dust with sweaty palms. The lacquered shoe returns to its shiny black. You sigh. Now that Chad is gone, no rehearsed smile is stretched over the dark hole inside you.

Walk it off.

Goosebumps cover your arms as the cold air of the church's inner corridor surrounds you. It's so quiet you hear the floating specks of dust sprinkling the beams of light below the ceiling.

Your steps echo in the gloomy atmosphere... a clinking on tiles, a squeaking of leather. You push through. A few doors ahead, you see white and pink balloons tied to the handle.

Showtime.

You step inside, and the room goes quiet. All eyes turn to you. You can hear your own gulping. A small antechamber, a table with food and drinks, a few chairs. A tall blond woman dressed in midnight blue, hair collected behind her head, steps towards you with a raised eyebrow.

"I'm here for the special girl." The sentence stumbles out of your mouth; you smell booze in your own breath. You feel her gaze piercing you, rummaging through your skull, searching for clues to your identity.

Suddenly, her eyes widen.

"Sam...?"

Chad's voice fills your head. "The main rule for having fun: Always go with the flow, dude."

You nod and put on a timid smile. Just for today, you will be Sam.

She launches herself at you.

"It's so good to see you," she cries, the warmth of her body tightly pressed against yours in a mama-bear type of hug. "Look at you, all grown up!" She takes a step back and emphasizes the statement with broad strokes of her long arms. Silver bracelets jingle on her wrists.

A stunning woman for her age, each detail of her clothing appears curated with painstaking precision, yet she wears no makeup.

Tangling an arm inside yours, she pulls you towards the refreshment table.

"Sam made it," she announces to the small crowd gathered there.

"Sam?" Another stunning blonde. Same composure, same expressive eyebrows, still no makeup. She looks about your age.

Another set of elegant, long arms is quickly nested around you; another soft, warm body snuggling tight. You breathe in her smell, something flowery and delicate, before she lets you go with one final squeeze.

"I was so afraid you wouldn't get my letter!" She clears the tears away with the back of her long fingers. "I'm glad you made it. I know Sarah is too." Her voice drops to a whisper for that last sentence, and she looks down, failing to hide her flushed cheeks.

You hold her shoulder for a moment and whisper, "Thank you."

She brightens up and shoves an empty plate into your hands.

"Here, take something to eat, and then we go together."

Your mind is rushing, but you try to focus on the table. Simple, tiny sandwiches, a little cheese, olives. You put a few on your plate, just enough to avoid questions without looking greedy.

"Becca, honey, I'll be back at the door. Sam... I'll see you later." The older woman looks at you, eyes shimmering with that same love your mother took away. It does something to the hole in your chest, but you're not sure what.

Becca's fingers gently settle on your elbow as she herds you towards the inner room. Here, people are standing in small circles, like pigeons converging on breadcrumbs; you cannot make out the words they coo.

A rather gruff, older gentleman approaches you, his hand held out in a formal greeting.

"It's Sam, Dad," Becca murmurs, and you can see his face transfigure and flood with the love you noticed in the woman's eyes. You barely manage to get the plate out of the way as he pulls you in. His arms wrap firmly around you, a note of savage desperation in his voice as his whispering breath lands on your neck.

"I am so sorry, Sam. Please, I... I didn't know. All these years and... I... I wanted to..." His words start breaking with tears, and you feel his whole frame shake inside your arms.

"It's okay," you improvise, and pat his back. "I know." He steps back, holding your shoulders, tears smeared all over his face.

"I am so proud of you." He covers his mouth with a callous hand; no more words can break through the tears.

You feel a knot untie inside of you, as tears start streaming down your face, pooling around your chin. You try to wipe them away when Becca's father pulls you into another hug.

"Robert, give the kid a break." The voice of the elegant woman reaches you from behind.

He pulls away, flushed, and stutters some apology before disappearing. Your body, still enveloped in borrowed human heat, doesn't move. The memory of your parents fills your view. That moment, when you finally spoke up and witnessed love drain away from their faces forever.

Becca's touch brings you back to the present.

"That was beautiful. Thank you." She leans her head against yours. "We missed you. All of us. Sarah can be so—" She gasps. "I'm sorry. It just... it feels like it's all a dream, one of those weird alternative reality dreams, and I'll just wake up and tell her all about it. You know?" She raises her head and looks at you with an apologetic smile.

You fight the urge to kiss her dimples and stuff a tiny sandwich in your mouth instead. You nod.

She rests her head on you for another moment, soft blonde strands tickling your cheek, then sighs and leads you further into the room.

The rest of the guests don't seem as happy to see you. As you pass by, several women in dark dresses start hissing at each other, covering their gossiping whispers with wrinkled hands. A few fingers point in your direction. Somebody gasps loudly before making the sign of the cross, a blessing against some ancient evil.

Goosebumps creep up your neck; your body feels stiff with cold again.

"Don't let them get to you. Small village hags." Becca says the last word louder, and a few ladies instantly face away.

Where is she leading me? Would it be weird to ask?

It would.

A closed casket is resting at the end of the room. White with pink details, like cotton candy on the ground of an empty parking lot.

"I know." Becca chuckles between tears. "It just screams Sarah."

You nod again and look at the picture above the casket.

A girl, about your age, blonde hair gathered in a long braid, Becca's dimples, Robert's eyes. A bright pink dress, elegant long hands resting under her chin, and jingly silver bracelets, mostly covering the Adam's apple on her neck.