The Missing Bride: a cellphone novel by Alysse Aallyn

Chapter 4 – Cocktailing

I felt played.
It’s what they do to children.
Couldn’t shuck the memory of

My own mother–
Lofty & deceitful –
Briskly turning “road trips” turned into
“Summer camp” and “one night”
Into seven.

I was being “managed”, but
Could I blame Mirabel?
Quoting Mom – again – “ Guests must
Be adaptable, obliging – a guest has
No one to blame but herself
For her bad treatment.”
Was it the expression on my face
When she showed me that dress?
Snarky baby sister punished for it now.

Mirabel had something
Better to do than me.
I was startled by
The driver’s admiration
As the Stanhope – he looked at me
As if I’d matured.
Had I insulted the bride
By overreaching?
I blame those heels –
She must have secretly hated them.

Regretted her choice of bridesmaid.
I was chastened as I joined
Verne in splendor at the bar.
He rose at the sight of me
His face a tribute
To a beauty that I didn’t want –
I felt on the edge of a childish scene.
Why didn’t his jaw set at the sight of me alone?
Were they sick already
Of each other?

His arm was decidedly un-brotherly:
Squiring me away –
He enjoyed them seeing he was meeting
Some strange woman.
“Let’s get you dinner.”
Anything better than a bar
That looked me over like
Some Russian call girl.

As we turned I was confronted
By the mirrors: I looked like
Some Russian call girl.
Blame the champagne that allowed
Mirabel to paint me up.
In my best-guest manner, I said,
“Should we wait for Mirabel?”
He demurred.
“Waiting for Mirabel’s never good.
It only encourages her.”

As the headwaiter flashed his menu
Verne snuck angry glances
At his darkened phone.
“Turtle soup’s good here,”
Said Verne: he knew my weakness –
I yearned to sample everything.
I sucked water greedily
As martini-bearing waiters
Smothered and assessed.
I ordered pineapple juice before
Verne could countermand.

He insulted me –
“I heard you were religious.”
I enlightened him.
“Famiglia’s religious but
My life’s my own free choice.”
He breathed relief –
I switched it up –
“What kind of ceremony will you have?”

He seemed stunned I’d propositioned
Then vague. “Some judge. A ballroom.
Mirabel’s in charge of that.”
I teased, I needled –
“Mirabel says you proposed
The first night you met.”
Let him fear our confidence!
He laughed sharply.
“I was waiting for trustees to die.”
Well THAT was tough to follow up.

Verne could switch it up as well.
“Mirabel can be very shattering, can’t she?”
I shirked disloyalty at this
God’s honest truth. Chose vagueness as
He had. “Life comes at us so fast.”
“I tried to free her from the life,” said Verne.
“I don’t believe she really let me.”
This was depressing – parents hoping
For good news, bride and groom stuck
In mutual complaining.

“Mirabel proposed to me.”
He said coldly. “It’s the title.
They all do that.”
I was stung on her behalf – who wants his
Moth-eaten aging royalty?
I almost choked
On sugared juice: doesn’t sugar
Wreck your palate?

I braced myself against Verne’s
Un-subtle desire
To put me in the “wrong”.
Too bad for him –
I was used to disapproval.
“I think people should make themselves,”
I argued everything
Too fiercely.

Soup arrived, bread slathered with
Mozzarella, pesto & tomato. Mini-pizzas!
I sighed ecstatically and felt from him
An answering thaw.
“When you inherit an ancient world,”
He pontificated, “you learn to value the past.”
“Do you have a castle?”
I asked through my full mouth.

Turtle soup OK. Too much sherry –
Too much curry –
He checked his phone.
“It’s a ruin with tourists crawling
Everywhere. Mirabel doesn’t care for it.”
His phone lit up. Mirabel ‘s texts?
I studied mine to be
Companionable. But it was folks again –
Always, with the questions.
“She’s not answering,” he sighed.

“We’re not as charming as
Her double life.”
This jolted me.
“She has a double life?”
“Probably triplicate by now.”
He snorted.
I tried my lawyer father’s ploy;
Let ‘em talk.
“Tell me about it.”
“She’d been so hard to pin down lately.”
Did he blush or blanch? His throat was raw
With pent emotion.

My face betrayed my armoring.
“She seemed so ready
To be a wife. Said my time
Had come to meet the family.”
Did he know of The Great Silence?
Perfidious to squeal yet how else
Could I find out
What was going on?
Beef wellington arrived
But I was full.

“I’m amazed you were real, most frankly.
I thought “the little sister”
Was another of her stories.
Kudos to your parents.”
This – and the beef wellington –
Maybe I’m vegan after all –
Made me gag.
“I was afraid she’d hire stand-ins but,
“You’re just like her yet so
Unspoiled.”

Never had a compliment
Felt more like an insult.
Creepy and revolting.
“Mirabel and I are opposites,” I stressed
Angrily before I thought.
“How can that be?”
He was smug. Superior.
“You’re litter-mates.”
“She cares what others think and
I just don’t.”

That should have stopped him but –
He smiled.
“Sisterhood is powerful.’
Unable to read him,
Know him, change him,
I felt the dawning of
Despair. It makes me hate
The grown-up world.

“I’m becoming vegetarian,” I said.
And pushed my plate away.
I was trying to be polite and now
I’d stopped.
“Americans think food fuss
Makes them interesting,”
He snarled. “It doesn’t.”

But it turned out
His disgust was not for me.
“Imagine that,”
snorted his Lordship scornfully,
Still looking at his phone.

“We’re on our own,
Mirabel can’t make it.
And now her phone is locked!
We’ll see about that!
I’m ordering the car. Time to find out just what
Our bride is playing at.”