Love Left Unrequited

Chapter 9

Chapter 9

"Oh, wouldn't that be heaven?" my sister cooed at my mother, snapping me out of my reverie. I kept my gaze level, pretending I had been actively listening. Like I hadn't just missed the last half of their- our- conversation. Not that she treated it as such. I was simply a wall ornament at this point.

Currently, I was in a stiff chair in a little French cafe, complete with a cobblestone street outside and bad lighting. My sister just had to fly in and see my mother so that they could immediately start on creating the plans for her perfect wedding, naturally. It would have been an animosity to even think about waiting even a day to begin the thorough planning.

"Simply," my mother agreed. "Don't you agree, Octavia?"

I turned my gaze so that it meets hers. There's a short pause. "Yeah, absolutely," I say, nodding.

"It's settled then. We can have a wedding in the Southgate Cathedral."

My jaw nearly dropped, right then and there. That's mine, I wanted to scream, I wanted to shout. I flip my gaze over to Simone's; she's wearing a grin that I could easily tell screaming satisfaction. It's not a smirk or a devilish smile. It's a smile that says: This isn't high school anymore. You win or you lose, kid. Figure out what side just one.

Simone's. Simone always, always wins.

Since I was little, I had dreamed of having my own wedding in that grand, ancient cathedral. Traditional and classic. A wedding of the ages. I may not have had the beauty or the looks, but I could dream about one thing. One thing my sister knowingly took from me.

I sigh, short and quick, and I lean my head against the side of my palm, elbow on the wooden table. I stare down at the ciche. After a moment, I lift my fork and stab it into the yellow surface. Lifting the fork to my mouth causes a taste explosion in my mouth.

"How about the middle of February for a dress shopping day? If we don't find anything then, we can keep searching," my mother says, a longing look in her eyes, a look that tells me how hard she is trying to appease Simone.

But Simone was easily one over by her dreamy talk. "Yes, I'll check back with you after I confirm that I'm free, but until then, no promises."

My mother nodded, enthusiastic. "Who are you planning on putting as your bridesmaids?" she asked.

"I haven't really thought of that yet. I just have so many friends. It'll be very hard to choose, that's for sure."

"What about Octavia?"

"Sorry, sis, but that ship sailed."

My mother turned toward Simone. "She's your sister!"

Wow, my mother just acknowledged that she has two children. Someone, document this. Maybe grab a Kodak.

"Maybe a bridesmaid," Simone sighed. "But definitely not the maid-of-honor."

My mother sighed as well. I stood to throw away my water. Just as I am, however, she clinched onto my arm.

"Mom, what?" I asked, motioning towards the trash can that is just waiting for my love.

"You aren't leaving yet, are you?" she shrieked, worry lines forming rapidly.

I thought it over for a second. Suddenly, I'd been allowed the chance to escape. I took it. "Yes, as a matter of a fact, I am. I have a hot date with my homework."

Simone shook her head, her eyes glinting. "Don't have too much fun."

"I'll try." I don't give either of them a glance back. As soon as I'm gone, I saw my mother chatting up a storm to Simone, the eager participant. Like I was never even there.

I realized instantly that my car is at home, keys still hanging on the rack. A sigh escaped my lips. Luckily, the narrow cobblestone street holds a variety of shops, even though they may have been owned by a future version of me, complete with the cats. I ducked inside of a dinky bookstore, breathing in the musky scent as I did so.

"How can I help you?" a platonic voice asked from a corner of the dimly lit room. I'm just about to nod and make my way into the back of the store where I can search in peace when I recognize the cashier.

"Vance McArthur?" I asked, surprise present.

He perked up. Instantly shies away. "Oh God," he mumbled.

"The mighty Vance works at a bookstore?"

"I had to get a job somewhere. I assumed no one knew about this place."

"I assumed your kind was too dumb to know what a bookstore was," I said. "Don't worry, you haven't broken my suspicions. I'm sure your mother found this job for you, wrote your resume and everything, didn't she?"

He said nothing. I continue on to the second half of the bookstore.

Ah, my trusty companion Silence. Can't get enough of him, I think.

I immediately dashed for the classics, grabbing a hold of Beowulf. I flipped through the pages; it's one of my favorites. Beowulf is the epitome of the classic hero, after all.

I didn't even notice the clank of boots coming up and taking a peek at the cover, a cover which my face was buried in.

"'Nor have I seen a mightier man-at-arms on this earth than the one standing here; unless I am mistaken, he is truly noble. This is no mere hanger-on in a hero's armour.'" I whipped around at the direct quote, shocked when I see Vance.

"You can quote Beowulf? You've read Beowulf?" I blubbered.

"It was required for school, remember?" He slid down on the ground beside me.

"Why are you here right now? It's a Saturday, don't you have anything better to be doing?" he asked.

"My sister. She insisted on flying in to make pre-plans for her miraculous wedding. You'd think the queen would be coming or something." I raised my hands in a small excited act. Luckily, he could tell my sarcasm was out on the town tonight.

"Really? What's she like?"

I shocked that he's sitting here, mock listening to me. Oh well, I think. Misery likes company.

"Upstanding. Perfect. The usual," I said with a small smile in his direction.

"I promise it's not so bad," he said in return.

The room suddenly seems small. Too small for my liking. "I should be going. Here. It's your job- put the book up."

He didn't even flinch. "Keep it. I doubt the old geezer who owns this store would notice."

I shoved it back at him, pretending like I didn't hear the kindness infiltrating his words. I shook my head, slow and then quick. "I already own a copy."

"What if it gets lonely?"

"Like you would know anything about books' social lives."

"I don't," he admitted.

"Exactly." I dropped the book on the ground, not meeting his gaze. I scurried out of the door.

"I work from 4 to 5 on weekdays- 10 to 6 on weekends!" he yelled after me as I was leaving.

"Thanks for sharing," I grumbled.

As I heard the chime of the door behind me and the harsh, bitter wind kisses my cheeks, only one thought flitted through my mind.

That quote that Vance said? It was about identity.