Finally Forever His

Eleven.

     Downing my nth glass of wine, I bite my lip as I battle with the thoughts roaming my mind. The battle is rather or not I should let my opinion cut the entire dinner short, or if I should spare peoples' feelings.

     Because clearly, mine weren't thought about when making the decision to demote me to a bridesmaid, while the new chick takes my spot as Maid of Honor.

     To be honest, she was probably more worthy of the title than I was, considering the um...events that took place under our roof back in our small town when Michael and his son moved in with us.

I mean, I did fraternize with said son...well, it was a bit more than fraternizing, but I'm sure you know the story.

     Anyway, I should probably be mad or pissed that my rank was snatched by some girl that just ran through here, about an hour and a half late, by the way, but I was more envious than mad.

     Envious of the damn fact that she was going to be walking down the aisle with my ma—Liam. I can see it now. Him looking all scrumptious in a full suit, probably Armani, and then his arm linked with the thin one of the girl's.

And that's where I frown to myself. Thinking of her in the dress I was supposed to wear, that's tailored for me, and trust and believe me her size 4 form won't fit into my size 10. Yes, I've went up in my clothing size, but hey, at least my skin is tight...

But it's not just the dress, it's seeing her in the dress while her arm is looped through my ma—Liam's—Damnit, mind, would you get it together?

Would he say she looked beautiful in that like he said to me at the fitting?

     "What's on your mind, Josefina? You look worried." Abuelita sits up in her seat, a smug look on her wrinkled face.

I ignore her, nowhere near in the mood to entertain her any further. I left as soon as the chick arrived, and took a break to get some fresh air. This wedding is putting a shit ton of unwanted stress on me.

When I came back, everyone was talking like she was really apart of the family, but something was off. I noticed the way the girl would flinch at the words my grandmother threw at me, and how my mother seemed to brush it off like it was nothing—she stopped trying to get a handle on her.

The girl would fidget and pull at her blouse as she listened to the conversations about the wedding and how things would go. She seemed confused whenever Michael was brought up and that struck a nerve in me.

The fact that she seemed so out of tune with our family, and my mom blushing like a stripper being treated with respect had my blood starting to boil because that meant my mother was feeding her lies. Lies about our fucked up family.

Whenever my name was brought up, I felt the gaze on me from the end of the table from her, and I immediately knew my mom lied to her about me. Because the girl—I really need to know her name—seemed so fucking conflicted, it had me feeling sorry for her.

"Baby girl, what's your name?" I finally ask, turning to the right, only to see her bowing her head, her eyes trained on the table.

She didn't know I was speaking to her, which had me roll my eyes for needing to put in extra work in order to get her attention. "Latina," I clear my throat and she looks up at me, her eyes narrowing. "What's your name?"

She adjusts in her seat, her hazel eyes finding my boring brown eyes. Le sigh, could a girl get a pair of greys or something? Pft, brown. Eh, at least I make them look good, right?

She tried once, but her voice cracked, to which she cleared her throat with a light chuckle. "Sorry, I'm Catalina, but my friends called me Cat."