Zana Bell - A Risk Worth Taking

She crossed to the sink, put her cell phone down and turned on the tap. She wished she could splash water in her face but didn’t dare spoil the lovely makeup that had taken over an hour to do. Instead, she held her wrists under the cold water.

Above the sink, her white reflection stared back at her in a fly-spotted mirror. The light wasn’t good, and the window above the loo had misted glass that probably enhanced her ghostly pallor. The window.

She turned slowly, gazed at it, then shook her head. She couldn’t. Then she thought of standing at the altar, saying her vows and becoming Mrs. Brian McKenzie forever.

Cressa shut off the water, grabbed her phone, flipped the toilet lid down and scrambled up on it. Luckily, the window was hinged at the top and quite wide. She hoisted herself up and landed half in, half out of it. Her veil fell forward over her head and dragged in the dust below. A couple of hairpins dislodged and she felt some of her heavy hair come free from the elaborate bun. The window frame dug into her stomach. Her feet no longer reached the toilet seat, but scrabbled against the wall, tangling in her skirts as she levered herself slowly forward. It wasn’t easy, especially since she still clutched her phone.

Her father would be wondering what had happened to her. At the sound of fabric ripping, she winced. Sorry, Ma. The dress had snagged on the window catch. Cressa wriggled to free herself. Then she was hanging, her thighs on the ledge. Only one way to go now. She gave an extra heave and slithered headfirst down the cobwebby wall to crash onto the grass, banging her elbow painfully. She scrambled to her feet, veil hanging over her face, hair in tangles. With a jerk, she wrenched the veil from her head, causing more locks to fall free. Then she picked up her cell phone, which she’d dropped, and looked around.

Two guys were sitting in a pickup, hamburgers halfway to their mouths, gasping in astonishment. Did white knights come with adolescent pimples and scraggly hair?

She ran over to the truck window. “You’ve got to get me outta here,” she said in a low voice.

They nodded mutely.

“Now!”

At her tone, learned over the years from her mother, a high school principal, they jumped in response. As Cressa pulled open the door, they swallowed their burgers like baby pythons, not stopping to bite or chew. She admired their economy of movement.

“Move over,” she ordered, and hauled herself and her skirts into the tiny cabin, realizing she’d have to crouch at their feet. She squished down, her wedding dress nestling like a marshmallow around her. The cabin was filthy, but dirtying her dress was probably the least damage her actions of the past five minutes would cause. The guys’ boots were eyewateringly malodorous, but she didn’t care. A sense of appalled elation was bubbling up inside her.

“Let’s go,” she urged. “Quick.”

The boys exchanged grins and the pickup roared off with a wheelie that was completely gratuitous, but somehow suited the occasion. She fell sideways as the truck rounded the corner of the gas station, then she was slammed again when the youthful rescuer driving the truck pulled another squealing wheelie as he turned onto the road and sped off.

Her heart was still pounding, but for the first time that day, her mind was completely calm as she began to text her sisters once more.

Two Years Later

THE HARDEST THING to explain, either to herself or others, was that she had no aversion to weddings as such. There was, in fact, lots to enjoy about them. Right now, Cressa was taking malicious glee in watching her cousin Jake, usually the supercool surfie, straighten his vest for the third time in as many minutes as he stood on the deck of the sleep-out, waiting for his bride to emerge from the main house.

As for the setting of this wedding, it was perfect. A house on the beach in Aroha Bay—Bay of Love. What could be more fitting? The harbor provided the backdrop for the groom, best man and celebrant, with winter sunlight reflecting off the tranquil high tide. Behind the guests, tables with white cloths, laden with plates and glasses, had been positioned under trees festooned with streamers. Fairy lights had been threaded through the branches, ready for the night’s entertainment. Cressa had never seen the old house look so festive.

Even the weather was behaving unexpectedly well for an outside wedding, and had provided one of those wonderful Northland midwinter days of blue skies and blue sea. All the guests gathered on the lawn below the sleep-out were wearing sunglasses and many had shrugged off their jackets in the unexpected warmth.

Cressa also loved a good party, and all her favorite people in the world were clustered around her at this one. She glanced affectionately at her parents and her four sisters, Juliet, Portia, Desdemona and Katherine.

“Really, Cressa,” muttered her mother. “I do wish you hadn’t worn black.”

Cressa looked down at the leather miniskirt she’d found in a secondhand shop and the satin top with spaghetti straps, and grinned inwardly. What would a family gathering be without Ma finding something about her to criticize?

“You should be glad I’m not wearing my boots,” she hissed back.

She’d foregone her ancient Doc Martens in favor of a pair of high-heeled shoes borrowed from Des, the baby of the family and its fashionista. The shoes were a nuisance, though, because the heels kept getting stuck in the lawn.

Her thoughts returned to weddings and she wondered about the nature of love. People, she was sure, married for all sorts of reasons. Perhaps there was the fear of living alone forever. Maybe they simply confused sex or friendship with something more. And let’s face it, after a certain age, going to parties and dinners was way easier to do as part of a couple than as a single person.

Yet Cressa had to admit that denying the whatever-it-was that had such a tangible effect on people was hard. She eyed her cousin. Jake could surf deadly ninety-foot walls of water, yet here he was, as jumpy as a kitten, running his fingers through tousled tawny curls for the umpteenth time as he leaned over to say something to his best man, Rob. Rob shot him a big-brother grin, patted his tuxedo pocket and gave a thumbs-up to indicate that yes, he still had the ring.

“What’s keeping Sass?” demanded Des in a whisper that carried to the guests, causing some to glance around. “We’ve been waiting ages.”

As if on cue, the opening chords of Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March” erupted from the speakers suspended from the branches of the pohutukawa tree. Everyone turned and a collective sigh rose from the crowd. Sass looked lovely in an ivory dress that hugged her trim midriff, then flared from her hips. Her blond hair was loose and she carried a simple bouquet.

Cressa was certainly not immune to the sight of a beautiful bride. Tears pricked her eyes as she watched Sass make her way down the steps, her mother beside her. She appeared composed and confident, and as she gazed across the guests to Jake, a dazzling smile lit her face. Their union did seem, Cressa had to concede, very much like true love.

Given all the advantages she could see in weddings, her misgivings must therefore have their root in the happily-ever-after bit, she concluded thoughtfully. She just didn’t buy that. And if one really did live in marital bliss forever, well, where was the fun and adventure? It sounded like Sunday-school heaven: serene, beautiful—and mind-numbingly boring.

With a deep breath and an inward sigh, Cressa straightened, bracing herself to listen to vows that would lock her dashing cousin and his beautiful, strong-minded Texan wife in bland matrimony for the rest of their lives. But just as Sass reached the steps of the deck, the throaty roar of a motorcycle drowned out the music.