Chapter 3- The White Dress Deception

Andrea

Twelve-year-old Andrea

I had spent the last of my wishes on my mom, and dad, and the heavy rain drumming against the roof above me. But wishes don’t come true, and mine were no exception. If they did, why was the splattering rain beginning to quiet? And why were my parents' angry voices still piercing through the walls?

A door slammed shut, jolting me upright. I sat rigid on my bed, staring into the thick darkness that shrouded my room, as I heard my parent's footsteps descend along with their raised tones. My first instinct was to stay put and try to block out the noise. Arguing wasn’t unusual for my parents—it had become routine. But the constant fighting these past few weeks was wearing on me. I fumbled blindly for the lamp on my bedside table until I finally found the switch.

The light in the room did nothing to quell the tension that hung thick in the air, almost palpable. I stood up and, with deliberate steps, left my room. I followed the sound of my parents' voices to the living room. Our house was small, almost cramped, especially compared to the Fendi’s sprawling estate next door. From the top of the narrow staircase, I could easily see my parents in the living room below, but I hesitated, pressing myself against the wall that separated the tiny upstairs landing from the ground floor.

“Yes, run! That’s the only thing you’re good at; running! Andrea and I are better off without you!” I could hear Mom’s words, choked with tears of frustration and hurt.

“I am never enough for you, Jenny Never! Nothing I do is ever the right thing. It’s always been like that, and if I stay, it’s never going to end.” Dad rounded the largest couch in the sitting room, his voice thick with anger and resignation.

And then I saw it—the bright blue suitcase. I had wished that Mom and Dad would stop fighting and that the rain would keep pouring down so Dad couldn’t leave the house like he always did when they argued. But instead, the opposite was unfolding right before my eyes. I hadn’t even realized I was crying, the tears pooling in my eyes as I watched my parents. I had never seen them this angry before, and the pain in Mom’s eyes was unbearable. It was all his fault.

Why did he always have to leave when they fought? Weren’t couples supposed to stay together and resolve their issues? But Dad would always storm out of the house after a fight, sometimes not returning for a day or two. And during those days, Mom would be miserable, trying to get him to come back.

This time, I silently prayed he would leave and never come back. It would be better for Mom and me if he stayed gone.

Dad dragged his suitcase to the door, paused, and faced Mom, who had her head dropped like a wilted flower. For a moment as I stared at Dad, I wondered why mom got married to a man like him. What did she see in him that made her love him so deeply? They were like two opposites, mismatched in every way, yet somehow bound together by a love that now seemed lost and fractured.

Mom was soft, and gentle, and always wore her heart on her sleeve. She was the kind of person who cared deeply, sometimes too much. Dad, on the other hand, was callous and indifferent, often brushing off things that mattered most to Mom. He had a nonchalant way about him as if nothing could ever touch him, and it was like he was in a room with us but never really present.

Dad and I never really bonded, and honestly, I couldn’t care less. In a lot of ways, I was more like my father which was why his nonchalant attitude never really got to me. I didn’t care if he knew I took my first bike out for a ride without seeking permission, or that I stayed out past my bedtime three days ago. It was more about proving to myself that I could do things on my own. In the grand scheme, his indifferent attitude meant I didn’t have to worry about disappointing him. We both preferred to keep our distance, which oddly suited us both. I learned early on that the less I expected from him, the better I felt about myself.

But unlike me, Mom cared, and she hurt when he didn’t care enough to ask her little things like how her day went, and if the fabric store was making any progress. When I asked her when I found her crying on one of those nights Dad left the house, why he treated her the way he did, her reply was you’re too young to understand, Andrea.

Too young? I was dishing twelve, and I could understand when there was tension around the house. I could understand when a marriage was not working, and a couple needed to go their separate ways.

“Jenny, this isn’t working anymore.” As much as I hated Dad, I was glad he was finally saying the words. “We need to get a divorce.”

Mom’s head shot up; her eyes were bloodshot from so much crying. “No, you don’t mean that. No, no, no…Grant. We always fight, this isn’t something we can’t fix.”

For the first time, Dad actually looked like he was affected by all this. “I wish we can. But this marriage…us… we have only been prolonging the inevitable. Things have changed, Jen…”

“Don’t call me that!” Mom’s soft cries pierced the walls. She looked like someone who was in actual physical pain.

“This is what’s best, for everyone.” His eyes trailed upstairs and for a split second I thought he saw me, I quickly moved away.

“This is what’s best for you! You selfish asshole,” Mom hiccupped. “Get out. Get out, now.” She screamed.

Dad looked down at his feet, and I peeked closer and saw his hand gripping the suitcase tightly. “Goodbye, Jenny. My lawyer will be in touch.”

He didn’t look back as he walked out the door. Didn’t call after a few days to know how I felt about him leaving for good. And I told myself every time, that I didn’t care. That watching him leave that night was the best thing to happen to Mom and me.

As my back slurped over the wall and I landed on my butt, pressing my knees to my chest and listening to Mom’s broken cries, I swore never to fall in love. Never would anyone get close enough to treat me this way.

“Never would anyone break my heart like this,” I muttered into the darkness.

***

Older Andrea-

The blaring sound of my alarm was accompanied by the persistent buzzing of my cell phone vibrating under my pillow, where I usually kept it. I was glad something pulled me out of the uncomfortable nightmare I was having.

Most people would be traumatized from having to relieve the night they were abandoned by a parent. Not me. Never me.

Losing him, turned me into the woman I was today. Strong. Independent. A woman who was ready to do her own battles and take on the world. It made me guarded, which was how I liked it.

I sluggishly rolled out of bed, sliding my feet into the fluttery slippers beside it. I didn’t have to rush into the shower this morning, because Ms. Zane made me promise to let her handle things at the hospital just for today while I got some rest.

At first, I was going to be stiff-headed and refuse but after getting home last night, and the exhaustion of the past three days I spent in the hospital sleeping in that cramped chair, I changed my mind. I’d oblige to Ms. Zane’s request but would ensure I call in to check on them every hour on the clock. I strolled into the kitchen and found the coffee pot already on the stove. My thoughts didn’t process fully before Erin appeared from the other hallway that was her room.

She was dressed for work and ready to head out. Her lush black hair was hastily gathered, and the bag slung across her shoulder was a bright purple, a total contrast to the color of her outfit.

“Hi, Andrea. Thought you’d be up, so I made coffee.” Erin flashed almost white teeth at me.

“Thoughtful. Thank you,” I took the cup she handed me, and blew on the steam.

“How’s Jenny?”

I glanced at her from the corner of my eyes surprised that she’d ask. Erin and I weren’t really close, she moved into the house three weeks ago after a posted sign for a roommate needed. Since Mom was rarely here, and the bills were getting more difficult to manage, I decided to rent Dad’s room. The extra cash from the rent would go a long way, and I didn’t have to come across that room and think of him any longer.

“Thankfully, she’s out of danger,” I said, replying to her question.

She nodded and put down her mug, glancing at her wristwatch. “Gosh, I’m late. I have to go.” Snatching her bag from the only available chair in the chair, she aimed for the door but halted. “Oh, I forgot, someone has been ringing the home phone. He left a message. I think it’s your dad.”

When she was gone, I went and took the landline from the study table, and slouched on the couch to listen to Dad’s message. It simply said: call me.

Whatever the hell for? I grumbled but still pressed the call button. He answered on the first ring.

“Finally, Andrea. Answer the damned phone when I call, will you?!” Dad's voice blasted into the phone.

“You have to get it into your conceited skull that I don’t answer to you,” I fired back.

At my words, I could almost taste his anger. “Don’t you dare speak to me in that manner kid. I’m still your father.”

“And Barrack Obama is still the president,” the sarcasm in my tone heavy.

He sighed in frustration, and I pictured him shaking his head. “You win, Andrea. I’m a terrible father, always have been to you. But you have never given me a chance to make amends.”

I scoffed. Why the hell was he being so sappy all of a sudden?

“Let me make up for all the times I was not a great father to you.” He continued.

“That’s the thing. There was never a time you were a father, let alone a great one.” I knew my tone was harsh but I couldn’t stop myself.

“I want to make amends for that. Give me a chance.”

“How? How do you intend to do that?”

He paused, and I heard the heavy exhale. “I met someone, and we are getting married. I want you to come to the wedding, Andrea.”

My jaw dropped, and fresh hurt rushed over me, but was quickly replaced with rage. “Is this a joke? You want to make amends by inviting me for your wedding to someone else?”

“Here me out, baby. This would be a good chance for us to spend time together, and get to know each other better.” He pleaded.

“At your wedding to some other woman who’s replacing Mom,” I sounded like a kid throwing a tantrum, but I didn’t care. “I’d rather stay home and watch paint dry!”

I slammed the phone down hard it came crashing. The man had some audacity, I screamed in my head, but involuntarily, the sound came gushing out, disrupting the quietness of the morning.

***

Finding J&K Glamor Hotel wasn’t much of a difficult task. I had been here six months ago- the first time the death of Layla Moore hit the news-taking pictures, and trying to get anyone from the staff to tell me something useful that would help my story. As I expected, no one had been willing to talk.

I stood for a few seconds staring at the gigantic building and mused how Dad managed to pull off getting a hall here for his wedding. I was aware he had acquired a business after he and mom separated, but until now I had no idea what type of business it was, he did.

Mostly because I couldn’t be bothered enough.

I pulled down the white dress I had quickly gotten from a store yesterday after Mom succeeded in making me agree to attend this wedding. I was only doing this for her, to avoid another attack because she was worried my father and I couldn’t get along. It infuriated me to know that she still had a soft spot for a man who had left her when she needed him most.

My thoughts shifted to the woman Dad was getting married to as the expensive door of the hotel split in two for me to walk through. Did she know who truly dad was? That he was a man who could walk out of your life at any time he pleases? I felt pity for whoever this new woman was, just like I felt pity for my mother who couldn’t let go of the love she had for him.

The elevator made a seamless sound as it opened its doors like a pair of eager arms waiting to embrace me. I pushed the 114th button and watched the elevator doors slowly merge. It was a long ride, like I imagined. Seeing I was going all the way up. This building had a hundred and twenty floors. One could only imagine the ride to the last floor.

I got out of the elevator into a wide space that appeared to be a garden. The scene before me was nothing short of breathtaking. The garden was meticulously decorated, with lush greenery framing the area and vibrant flowers in full bloom. White rose petals carpeted the ground, leading to a beautifully adorned altar at the center.

The altar was draped in delicate sheer fabric, flowing gracefully from its arch, and adorned with cascading floral arrangements of lilies, orchids, and peonies. Fairy lights twinkled among the flowers, casting a soft, ethereal glow as the sunlight began to wane.

Rows of elegantly dressed guests were seated on white chairs, each with a satin ribbon tied to the back. The guests murmured; their excitement palpable as they waited for the ceremony to begin. Dressed in their finest attire, one could tell they ranged from business executives to socialites, making me wonder how Dad knew these people.

At the far end of the garden, a small ensemble of string musicians played a soft, romantic melody, adding to the enchantment of the setting. The atmosphere was filled with the scent of fresh blooms and the faintest hint of the garden's greenery, creating a sensory experience that was both luxurious and intimate.

No matter how angry I was at Dad for getting married to someone else, I had to admit to myself that he had good taste. I was fascinated by the decorations and the colors. But what paused me for a moment was that I was the only one dressed in white.

Unlike what Dad had told me, this would be an all-white wedding, and he had duly instructed me to come in a white dress. It appeared that had been another one of his ploys. But for what reason? I should have taken that as a sign and made a U-turn back to Ontario.

However, Dad spotted me before I could make up my mind.

He excused himself from the two men dressed in suits-actually one was dressed in a tuxedo like a groom would-I recognize the men from the L.A Times. The older one was Jasper Vasques. Yes! The same man I have been digging into for some years now. And the younger man, sparsely recognizable save for the few times I had come across his face on the papers. Kieran Vasques.

What was happening? Why were these men here? And why was Dad dressed so…casually? Wasn’t this supposed to be his wedding? Don’t get me wrong, he was wearing a suit but one couldn’t have looked more casually dressed for his wedding.

No effort was put into his hair, which was styled in its usual disheveled manner, and his suit seemed oddly understated compared to the grandeur of the other man. It was as if he hadn’t quite grasped the significance of the event or simply didn’t care enough. No surprises there.

“Andrea, finally!” Dad clapped his hand in a jolly manner when he reached me. “We have all been waiting for you.”

I stared at him blandly as his words seemed to draw everyone’s attention and they turned to us. We stood at the aisle, and one would think my father was about to walk me down.

“Waiting for me?” I stared amusingly at him. “There’s no need to be dramatic, Dad. It’s your wedding there’s no need to pretend my presence here holds much significance.”

“Actually, it does.” The smile disappeared into his lips.

I glanced around, a bit confused. “I don’t see the bride. I’m a tad bit late, and I thought the ceremony would be well on its way by now.”

“We couldn’t start without the bride, and it’s a good thing you’re here now.”

He might as well have been speaking Bulgarian because his words lost their meaning on me.

“I don’t understand what you mean.” I turned around and saw no lady in a white dress standing behind me. When I faced the altar again, everyone’s eyes were on me. “Can we go take a seat, I look odd in this white dress and it’s your fault. Now, everyone would think I am the bride.”

I turned to take a seat, but Dad’s hand held me back. His eyes drained into me in a firm gaze and his next words were a staggering shot in my chest.

“You’re the bride, Andrea.”