Chapter Text
Enid was unsure if she would ever be satisfied with the frizzy texture of her hair.
“I need another minute,” She stated.
Ajax Petropolus tossed his phone on the bed they had shared last night. Along with the night before, and the previous one as well. It was covered by a fitted duvet that Enid was more fond of than the majority of the ornamental homegoods she had amassed over the years.
“You always need another minute,” He argued.
Enid, who was clad in a peony-colored mini-dress, fidgeted – the rosey lace at the hem was tickling her thighs. A second later, Enid clipped her hair up before scrunching her features at the reflection in the mirror. So, being properly unsatisfied and displeased, she disentangled the barrette carefully. Her waves of blonde strands tumbled down, and she could hear a muffled groan from her boyfriend, or – as of two weeks ago – her fiancé.
They had been visiting Paris – staring and pointing at the Eiffel Tower until he propped himself on one knee with a three-karat ring and fat beads of sweat collected at his forehead. Just a few yards away, there had been a band of middle-aged violinists churning out some French ballad she didn’t recognize. While the pair were serenaded, the smell of magnolias was rich in the air, finally blooming under a sun that was being coaxed out from an approaching Spring.
It was cloyingly simplistic and cliché.
Enid loved every single second of it.
She squealed as a form of an answer, and she wore a smile that acknowledged that her life had shifted in a single second.
Ajax wanted to take his time and amble with ease instead of commencing a marching rally through their engagement. Yet Enid was not a woman meant for ambling, so before even boarding her flight back, she had already created an excel sheet for possible buffet caterers who could be available by September.
“You look great,” Ajax stated, and Enid could see him approaching from behind in the mirror. He raised an eyebrow while the corner of his lip twitched. “Absolutely stunning.”
Enid’s smile was nothing short of a beam. “Why, thank you.”
“So,” He said, slowly returning the smile with a crooked grin, puffing out a slow breath while he did so. “Ready to go?”
Ajax’s expression was hopeful and a seed of guilt planted itself in Enid’s chest.
“Almost,” Enid answered, scrambling through her handbag before pulling out a tube of pink lipstick that had hid behind a collection of used brushes and bright eyeshadow pallets.
“You already have lipstick on.”
Enid nodded. “Yes. From two hours ago.”
A pair of arms wrapped around Enid’s waist. “We are going to be late, babe.”
“We won’t – Monday traffic is nonexistent. Besides, they already hate me–”
“My parents do not hate you,” Ajax interrupted, yet Enid barreled on.
“They do. It’s a very misplaced hatred – yes. But, that’s okay — perfectly fine,” Enid said, her cheeks heated and her smile rigid. She lifted the tube of lipstick and coated her lips the color of rose gold. “Besides, it won’t be for long.”
Ajax’s arms tightened around her. “No, it won’t be.”
“I mean, I’m bringing White Zinfandel. Who doesn’t like White Zinfandel?”
“I personally love it–”
“Exactly,” Enid agreed, her voice involuntarily jumping an octave. “And Mr. and Mrs. Petropolus will too.”
Turning around in his arms, Enid faced Ajax who lifted one of his hands to brush Enid’s cheekbones. She searched his expression and found fondness at the center of it. So, Enid closed her eyes, allowing herself to be touched by the calluses of his fingers.
“You know, you’re going to be Mrs. Petropolus soon,” Ajax said leisurely, as if tasting the words on his tongue.
Enid tensed in his grip. For a small moment, taking no longer than half a second, she felt something worse than happy, or sad, or angry. It was a dull thud in her chest. An absence of a feeling rather than one itself.
Yet Enid hated nothing with fervor, so she stirred the lack of emotion into something – lifting herself on the tip of her toes before pecking Ajax’s chapped lips.
“I’m ready.”
----
“You would have loved him, dear.” Ajax’s mother, a woman whose brown curls were half-heartedly pushed back by a lemon-shaded headband, patted her son’s hand. “I saw him last fall with Christy, but your father can agree, he was just magnetic last night.”
Mr. Petropolus raised his hand in agreement, a pleased smile blossoming on his lips.
“Just magnetic,” He said and then turned to his wife. “He didn’t do The Things I Notice Now though.”
“Hm, no.” Mrs. Petropolus’ curls flopped back and forth as she shook her head. “I thought he would.”
“It was too bad. Though, I will say – I did love Bottle of Wine .”
“Oh, it was just amazing,” Mrs. Petropolus exclaimed, reaching for her husband’s hand before squeezing it. Her voice was muffled by a breadstick that she was chewing on. With her unoccupied hand, she covered her mouth while adding, “I didn’t even think he still performed his stuff before ‘99.”
From behind their table, Enid could hear an older couple arguing in their booth, debating if onion rings were really appropriate after a coronary artery bypass. The man’s voice sounded hoarse, as if his lungs were coated with tobacco tar. When he stated that he was unsure if an argument over onion rings was an appropriate reason for a third divorce, Enid forced her attention back on the couple in front of her.
Ajax’s parents were content in a way that Enid had not seen in most middle-aged pairings. After all, Enid’s own parents, whose crow’s feet had deepened with every passing home visit, were at peace with their partnership. They existed as separate rocks in a stream they shared, but watching the older couple a foot away sneak sly glances toward each other caused a bead of yearning to form in Enid’s chest.
Yet that bead disapparated when Mrs. Petropolus forced her gaze away from her partner in crime, instead funneling her attention toward Enid.
“So,” Mrs. Petropolus began, leaning back into her chair, “AJ was telling me you’ve recently gotten into Paxton.”
Enid’s answering laugh was a little too high-pitched. “Gotten into? More like in love with.”
It was not exactly a lie, but it was not particularly the truth either. Enid did like the collection of songs Ajax’s parents recommended to her — but just only at night. The music helped to lull her to bed when the energy she collected throughout the day became too pent up for sleep.
Ajax’s parents were consistent frequenters of folk music festivals. The two also celebrated their domestic bliss by smoking ganja at a regularity that would undoubtedly warrant suburban gossip. They were the type of couple that claimed their best party stories came from Woodstock – and they were not incorrect in the assumption.
Mr. and Mrs. Petropolus were new age in a way that was unfamiliar to Enid.
After all, it was not like Enid didn’t have a somewhat unconventional upbringing as well. Her parents were also unique in terms of their parenting techniques – allowing Enid and her brothers to fend for themselves on a day-to-day basis. For most of her adolescence, the Sinclairs fared through half-heated microwave dinners and entertaining their own selves on the grounds of the trailer park Enid was born and raised in. She had been the product of a home birth on the grounds of a grassy parking lot, screaming and wailing in an inflatable kiddie pool. The pictures of her birth were pasted inadequately in a scrapbook, the edges of the glossy photos poking out from where it once was forcefully stuck. The mass of sticky polaroids sat on the highest shelf of their cabinet, and Enid actively avoided peeking inside.
So, Enid appreciated Ajax’s unconventional background. Yet, Enid was someone who enjoyed music that had a beat and some light autotune. While Ajax’s parents enjoyed the strumming of a guitar and lyrics that detailed the desire to be a leaf on a tree. It was a sentiment that Enid had never thought of having, and despite listening to a heartfelt ballad that attempted to persuade her otherwise, she was still not ‘one with the trees.’
As she pondered, she began to notice a distinct silence had taken over the table. Within seconds, she realized that Mrs. Petropolus was staring at her expectantly, firmly breaking her train of thought.
Enid cleared her throat. She opened her mouth, brimming with enforced enthusiasm, “I just think Tim Paxton is so talented.”
Mrs. Petropolus’ expression soured in an instant.
“Tom.”
Enid cocked her head. “Oh?”
“His name is Tom,” She corrected, her newly built smile looking like it was tightened by a screwdriver. “Tom Paxton, dear.”
Enid tried not to focus on her burning cheeks as she looked back and forth between husband and wife. Much to her relief, Ajax stretched an arm around Enid’s shoulders.
“Enid’s not much of a name person,” Ajax supplied. “She is much better with faces.”
“I’m a whiz,” Enid weakly added.
The patriarch of the family inched his horn-rimmed glasses up, no longer allowing them to occupy the bridge of his nose.
“You know, it’s much easier to remember faces rather than names. I’m — well, I’m a layman about these things, but faces are considered more individualistic in the brain. I think names are far more general,” Mr. Petropolus said, offering a sympathetic glance toward Enid. She wanted to appreciate his olive branch, but his wife's arms remained crossed against her chest. And, much to Enid’s dismay, he must have noticed too because he quickly added, “But — well, I read that in a magazine at the Dentist’s office. So, who really knows?”
“I do.”
Mrs. Petropolus jumped when an unfamiliar voice intruded upon their bright picnic-clothed table.
Enid darted her eyes in the direction of the voice and found herself staring at a young woman who donned a black jumper with an even darker long-sleeved blouse hiding underneath the fabric. The strange woman’s ebony bangs draped slightly over her eyebrows and her brown eyes were penetrating Enid while she tucked her hands behind her back.
She was not a sight that Enid felt comfortable staring at, yet she continued to do despite her better judgment. It was only Mr. Petropolus’ voice that interrupted her reverie.
“Can we help you?” He asked, confusion tinting his voice.
As if it was possible, the woman’s frown seemed to deepen.
“Faces and names are registered differently for memory processing,” The woman said, glancing toward Mr. Petropolus blandly. “You are correct. Faces are more individualistic.”
Next to Enid, Ajax cleared his throat.
“Are you, like, our waitress?” He asked.
The woman slowly turned her head toward Enid’s fiancé, putting him under a microscope as she watched him with a shuttered expression.
“I am.”
Enid could feel Ajax fidgeting next to her, as if squirming under the attention. If she didn’t know any better, she would have brought a hand down on his leg to prevent him from shaking the table with his bouncing knee.
“Oh – um, you are?”
Ajax’s statement was said like a question, yet it was concluded with no answer or reassurance from the woman whose severe gaze was now boring back into Enid’s, abandoning the previous intimidation attempts on her fiancé.
Enid could distantly feel a rattling motion in her chest, yet she couldn’t help but notice that the sensation of relief had trickled into the crevices of her panic. She was uncomfortable by the way the woman watched Ajax, but it was much better when the cold attention was centered on her.
Confused, Enid pinned the emotion down as a byproduct of having a protective nature and forced her fleeting thoughts away from any other explanation.
When Enid finally broke eye contact, sensing that the waitress was unlikely to be the first one to do so, she looked at her soon-to-be-husband. An uncertain line had formed on his lips, and he shot a questioning look to his parents. His mother, who sighed through her mouth, seemed to be purposefully fiddling with her ring, and Mr. Petropolus gave a minuscule shrug that only a sharp eye could notice.
Ajax’s smile was nervous as he looked back at the dark-haired waitress. “We can wait for you to get a pen.”
“I won’t need it,” She stated. “My memory processing is beyond adequate.”
Mrs. Petropolus shot a raised eyebrow at her husband, yet he gave little response.
So, after much silent deliberation, the group began gripping their menus with much hesitance, reading off their selections. The older couple decided on sharing an Italian pasta dish which contrasted Ajax and Enid, who ordered a Swiss burger and medium-well steak respectively.
The odd woman didn’t nod, in fact, if she had heard everyone at the table’s order, she didn’t show it. Without a single sign of acknowledgment, she stalked away from the group who gawked at her retreating figure with wide eyes.
The moment she was more than a yard away, a derisive laugh bubbled out of Mrs. Petropolus’ mouth.
“Young kids these days,” She scoffed, straightening the cloth napkin in her lap.
“Oh, love,” Her husband laughed, seemingly more amused by the strange events that had just occurred than his wife. “She couldn’t have been older than AJ.”
“Well,” She said, a proud glint shining in her eyes as she looked toward her son. “We raised our boy to be a gentleman. He has manners”
“Well, funny you mention manners,” Ajax said, reaching for Enid’s hand under the table while shaking off the oddity of their strange server. “Enid and I didn’t come empty-handed.”
Ajax paused, waiting for Enid to complete his sentence, yet she still stared in the direction the waitress had disappeared in. She tilted her head, wondering if their server was still lingering in the hallway, or if she had vanished inside the kitchen.
Yet when she swiveled her head behind, Enid realized that the kitchen was on the other side of the restaurant. She darted her eyes back to where the girl had stomped off to and looked up to see a bathroom sign hanging above the entryway.
Enid could hear Ajax awkwardly cough into his fist.
“We brought White Zinfandel, or rather, Enid did,” He said, squeezing her hand tighter. It was an intimate gesture, yet it seemed like its main motive was to draw Enid back to the conversation. “We were thinking we’d pop it open for later.”
Enid made a pact with herself – she would not leave the table.
She buzzed in her seat, refusing to sit up.
“Oh, you’re the sweetest, my AJ. Truly,” Mrs. Petropolus said, smiling, before adding, “This would have been great a month ago. We were actually even trying to get rid of the spare bottles back home, but recently – maybe a week ago – oh, I can’t remember for the life of me. But, well, anyway we’ve decided to take a break from–”
Enid rose from her seat, the legs of chair screeching against the floor as she did so.
“Will you excuse me? I have to use the lady’s room.”
Before even letting her fiancé’s parents respond, Enid marched toward the women’s restroom, her heels clicking against the laminate floor in the process.
When she pushed the bathroom door open, Enid blinked at the sight of the empty space. The only company Enid could find was metal stalls and tiny bars of soap next to the sink. Enid ducked her head down, checking for any black dress shoes to be found on the floor of one of the stalls, yet the restroom was abandoned. When she straightened her back, she gave a disbelieving look at her own expression, watching her wide eyes peer back at her in the mirror.
“Are you looking for me?”
A gasp was ripped from Enid’s throat as she turned behind her, meeting the eyes of the somber woman who was now in plain sight. Enid lifted a hand so it could rest on her chest – it was rising and falling rapidly, her heart hammering away.
“You scared me,” Enid said, her gaze flitting between the woman and the door behind her.
“Yes,” She agreed, and much to Enid’s annoyance, it was the closest she came to cracking a smile. Yet the woman, whose dark lashes were unmoving, did not reveal an upturning of lips – for she only allowed amusement to dance around in her irises. “Your pupils are dilated.”
“That’s…a unique thing to notice.”
“Not particularly,” The woman said, narrowing her eyes, almost studying Enid. “They often dilate under stressful conditions.”
Enid swallowed.
“Yes,” Enid agreed, nodding her head slowly. The humming of the air conditioner sounded oppressively loud inside the bathroom. So, she raised her volume, competing against the noise, “Are you actually our waitress?”
The woman took a step closer to Enid, and she fought her instinct to cower and stumble backward.
“Are you actually married to him?” The woman asked, a bored expression pulling at her face. “I wish I could say it surprised me.”
“Excuse me?”
The woman’s face was still blank, yet her chin tilted lower, and she could see the glint in her eyes sharpening.
“Don’t look at me like that.” The sentence came out of Enid in a rush, the words jumbling together as she lifted a sleeve to wipe against her wet cheeks. The wool fabric scratched her skin, and she steadied herself with a small breath. “It’s not my fault. And – and you can’t make it my fault.”
The woman didn’t respond, she only sat on a sleek vinyl couch, the cushion flattening under her weight. Her eyes watched Enid carefully, yet she didn’t even try to utter a response.
Her silence only fueled the fire in Enid’s chest.
“You know, if I didn’t know any better – I think I could die tomorrow, and you wouldn’t even care.” Enid’s laugh was cruel as she dropped her hands to her side. “You love a funeral, right? So, you – you’d probably be pleased that everything worked out for you. Again. Just like it always does.”
Enid’s hands went to her eyes, still red-rimmed and continuously pricked by a wet heat. She cradled her head in her hands, yet when Enid finally ripped them away, she blinked at the sight of the woman standing in front of her.
Her face was blank, yet her chin had tilted lower.
A glint in her eyes was sharpening.
Enid’s fingers gripped the bathroom sink.
She leaned over, her head bowed down, yet when she felt nimble hands grace her back, she shot straight up.
A curious expression painted itself on the woman’s face – it was the most human she had looked throughout the course of the night. Yet Enid, who was still fighting for her knees to not buckle under its weight, found herself even more startled by the sight of the woman’s furrowed brows.
“Do I know you?” Enid asked, her voice hoarse for some odd reason.
She decided to school the shock that was undoubtedly contorting her face.
The woman made her own attempt as well, flattening her expression back to blunt neutrality once more. “We’ve met.”
Her tone was so soft that it lulled Enid into nodding.
“Yes,” She agreed absently, and then frowned. Enid shook her head before saying, “Or, no — no. We haven’t. I don’t even know your name.”
“Wednesday.”
Enid blinked. “What?”
“My name is Wednesday. Wednesday Addams.”
Enid cleared her throat.
It was the strangest name, and it made the most sense.
“I’m Enid.”
“I know,” Wednesday answered, her tone biting, seemingly annoyed by the introduction. “I also know your—” She swallowed, before she continued, “—your husband.”
“Ajax?”
Wednesday’s nod was brisk, for it couldn’t have been longer than a second. Enid watched as she darted a glance at the ring on her finger – the golden band had been adorned by an oval diamond that glittered under any well-lit light. Yet even under fluorescent ceiling bulbs that belonged to a bathroom with a paper towel scarcity and a lacking air freshener, the piece of jewelry still twinkled appropriately.
“We went to high school together,” Wednesday said.
“He didn’t – he didn’t say anything at the table.”
Wednesday allowed a silence to lapse between them until she eventually stated, “It was a big school. You might not believe it, but some people describe me as anti-social.”
In the oddest fashion, it seemed like the space around Wednesday was twenty degrees colder than the temperature of the room. It was as if she was an ice sculpture, her delicate features frozen to permanence while permeating chilled gusts of frigid air.
Enid couldn’t tell if she was ignoring the desire to inch a few steps backward or forward.
“Oh, really?” Enid laughed, the noise sounded false even to her own ears. “I would not have guessed, and also – well, Ajax – he’s not my husband.”
Wednesday cocked her head. “Oh?”
“Not yet,” Enid supplied with a hesitant grin. “The wedding is in September.”
“Right as the leaves are withered and decaying.” An almost wistful expression crept up on Wednesday’s face. “Devastatingly romantic.”
“I…hope so.”
“Will it be in San Francisco?” Wednesday asked.
Enid’s brows involuntarily bunched together. “San Francisco?”
“It’s a city in California.”
“I know what it is,” Enid said, tapping her fingers against her arm. “I just don’t know why it would be there.”
“It’s where you grew up.”
Enid rubbed her shoulder, before dropping her hand and straightening her back.
“No.” She said, shaking her head. “I’m from here — Jericho.”
The muscles in Wednesday’s face seemed to tighten but she refused to give any other sign of reaction.
“What county?” Wednesday asked.
Enid suddenly wondered how long she had been there – inside the restroom where the overhead light was beginning to flicker above. It couldn’t have been longer than a few minutes, but she felt the need to look at the time on her phone.
A new thought wiggled in her brain – she contemplated how long it would take until concern from Enid’s group was warranted.
“I think I should go,” Enid said, brushing her shoulder past Wednesday.
Yet, before Enid had any time to think, a hand reached for Enid’s own. It forced her body to jerk toward Wednesday who was only a breath away from her. In fact, much to Enid’s surprise, her breath was unexpectedly warm against her face.
"Tell me what county you lived in, Enid,” Wednesday said.
“Let go.”
Enid tugged her hand away, and Wednesday didn’t even attempt to fight her.
After all, her grip was fairly lax, yet Enid still rubbed her wrist. The phantom touch of Wednesday’s cold fingers was imprinted on Enid’s skin, and it left a tingling sensation as she floundered backward.
“You — I’m going to tell your manager.”
“You don’t know what county you lived in,” Wednesday said, clasping the hands that were just touching Enid. She hid them behind her back. “Don’t you find that odd, Enid?”
Enid fought to not look in Wednesday’s direction.
She searched her mind, forcing herself to think about the trailer park she grew up in and the public school she played varsity soccer for. And once she reached for the answer and stretched her fingers into school days and childhood recollections, a memory soon projected on the back of her eyelids. Enid thought of elementary school, back when her days were filled with drawing disproportionate faces on the outlines of sample papers and leaving a trail of eraser bits that littered the entire desk. She also remembered learning the county name by reciting it with the rest of her class, along with the state bird and the national anthem.
“Ruthford,” Enid said, her voice almost a whisper. “Ruthford country – in Jericho.”
Wednesday, whose face refused to betray her, worked a tick in her jaw.
“You can’t stay here, Enid,” Wednesday said, her words coming out as a low hush.
The light that was already flickering began to do so at a more rapid pace, it resembled the speed of a hummingbird fluttering its wings.
Enid drew her steps closer to the door.
“That’s great,” Enid said, pulling down her cardigan sleeves that were scrunched up. “Really, it is. Because I’m leaving.”
As she pushed the door open, allowing the cool metal to be felt against her palms, Enid was already determined to push Wednesday’s words far away from her head. She didn’t need her blank stare bouncing around in her skull, so Enid did what she had to – she let Wednesday Addams fade into the background.
The smile Enid wore as she sat back down in her seat was so close to genuine – she almost believed it herself.
----
“Stunning,” A brunette woman holding a plastic measuring tape said, her smile radiant. “Just stunning.”
Enid cast her gaze downward before darting it back to the woman. She eyed the nametag pinned to the woman’s shirt, reading the name Rachel in her head, before embarrassment flooded her momentarily.
Rachel was her alterations specialist. She had been communicating with her via email for a month now.
Enid was wearing the wedding dress her mother wore. It was strapless and could easily slip off of her body with any simple movement. The white train was bunched behind her, and the full-length mirror in front of Enid revealed her pale skin being washed out by the eggshell gown.
“Are you sure?” Enid asked.
She grazed her hands against the fabric, feeling the lace sleeves that covered her arms.
“I mean, once we pin the dress to make it a tad more flattering — it should be ready.”
Rachel’s smile was plain and Enid attempted to mirror it.
She was eager to pull down her back zipper, grabbing her pink cardigan that had been tossed on a waiting room chair. Enid was loaned her mother’s dress, despite her frantic warnings to be gentle with the sheer fabric. Her mother obviously had little faith that Enid wouldn’t find some way to ruin the gown. Yet Enid understood it was only offered as a nicety, something that was inherited for the sake of being inherited.
Hanging the dress up and pulling up the cover’s zipper allowed for air to be returned to Enid’s lungs.
Enid was finding, as of late, that she would feel sudden bouts of anxiety. It was like there was a low drumming under her skin, a light tapping from inside that rarely ceased. She would, more often than not, huff long inhales and exhales to calm herself. Yet, it was sadly proving to be counterproductive when Enid would start to panic if she didn’t think she was following the proper instructions for the specific breathing exercise.
Inside the cramped dressing room of Tenor Tailor, she began to hear the war call of an approaching episode. Her stomach was turning over in waves, so, knowing that it was imperative, she pushed open the curtains hurriedly. She grabbed her bag, not even caring to look down to ensure that the buttons of her blouse were done correctly.
As she made a hasty goodbye to Rachel, whose head was tilted with a confused frown, she saw dark hair braided in a French style through the glass-paneled windows. The woman’s back was turned — but a spark of recognition lightened in her synapses as Enid stared at the petite woman's ebony smock and rigid posture.
Her breathing, to her own shock, slowed, and she waded carefully toward the woman outside. Yet as she reached for the handle of the door, a sheet of black filled Enid’s vision.
Darkness had no beginning or end when she closed her eyes and fell head-first into an abyss.
----
Sweat was congealed on Enid’s skin as she shot up from her damp sheets, her breath heavy while she blinked, slow and lethargic, making sense of her surroundings second by second. The salmon walls were decorated with mahogany photo frames from various birthdays and holidays, and she darted her gaze to all of the wide grins and crinkled eyes that were staring back at her. The familiarity of her canopy bed and the embellished flush light that hung from above began to ease Enid back into a state that was not precisely calm — yet slowed the desperate panting that was attempting to escape her throat.
Ajax, who was half-asleep next to her, shifted before stirring. He uttered a soft groan, his eyelashes fluttering every few seconds before meeting Enid’s gaze with a hazy expression. His left cheek had a small indent from where it laid on his pillow, and the light mark stretched against his skin when he gave a close-lipped smile.
“Enid? Are you alright?”
Her heart no longer raced, calming down into a steady rhythm. Yet, her fingers clenched tighter into the sheets, not trusting the momentary reprieve.
“I —“ Enid tried another breathing exercise. She gave up halfway through. “It was just a dream.”
“Sounds like a scary one,” Ajax said, pulling himself up by his forearms.
“It wasn’t. It was just—“
Enid didn’t finish her sentence.
Ajax lifted his hand, hovering it so he could run his fingers against her arm, yet she shied away from the touch before he could do so. Enid, whose vision was blurred, watched as he winced, scooting further away on the bed. His distance forced Enid to fixate her gaze on her lap.
“I’m sorry.”
A small silence emerged before Ajax said, “You don’t have to be sorry.”
“Well, I am.”
“The wedding is coming up – you’re stressed, I get that.”
Ajax’s words held a semblance of truth, with July creeping closer and closer, the need to finalize and cement wedding details was lingering like a shadow. Enid had already handled the booking for small details like catering and flower arrangements, putting down payments that she couldn’t quite afford. Yet she still hadn’t heard back about the availability of Hillbury Lodge – a countryside venue that promised a glittering lake and an expansive field that could be easily decorated with pastels. Enid was on the waiting list which proved to be an inventive purgatory.
While she had confirmed a second, third, and fourth backup option for the ceremony, Ajax’s parents were married at Hillbury. It was a tradition and, as passive-aggressively expressed by Mr. and Mrs. Petropolus, non-negotiable.
Almost as if sensing that Enid’s thoughts gravitated to the burgeoning pressure that his family was placing on Enid, he cocked his head while asking, “Speaking of the wedding, my mom said to ask you about Cathy — she didn’t really go into detail.”
Enid rubbed the bridge of her nose.
“Oh. Yes. Cathy.”
Cathy Gordon was a college friend of Mrs. Petropolus and Enid had heard a fair share of Wellesley alum stories about the pair of them. Most of them colorfully detailed subjects that Enid, without a crumb of doubt, would have preferred to remain ignorant about. Yet, due to the determination Mrs. Petropolus displayed for her involvement in the nuptial planning process, the two had oddly been presented with the rocky opportunity for bonding.
Enid had no idea that forced proximity could solve daughter and future mother-in-law tension. Yet, for some unknown reason, debating if lilacs were the right choice for an Autumn wedding seemed to be what finally endeared Enid to Ajax’s mother. Yet, if Enid were to properly self-reflect, it was unclear if the older mother had actually taken a liking to her future daughter-in-law or if she simply considered Enid another factor in the planning process. When it came to consideration, Enid and the roasted cream puffs were probably filed in the same folder for Mrs. Petropolus’ brain.
Though, despite her suspected apathy, the older woman did make the subtle effort to include Enid more in conversation whenever the four of them met together. This was despite the blonde being unequipped to comment on the merits of sustainable compost or how evangelical Christianity impacted the modern folk scene.
Yet, while the two’s tentative olive branch grew with every passing day, Ajax’s mother would still sometimes act as an obstinate roadblock, much contrasting her hippie mentality. In fact, she was even seeming to be a host of stubborn qualities that were almost equal to Enid’s own willful disposition. They both were seeking control and searching for support from Ajax respectively, who – in the kindest words – proved to be utterly useless these past few months.
Most recently, the two women were held at a stalemate due to a growing disagreement concerning the undecided musical accompaniment during the ceremony. A band, an up-and-coming jazz group, had already been contracted to play during the reception, yet Mrs. Petropolus was persistent in her objective to have Cathy, who was recently five months fresh into flute lessons, be selected for providing music at the ceremony.
It was a proposal that only Ajax’s mother would make, and Enid was at the point where she was practically screening the woman’s calls.
Enid looked over to Ajax who was rubbing his stomach absently, devoid of care as he alternated his rubbing to scratching, allowing his fingernails to skate over his shirt. She sighed at the ceiling that seemed to be just as helpful as her fiancé.
“I’m not walking down the aisle to a flute solo.”
Ajax cleared his throat.
“To be fair,” He began, before giving a small yawn. “I came over to her apartment recently to help with the cats – she’s gotten pretty good.”
Enid, who was resisting the urge to clench her eyes tight, raised a hand to touch the back of Ajax’s neck.
“She can play at my funeral,” Enid said, continuing to draw patterns against his nape. “The only time that woman is playing at a ceremony for me will be when I’m dead.”
“You’re so dramatic,” Ajax chuckled, learning into Enid’s touch.
“I’m the right amount of dramatic.”
Her statement resulted in another puff of laughter from Ajax, while he tilted his neck back.
Enid wandered her hand higher, caressing his buzzed hair while he emitted a pleased sigh. Yet upon petting his scalp, her movements abruptly stilled, and a frown pulled at Enid’s lips without her consent. She couldn’t label the emotion that was bubbling to the surface, but it resembled something that was becoming more and more familiar as of late.
Enid almost pulled her hand back, but she instead just looked in the direction of her fiancé, watching him blink his eyes open, curiosity pulling at his lips due to Enid’s hesitance.
“Did you–?” Enid started, her nose scrunched together. “Has your hair always been this short?”
An image of Ajax flashed across Enid’s vision – it was of her fiancé as he wore a bright orange beanie over his head. His clothing donned bold vertical stripes, and his jacket had an emblem sewed in the right corner of his chest. Enid tried to read it, but the almost-memory had dwindled into a wisp of smoke before it was ever even a fire.
Enid, attempting to turn her head away from Ajax, tried to make sense of her mind that was slogging behind the alarm sounding in her chest. She glanced around the bedroom, suddenly startled by the cracks that were now scarring the foundation. She tilted her head, assessing the new damage. But when Enid laid her palms on the bed, attempting to untangle herself from the sheets and walk toward the ugly blemishes on her pink-plastered walls, she was yanked back.
A hand was gripping her shoulder, pulling her back into the bed. Her line of sight was consumed by Ajax, hovering above her with flared nostrils and throbbing veins that wrapped all over his face like vines. All at once, his brown irises were absorbing her blue ones.
“It was a little longer in college,” He said, yet it seemed as if his mouth hadn’t even opened. But the words trickled into the stream of Enid’s thoughts. Her body stilled before shifting into a slack position as his fingers clenched tighter into her shoulder, his nails digging into her nightshirt. When her head dropped on the pillow, helplessly languid, he continued, “You’re probably thinking of old photos on my Instagram. My hair was much longer then.”
Enid wanted to open her mouth to dispute, yet the words she formed on her tongue refused to fall from her mouth.
Ajax’s social media did, indeed, have a myriad of dated college photos where he was often hovering in party basements with his drunken friends – cheeks flushed and dark hair barely reaching his shoulders. Enid had forgotten it, but with drooping eyelids, she remembered it now.
She fell even more lax in Ajax’s grasp — a victim to the waves of sleep washing over her.
Enid felt so silly for forgetting.
----
Enid was the type of person who tied her shoelaces too tight.
As the soles of her feet hit the grass, she could feel a pinching sensation at the top of her foot. So, when her heels began to ache from the mile she had just run, she slowed her pace, her breath coming out in labored huffs as she did so. When Enid reached a slow halt, she leaned down, placing her hands on her knees. They hovered there until she moved them down so she could loosen the laces of her white sneakers.
She did not doubt that her joints would be sore by tomorrow morning, yet she strangely looked forward to the feeling. Enid hadn’t been presented with the opportunity to go for a run in a while, slowly drowning under seating arrangements and crumpled-up drafts of vows that Enid always enjoyed writing but hated reading. The cursive words, scribbled in cloying and saccharine paragraphs, left an unsatisfied lurch in Enid’s stomach, resulting in the slips of paper to later reside at the top of the blonde’s trash pile by the end of the day.
The woods of Jericho were not beautiful, with twisted tree branches and wet leaves scattering the patchy grass. Yet the sharp air whipped Enid’s face and she couldn’t help but close her eyes as it did so.
Yet, due to a nearby twig snapping, she turned to the noise instantaneously.
Wednesday Addams, clad in a dull expression and black oval sunglasses, folded her arms across her chest.
“I always wondered if you enjoyed running because you thought you were supposed to like it or if you genuinely did,” Wednesday said, she lowered her glasses before folding them into her pocket. “I guess that mystery is solved.”
Enid scanned her eyes up and down, taking in Wednesday’s black smock and dark undershirt. The outfit was familiar, and Enid found herself gravitating closer to the girl who stood a few inches shorter than her.
“We’ve met. You’re – it’s Wednesday, right?” Enid asked, cocking her head to the side. “You were the waitress at Drew’s Diner, and I saw you—“
“Oh,” Wednesday said, lowering her chin. “Did you?”
“Yes — and at the bridal shop. You were outside.”
Wednesday didn’t shrug nor did she falter under Enid’s narrowed eyes.
“My mother always said it’s nice to be noticed, yet she was never one for reconnaissance. Alas, at the moment, I’m not too bothered by the sentiment either.”
Enid darted her gaze around the forest.
Tall oak trees stood, imposing above her, as she watched a rave of ravens land on a branch a few meters away. The squawking of the black-feathered birds echoed throughout the expanse of land, and Enid shot her gaze back onto Wednesday.
She realized the nearest person, outside of the two women, would most likely be more than half a mile away.
Enid squared her shoulders.
“I’ve taken a kickboxing class,” She blurted out.
If Wednesday was threatened by her words, she was reluctant to show it.
“I see.”
Enid raised a finger. “My boyfriend is also a security guard.”
“I thought he was your fiancé,” Wednesday countered, before adding, “Also, seeing as he’s not real, I don’t quite find myself trembling from fear – a disappointment for you and me both.”
“You are actually crazy.”
Wednesday stilled, and then jutted her chin in consideration. Her face was thoughtful.
“Thank you,” She said, sounding almost touched.
Enid rolled her eyes.
“You went to school with my boyfriend.”
“I did,” Wednesday said. “Except I didn’t. Not with the one here.”
Wednesday waded small steps toward Enid, and a budding frustration was vibrating just below her skin.
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Wednesday agreed, inching closer and closer.
In most scenarios, Enid thought it was typical for someone to try to summon bravery. Yet Enid hated herself for trying to do the opposite.
Enid was not scared.
But she wanted to be. She wanted to be so badly.
“You can leave, Enid.” There was no more space left for Wednesday’s invasion. They were now standing so close that if Enid nudged her head slightly, their noses would be touching. “Only one person is trapping you here – you. ”
Enid flattened her lips into a thin line.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
A flash of emotion rippled across Wednesday’s face, but it was gone before she could truly inspect it. Wednesday ducked her head away from Enid, and she was horrified to discover that she leaned her head closer, following Wednesday.
Wednesday, unlike her slow descent into Enid’s personal space, was quick to back further away from the blonde.
“You have a decision to make, Enid,” She said, reaching into her pocket and unfolding her sunglasses. Wednesday pushed them up the bridge of her nose before turning her back to Enid. “I can’t make it for you.”
A raven gave a jolting screech while Wednesday disappeared into the forest.
Enid, whose fingers clenched and unclenched, twitching at her sides, reminded herself of one of her breathing exercises. Yet when she held her breath for five seconds instead of eight, she balled her fingers into a fist. By the time Enid punched the harsh bark of a nearby tree, a scream was ripped from her throat, the bones of her knuckle cracking an ugly noise while doing so.