The Housemaid’s Wedding: A Short Story

“Millie?” Enzo speaks the word into my hair as he cuddles close to me in bed. “Is sex on the morning of the wedding bad luck?”

Good question. As badly as I want the answer to be no, I am desperate for my run of good luck to continue.

“Probably,” I admit.

His face falls. “You are sure?”

“You know,” I say, “we’re not even supposed to see each other today.”

“Really?” Enzo looks around our tiny living space, clearly confused. We occupy a small one-bedroom apartment in the Bronx, where the living room and the kitchen are merged into one. “Where am I supposed to go to not see you?”

“It’s more of a rule for fancy people who have friends with guest bedrooms where they can spend the night.”

“I hate fancy people.” He kisses my neck, which makes my whole body tingle. “So since we already broke rules, it is not bad to break more, yes?”

Bad luck or not, on any other day, I would be powerless to resist him. But today is my wedding day. I have to shower and make sure my dress fits well and get my hair looking respectable and put on more makeup than my usual dash of drugstore lipstick. It takes all my self-restraint to push him away. “Better not. I need to get ready.”

“Get ready?” He looks baffled. “But our wedding is not for four hours!”

“Right. It’s in only four hours.”

Enzo is frowning, but he reluctantly relinquishes his grasp on me so that I can go to the bathroom and have a shower. Men just don’t get it. I had to iron the white shirt he’ll be wearing today because such a thing didn’t even occur to him, despite the fact that it was clearly unacceptably wrinkled. He will shower in five minutes, towel off his hair, throw on his suit, and the whole thing will be done in less than ten minutes.

But I need to look perfect today. Because there’s one other thing that will make this day incredibly special.

My parents are coming to the wedding.

This is a really big deal. My parents and I are not close. In fact, I haven’t seen them in well over a decade. They abandoned me in my time of need back when I was a teenager, when I defended my best friend from being attacked and ended up in prison for killing the bastard. They threw me to the wolves—didn’t give me a penny for my defense and never came to visit me when I was locked away. And even after all that, I was willing to forgive and forget—they are my parents, after all—but they were not. You’re a bad apple, Millie. We don’t want you poisoning our lives anymore.

Do you know what it feels like for your parents to call you a poisoned apple? It doesn’t feel great. Yet, no matter how much they pushed me away, I still craved their support. I loved them, and more than anything, I wanted them to see I had changed from the girl I used to be.

I had been worried I’d never see them again. And I was sad that since Enzo’s entire family is either deceased or back in Sicily, he would have no family members at our wedding. I told this to Enzo one night, not long after his proposal. He was the one who convinced me to call them to let them know about the wedding and the baby.

My mother did not sound excited when she realized I was on the other end of the line. At first, I thought she might hang up on me. But then when I told her I was trying to get my degree in social work, she thawed considerably. She wasn’t thrilled to hear I was pregnant out of wedlock, but she was glad to know that I’d soon be marrying the father of the baby. And when I extended a wedding invitation, she told me she would be there. My parents will be our only guests at our wedding—the only witnesses to our holy matrimony.

I’m so nervous about seeing them again after all this time. I’m scared I’ll say the wrong words and screw things up all over again. But I’m also excited. I love my parents, and I always hoped that they would forgive me for my sins of the past, especially since I honestly don’t think they were such grievous sins.

And no, this isn’t exactly how I dreamed my wedding would be when I was a little girl, but I want it to be as perfect as it possibly can be. We’ve already started the day with a death threat, so we have a lot of ground to make up.

I roll out of bed, tugging on my oversized T-shirt, which is feeling decidedly less oversized lately. Before hitting the bathroom, I walk over to the window to discover snowflakes have started to fall from the sky. It’s only the beginning of December, and the weather forecast didn’t predict snow, but it’s coming down fast enough to stick to the ground.

Is snow on your wedding day good luck? Or is only rain? Or is rain just ironic?

Enzo yawns, still in the bed. “Hey,” he says, “how about Felicity?”

“Felicity?” I repeat.

“What is wrong with Felicity?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. It’s just not my favorite name in the whole world.”

“Okay, then you tell me, what is your favorite name in the whole world?”

Ever since we found out at our last OB/GYN appointment that we’re having a baby girl, we have at least three conversations every day about baby names. Or more accurately, we have at least three conversations every day where one of us suggests a baby name and the other explains why it sucks. Presumably, we will manage to agree on something in the next four months, or else our baby girl will go through life nameless.

“Let’s put a pin in the baby name discussion for now,” I say. “I need to take a shower.”

“But I like Felicity.”

“Yeah, well, I liked Nadine.”

Enzo makes a face. “Okay. We put the pin in for now.”

I’m about to head into the bathroom to shower when my phone starts ringing again. Enzo glances at it and starts to pick it up for me, but I make a mad dash across the room to snatch it up before he can.

When I get a look at the screen, I’m glad I didn’t let Enzo answer the call. The 718 number flashing is unfamiliar, and I’m almost positive it’s the same number that woke me up this morning. I send the call to voicemail. I’m not in the mood for another death threat.

“Spam again,” I say.

He nods sympathetically but doesn’t ask any questions. And he has a right to ask questions, especially when I take the phone with me into the bathroom for my shower, but he keeps his mouth shut. It’s a weird thing to do, but I can’t risk him picking up and hearing that voice telling me he’s going to cut my throat. Enzo will lose his mind if he hears that—he will not just shrug it off and go about his day.

I’ll tell him all about it—tomorrow.

I take a quick shower, noticing that my belly has popped out a lot more in the last week. A month ago, you couldn’t tell I was pregnant at all, even without any clothes on. At worst, it looked like I had a food baby. But it’s becoming increasingly obvious that something is growing inside me.

My baby.

Little Nadine.

Or not. But definitely not Felicity.

After I finish my shower, I leave the bathroom, wrapped in a skimpy towel. Enzo is still in bed, scrolling on his phone as I make my way to the closet, where my wedding dress is hung up inside.

As we are not having a traditional wedding, I do not have a traditional wedding dress. First of all, it’s not white. I hate that color, and not only that, it seems wildly inappropriate given my… situation. So a few weeks ago, I went to Macy’s and purchased an A-line silhouette powder-blue dress with lace sleeves. It was marked down from nearly three hundred dollars to just over one hundred, which was barely in our budget, but I bought it anyway, because, for God’s sake, it’s our wedding. Plus, the dress can serve as both my “something new” and my “something blue.”

It also has a scoop neck, which will be perfect to show off my “something old,” which will be a gold locket necklace that my mother is bringing me. The necklace is an heirloom passed down from her mother, and her mother before her. Honestly, I never thought she would ever pass that necklace on to me. And it means much more that I’ll be receiving it on my wedding day.

“You’re not supposed to see me in this dress.” I cast a worried look at Enzo. “It’s bad luck.”

“I’m not supposed to see you at all,” he reminds me. “Anyway, I saw it already. Remember? You did fashion show when you came home.”

“Oh, right.” That makes me feel a little better. “I guess I should stop being so superstitious.”

He grins at me. “It is cute. Anyway, this is your wedding day. You are allowed to be pazza.”

He has used that word multiple times to refer to me. I haven’t looked it up because I’m not sure I want to know. I don’t think it’s a compliment, but I let it slide.

The towel falls from my body, and Enzo lets out an appreciative whistle. I take the blue dress off the hanger and slide my legs into the silky fabric. I purchased a brand-new pair of pantyhose just for today, and then an extra pair in case I get a rip. I have thought of everything. I am prepared for any emergency. Today is going to be perfect.

Except…

Oh no. This stupid dress doesn’t zip up anymore!