A House Is Not A Home

June 8, 2011
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It was about that time when everyone starts to pack it in. All the grandparents, aunts and uncles

and their children were saying their goodbyes and searching for the coat room. Drunken relatives were

calling taxis and my catering staff had started to close up the bar. As always there were a few people,

young people of course, who were fighting the time and continued to dance away in hopes of making

the night last.

I was standing in the doorway of the kitchen, watching them. It was like watching an old

Hollywood movie. Everyone looked so beautiful in their fancy dresses, up-dos, jackets and ties. The

bride and groom looked especially glamourous. They were in the centre of the room, slow dancing,

despite the fact that it wasn't a slow song at all. She had her arms around his neck, and his arms

encircled her waist. He leaned in close to her and whispered something in her ear. She threw back her

head and laughed. That made me angry. Angry at her for being happy. Angry at myself for being

jealous. I couldn't help but to envy her, and all the brides that came here.

I picked up my purse and made my way to the patio in a daze. I took out a cigarette and tried to

light it, but it didn't catch. I flicked the lighter again and again with no luck. I began fumbling with it,

trying to make it work, and it dropped to my feet.


The sound of my name snapped me out of my daze and I was embarrassed to realize that I had

been crying. I turned to see that it was Ryan; one of the waiters I'd hired when I first opened this

restaurant so many years ago.

“I'm sorry to bother you, but I was just taking out the trash and I noticed you here.”

I immediately feared that he was going to ask me if I was all right, and I would have to come up

with some lie to explain that I was okay. To ensure him that the tears were nothing. I began racking my

brain so I would be prepared.

“It's just that I was hoping I could skip out early, you see, tomorrow I have to...”

“Go ahead, Ryan. Have a good weekend.” I told him. It didn't matter what his excuse was, I
was just glad that he had been kind enough to ignore my puffy eyes and wet cheeks.

I made my way back inside, past the small crowd still on the dance floor, to the bathroom. I

cupped my hands under the cold water, splashed it on my face and looked up at my reflection in the

mirror. It was so unfamiliar. I thought back to my wedding day, looking at myself in the mirror before

the ceremony while my maid of honour put the finishing touches on my makeup. I'd thought our

marriage would be perfect; one for the books. And it was, in many ways. We were so happy together. I

remembered the day, just a few years ago, walking out of this very bathroom to show my husband the

little plus sign on the pregnancy test. I wish we could have been that happy forever. But a few months

afterwards, when the doctor told us we'd lost the baby, I knew we'd also lost our only chance of ever

having one. We'd waited too long to have children, and now we were too old. If only he would realize

that, too. I was so sick of trying for another. And always failing. This is what our marriage had

succumbed to. A mess of emotions, despair and resentment. Everything I didn't want from marriage. I

could hear doors opening and closing in the other room, so I took a moment to collect myself before

going back out to the reception area.

Sometime in the five minutes that I had been in the bathroom, the rest of the guests had made

their way home, and I was alone with just the bride and groom.

“Carmen, thank you so much, it was lovely.” The bride told me.

“You have a beautiful restaurant,” added the groom, who was shaking my hand.

The three of us made our way out the door. They got into the backseat of the limo and rolled

down the window to thank me one last time. “Be good to each other!” I said as they drove away. I

locked up the restaurant and got into my car. I was suddenly overcome with exhaustion. The thought of

going home at the end of a long day used to make me happy. I used to go home, share a glass of wine

with my husband, and we would just talk, and spend time with each other, and be happy. But we hadn't

been that way for a long time. I didn't feel at home with him anymore, and that scared me. I didn't want

to go home to see the man I could no longer make happy. I took a deep breath, put the key in the ignition, and drove. But I did not drive home

Join the Discussion

This article has 8 comments. Post your own now!

Medina D. said...
Jul. 18, 2011 at 11:47 am
This piece was sad and very realistic. I definately liked it and was reminded of why i never wanted to marry in the first place.
ExpRESsY0uRse1F said...
Jun. 22, 2011 at 7:20 pm
Wow...this piece was really nice, I really loved how sad and wistful it was. Great job! I especially liked how you left it open, on how she "didn't drive home." Really good job! I hope to hear more from you!
Kwigggggg replied...
Jun. 25, 2011 at 3:29 pm
Thank you! :)
Kwigggggg replied...
Jun. 25, 2011 at 3:30 pm
Oh! and if you want to read another one of my stories one just got posted, it's called At The Edge Of The World
ExpRESsY0uRse1F replied...
Jun. 28, 2011 at 7:06 am
Ok, I'll definitely check it out!
InPurpleInk said...
Jun. 22, 2011 at 10:31 am

Hey there :)

So, overall, I thought this piece was very good.  It took me a minute to start getting into it, but once I did, I really enjoyed it.  I like the sort of sad, old-Hollywood feel, like something out of a period film.  Also, it kept me wanting to read more.

On a more critical note, I'll tell you what I noticed... The first sentence is good for pulling readers in, however, I didn't fully understand the wording, "pack it in."  I'm guessing this is an ... (more »)

Kwigggggg replied...
Jun. 25, 2011 at 3:31 pm

Thank you so much this will help a lot in the future!


InPurpleInk replied...
Jun. 25, 2011 at 6:57 pm
No problem :)
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