The Roses Wilted at Dusk Chapter 08
Dashiell Lockwood was sitting on the floor of my old office, a box of things spread out in front of him.
They were the discarded drafts of wedding plans I had saved for four years.
Around every anniversary, I had made a new version of our wedding plan.
From a thirty-thousand-dollar budget to eighty thousand, from a twenty-person outdoor ceremony to a full execution manual.
The fourth-year folder had only one page.
When he saw that blank fourth-year page, he stacked all the drafts together, pressed his palm over them, and/ rested his forehead on the back of his hand for a long time without moving.
At eight that night, Tamsin Calder called.
Not me.
Dashiell.
Marlowe heard it on speaker from nearby.
“Dashiell, rehearsal is tomorrow at two. The coordination team needs you to confirm the schedule.”
His voice sounded distant, as if something stood between
them.
“Have the coordination team confirm it. I have something to handle.”
Tamsin was silent for a few seconds.
“Are you still looking for her?”
He did not answer.
“Dashiell Lockwood, both families arrive the day after tomorrow. The funding agreement signing is scheduled for the wedding day. And now you’re telling me you have something to handle?”
The other end was quiet for a long time.
Finally, he said,
“I’ll be at the rehearsal.”
Marlowe said he packed the drafts back into the box and carried them away.
I stood on the balcony of my new apartment, the sea breeze tangling my hair.
He had started moving.
Going through the things I left behind, visiting the places
I visited, standing where I had stood.
But he moved too late.
Three days of regret could not outweigh four years of
being left empty-handed.
