cliché musings

Kennedy and Seth’s wedding was gorgeous.

They were officializing their love in a church–a bit too typical, in Delilah’s opinion–but they’d taken the time to choose one with grand, open windows and sparkling chandeliers, a glow settling over the wooden pews, planning intricate floral arrangements for each of the seats and adorning the altar, tied together with silver, silk banners hanging between the stands of the pews. At the beginning of the aisle, they placed an archway with pulled back curtains and wildflower bouquets, rolling down a white carpet right through it. A few of the bridesmaids were standing around, draped in pale turquoise dresses, chiffon fabric touching the floor, bright smiles and styled hair. Kennedy and Seth had gotten the help of a talented wedding planner, Delilah was sure, and she was feeling impressed with the commitment. There was no better way to illustrate the strength of your relationship than the meticulous organization of the rest of your lives together. 

Delilah herself had picked out a lavender dress, a perfect color match with their spring wedding and white flowers, exposing her shoulders but coming down to just below her knee. She curled her hair, the length now resting in waves at her chin, and attached gold hoops to her ears. She stood in nude heels at the back of the church, near the door where guests were filing in. The tailored tuxedos and smoothed-out dresses made her smile, the careful consideration of each guest’s appearance marking their dedication to this couple’s marriage. It surely didn’t happen at every wedding. The ones who couldn’t care less showed up in their wrinkled Sunday pants and stained white dress shirts, wouldn’t even consider buying a new outfit for the occasion. You could plan every aspect of a wedding right down to when each of your guests arrived and how they held their forks when they finally got a slice of cake, but you couldn’t force your friends and family to give a shit. Delilah believed that was what made it perfect, and this one, this wedding could have been perfect.

Sadly, which only Delilah seemed to take into account at every moment, men were absolute trash.

Delilah, up against the wall and pretending to be on her phone, saw a tall man enter the church. He was handsome, with a trimmed beard and squared jawline, dressed in a gray tux that outlined his broad shoulders and large biceps. He was holding hands with a woman, Asian and dark-skinned, wearing a red cocktail dress. A high-low dress, a ruffled bottom with a lacy top and plunging cleavage.

Delilah watched the couple stroll down the aisle, searching for their seats on the right side, where Seth’s guests were sitting. That was what you chose to wear to a wedding, Delilah wondered? Did she think she had to be the one that stood out? It was the furthest thing from a modest look, more fit for the first night of The Bachelor than your friend’s wedding. And Delilah saw right through the pulled-it-straight-from-the-prom-section-of-Macy’s style. She wasn’t surprised; of course she’d try to outshine Kennedy in her own devious ways. The necklace dangling over her pointed collar bones only confirmed it.

One of the bridesmaids noticed her and the man, smiling and waving them over. The woman turned to the man, placing a hand on his shoulder and speaking to him. Delilah was too far away to hear, but she’d become skilled at reading lips, and knew the woman said something along the lines of I’m born uh lay hi. She pulled away from the man, their fingertips lingering like they were truly in love, and headed over to the bridesmaid.

Delilah almost laughed out loud. Was this girl going to leave him alone, too? At a wedding she would have invited him to, where he barely knew anyone else? She might have thought she was subtle, but anyone as observant as Delilah would be able to pick out all the holes in her plan. If she wanted to keep this act up and take it to her grave, she should probably be a little more careful. But maybe that was the thrill of it for her. She wanted the attention, the possibility of being caught, the same way serial killers have the primal need to let everyone know what they had done, that they could have gotten away with it if they never said anything, that they were just that smart and slippery. The woman was no different, cunning (Delilah would be perfectly honest and admit she even saw a little bit of herself) but her fatal flaw would be her ego, and Delilah was going to be the one to land that last strike.

She looked away from the couple, opening up her text messages on her phone.

To Kennedy: She’s wearing it

Kennedy was not due to walk down the aisle for another twenty minutes, but that didn’t stop her from shoving the church doors open twenty minutes early and stomping her way through the mingling guests.

The church fell silent at the sound of the doors slamming against the wall. Kennedy had taken the effort to put on her dress–a nice touch, Delilah thought–a strapless gown that flared out into lace, floral patterns. She hitched up the sheer fabric as she stormed down the aisle, and from her seat in the back Delilah could see she was barefoot. Her hair, pulled back in a bun, bopped up and down as her feet hit the carpet, and the braids she had crafted tying back into the twist were threatening to come loose. Delilah pulled out her phone, opening the camera and changing the setting to Video. 

Kennedy stopped when she reached the pew where the man and woman were sitting, conveniently at the end of the row next to the aisle. The rest of the guests angled their heads to watch as Kennedy pointed one painted nail at the woman. 

“You absolute bitch,” Kennedy said. “I can’t believe you’d do this to me.”

The woman opened her mouth, had the audacity to look shocked. She looked over at the man, then back to Kennedy, but Delilah didn’t miss the way her eyes flickered to the altar first. “What? What’s going on?”

“Stand up,” Kennedy ordered. The woman didn’t move. “I said stand up!”

“Okay, Jesus.” The woman rose, smoothing out her dress. “I don’t know what’s happening, but–”

Kennedy reached out, grasping the necklace the woman was wearing. “Can you tell me what this is?”

The woman pulled away, the necklace falling against her chest. She glanced at the man once again. “It’s my necklace, what do you mean–?”

Kennedy held up her own necklace, shoving the pendant in the woman’s face. It was a silver loop, holding a pearl in the center, with diamond encrusted around the metal. “You mean the same one I have? That Seth got me?”

Although no one else had been speaking, the room became even quieter than before, filled with the noise of held breaths. The woman was staring at Kennedy’s necklace, than looking down at her own. Delilah focused in on the man, who was clenching his fists at the knees of his pants, his eyes stapled to the two girls in front of him. 

“That’s–that’s just a coincidence,” the woman spoke, shaky. “I just liked this one.”

“Oh, bullshit,” Kennedy snapped. “I know you two have been sneaking around. Someone’s already told me all about that. But you were just gonna let me marry that asshole, huh?”

“Kennedy, I swear–”

The church doors crashed against the walls once again. The room turned to see Seth, with an askew tie and untucked shirt, running down the aisle.

“Kennedy,” he said, almost like a plea, sounding out of breath. “Kennedy, what’s wrong?”

“Jesus Christ,” Kennedy said. “Go fuck Annette all you want. I’m done.”

There was a moment of hesitation from Seth, maybe all the confirmation the guests needed. All the confirmation Kennedy needed.

“What?” He laughed nervously, looking around the room. “What are you talking about? This is our wedding, babe.”

“You really couldn’t buy two different necklaces?” Kennedy asked. “I guess Annette just felt too threatened by me, is that it? She wanted the same one? She can enjoy her fucking Kohls jewelry, I don’t care.” Kennedy unclasped her own necklace, tossing it over her shoulder. “Going to her restaurant every single lunch break, oh my God, can’t believe I was such an idiot.” 

Kennedy turned away, making her way back towards the entrance.

“Wait!” Seth shouted. “Wait, Kennedy!”

“Don’t you dare follow me,” Kennedy said. “This is me leaving you at the altar.”

She kept walking, disappearing through the front doors. Seth might have followed her, if the groups of Kennedy’s friends and family didn’t surround him, blocking him from the exit, all with crossed arms and judging eyes. The man and Annette were in an argument on the right side of the church, Annette frantically grabbing the man’s hands but him pulling away each time she touched him, with Seth’s guests spectating and mumbling to themselves. In the commotion, Delilah finished her recording and stood up from her seat, slipping through the front doors unnoticed.

She navigated her way through the corridors, finding Kennedy outside her waiting room, back against the wall. Her head was in her hands, and Delilah was almost worried she was crying. But then she heard the laughter.

Kennedy looked up at Delilah’s footsteps, grinning with her hands pressed to her forehead.

“Oh, God,” she said. “I did it. I can’t believe it.”

She giggled, fingers moving to hide her mouth.

“I got the video,” Delilah said. “Honestly, it looked incredible. I think someone would pay a lot for it. Maybe, like, the Daily Mail, or something.”

Kennedy let out a breath, then burst into laughter into again. “Shit, this is amazing.”

“What did I tell you? So satisfying, right?”

“You were right, you were right, I know,” Kennedy said. She pulled herself up from the wall, stepping forward to drag Delilah into a hug.

“Fuck,” she mumbled into her shoulder, and lifted her head. “I can’t thank you enough for everything. I just–you were the only one willing to tell me about fucking Annette.”

“I know,” Delilah said, a soothing hand rubbing her back. “Seth’s friends suck.”

“Okay, okay,” Kennedy said, pulling away. She moved the flying strands of hair out of her face and took another deep breath. “You should go. Everyone’s gonna come find me–I’m lucky I got my mom to leave before she’d have a heart attack. But really, thank you. Keep in touch!”

“I will,” Delilah promised. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”

Delilah hurried back to the entrance, at the same time Kennedy’s bridesmaids were rushing out of the congregation, a grumbling wave of Can you fucking believe him? She peeked inside before the doors closed, but didn’t see the man from before, only Annette getting chastised by one of Kennedy’s aunts, a finger shoved against her chest.

Delilah went outside, amused at the bright and warm day that didn’t seem to fit coming out of the ending of Kennedy and Seth’s relationship, but maybe it did, if you thought it was the right path for their worlds. Of course, Delilah saw it as perfectly balanced, everything according to plan, especially when she noticed the man sitting on a bench right outside the church.

She walked forward slowly, coming to stand in front of him, blocking him from the sun. “Hey,” she said.

He looked up at her, then turned his head, gazing out into the parking lot. “Hey.”

“You might not want to hear it from me,” Delilah spoke, “but I’m really sorry about what just happened. You deserve so much better than her.”

The man looked back at her, staring at her for what seemed like countless minutes. Delilah almost fainted, her legs feeling weak. Everything would be alright, she thought, if he just kept looking at her, with his beautiful, captivating eyes, probably thinking about how beautiful she was, too, how he never should have ended things when all he could ever want was right there.

And then he began to laugh.

“Holy shit,” he said.

Delilah was startled. “What?” she asked. “What’s funny?”

“You did this,” he accused. “I don’t know how, but you did.”

“What?”

“How’d you know I was gonna be here? Stalking my Facebook again? I thought I blocked you.”

“Dylan, please, you sound crazy.” Delilah crossed her arms. “I told you I’m Kennedy’s friend. I didn’t know you were coming.”

Dylan laughed again. “Why don’t I believe you? You found out about me and Annette, right? That’s what happened? Don’t lie to me, Claire.”

Delilah stayed quiet, calculating, then shoved the strands of her hair out of her eyes. “It’s Delilah now.”

“What?”

“It’s Delilah,” she explained. “I’m changing my name.”

“Oh my God,” he said. “Because of the song? Claire, we’re over.” 

“Well, we were. But now you see what Annette’s been up to. She obviously wasn’t good for you.”

“Holy shit,” Dylan repeated. “You really did do this.”

“God, I didn’t make her cheat.” Dylan really could be so dense sometimes; he was lucky he had her to help him out. “I had a hunch she didn’t just stay friends with the guy she had a fling with three years ago. Come on, it’s so obvious, you could have figured it out yourself.”

“You told Kennedy then,” he guessed. “Just now? Crashed a wedding just to see it ruined? You’re pathetic.”

“Can you just listen to me? I told her weeks ago.” She wouldn’t crash a wedding, come on Dylan, only someone like Annette would do that. “I knew there was no way Annette wouldn’t wear that stupid necklace to the wedding and that would prove this whole thing. I suggested Kennedy could wait until now and humiliate Seth in front of his friends and family. It’s not like she’d get the deposits back for all of this at that point, anyway. Let her get her money’s worth.” Delilah paused, looking Dylan up and down. “And yes, I knew you’d be here, too.”

“You’re actually insane. You dyed your hair and everything–”

“I did it for you! Annette was never going to love you like I do, if you could just see that–”

“Enough,” he interrupted. He got to his feet, putting distance between him and Delilah. “Stay the fuck away from me. I don’t want anything to do with you.”

“You’re just upset,” she reasoned. “I know this is hard right now, but you’ll understand. I had to expose Seth and Annette–”

“No, you just wanted me to–to cry on your shoulder, take you back after all of this. This was for yourself.”

Dylan continued to step back, heading out towards the parking lot. “I swear, stay away or I’ll call the police.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” she said, but made no move to come closer. “You’ll come around. No other girl would do so much for you.”

“You’re crazy,” he said. “Fucking crazy.”

After the woman was sufficiently wrapped in a conversation with wedding guests and the man had turned to his phone with nothing else to do, Delilah walked over to the older couple standing next to him.

“Excuse me,” she said, raising her voice. “Do you happen to know where the bathrooms are?”

While the couple explained that they did not, but she could try searching out in the hallway, the man turned around at the sound of her voice.

Delilah smiled. “It’s okay,” she told the couple. “I’m sure I’ll find it.”

She made to walk back towards the entrance of the church, pretending she didn’t notice the man watching her.

“Claire?” he said.

Delilah stopped, swiveling around. “Oh!” she gasped. “Dylan, oh my God. What are you doing here?”

He said nothing for a few moments. “My, uh, girlfriend is a friend of the groom’s, I–what are you doing here? Did you dye your hair?”

“I’m a friend of the bride’s, actually. What a small world, right?” Delilah laughed, tucking her hair behind her ear. “And yeah, I mean, you know what they say, blondes have more fun.”

“Right,” Dylan said. “Well, er, it was good to see you?”

“Yeah, of course! We should catch up after? At the reception?”

“Maybe.” He paused, making a gesture behind him.“I’m gonna get going.”

“Oh, sure.” Delilah waved him off. “Enjoy the wedding!”

Annette was working as the hostess, a silver necklace around her neck, pendant hidden beneath her uniform, when Claire walked into the restaurant.

“Table for one, please,” Claire said, moving her brand new, blonde hair out of her face.

“Alright,” Annette said. She didn’t seem to recognize her. Maybe Dylan didn’t tell Annette about her? Didn’t show her pictures, tell her about the ex he couldn’t stop thinking about? No, Claire thought. It had to be the blonde hair. It worked. 

“Can I get a name?”

Claire paused. “Delilah.”

“Alright, it should be about a five minute wait. We’ll call you when it’s ready.”

“That’s fine.”

Annette smiled. “Can you tell me what it’s like in New York City?”

Claire forced out a laugh. “I can’t, but I get that all the time.”

“Delilah’s a great name,” Annette said. “That’s one of my boyfriend’s favorite songs, actually.”

“Is it? That’s interesting.”

Claire had to keep herself from grinning. Her and Dylan had saw them in concert on one of their first dates. Dylan was obviously still obsessed with her, was still listening to the song because of their memories together. What other explanation could there be?

Annette put her at a table out of sight of the hostess stand. After ten minutes of waiting and no appearance, Claire was tempted to circle the restaurant. She didn’t have to worry, though, because then Annette brought Seth over, sitting him in a booth on the other side of the room.

Claire picked up the menu and held it in front of her face, peeking over the top. Annette lingered by his table, not going back to the stand until the bell above the door rang. Claire stayed for another hour, eating her food in slow bites, watching as Annette came to talk to Seth about every five minutes.

She was right, then. Annette was a fucking slut, and Seth was a fucking dick. They should have deleted those old pictures off Facebook, hid their current friendship, and maybe Claire wouldn’t have had to dig into their personal lives. Amateurs, she thought.

Claire left the restaurant when Seth’s lunch break ended, and then she hung around the area until five o’clock, the end of Seth’s shift at work. She followed him out, far enough away that he wouldn’t notice her if he turned around a few times, but he didn’t leave to go home. He crossed the street, and then went back to the restaurant, where Annette was leaving for the day. Claire watched from the other side of the road as he hugged her and led her to his car. Through the windows in the car, Claire could see him lean over and kiss Annette.

Claire walked away then, not needing to see any more of what was about to happen. Her veins boiled at the thought of Annette treating Dylan this way, a nice guy, who couldn’t even be at fault for breaking her heart. He should’ve never have left her, Claire thought. This was what he got. A girl who could never appreciate how amazing he was. Claire would kill herself before she entertained the idea of cheating on Dylan.

At home, Claire made a new email address, did enough Googling to find Kennedy’s, and sent her a message:

Hi Kennedy,

My name’s Delilah. I’m a coworker of Seth’s. I know you may not believe me, but I hope you hear me out and listen to what I have to say. I had lunch today at the restaurant where his friend–I believe her name’s Annette–worked. I know he goes there a lot for his own breaks, so I wasn’t surprised to see him, however, he didn’t notice me. I saw them speaking to each other a lot, but I was really surprised when he followed her out at her break time. I decided to investigate, and I could see them kissing out back. I just thought you should know what Seth has been doing. This is truly not fair to you.

Please message me back if you’d like to talk more, or would like any proof.

Thanks,

Delilah