An excerpt from the latest book project, soon available on Amazon and Smashwords.
Those who wanted to see Kimberly Domingo get hers had a lot of good stuff to choose from in the weeks and months that followed my non-wedding.
It started when I found out -- through a phone call in the early afternoon, to my cellphone, which I had taken while sitting at my workstation. It wasn't an office with a door, and my cubicle walls looked and felt like plastic reinforced by a layer of thin carpet. Yeah, no soundproofing when I started raising my voice.
"You're kidding me, right?" I tried to whisper, but as my former fiancé firmly explained to me that the wedding wouldn't be happening, my voice started to get loud and shrill. "What about the caterer?"
"We won't get our deposit back, but at least we haven't paid them in full yet."
"But my lola's already on her way!" Eighty-five years old and as we were speaking, flying in from California.
"I'm really sorry, Kimmy. But we really can't do this."
"You know what we can do? We can just shut up for a second and think about this. What happened?"
He was calm as he explained to me what his decision was, and what needed to be done. He had an answer for everything I threw at him: he was prepared to call all the companies we had booked to announce the cancellation, as well as all the guests, and was even offering to pay for a few things that I had advanced from my own account. And that I would have the money by Monday.
"Shit, Zack, I don't fucking care about the money right now! What the hell happened?"
I can't remember exactly what he said. I was in a rage, and when the phone call ended I was suddenly aware that I was in my place of work, and everyone probably heard that.
I don't remember the rest of that day. My mother told me that I came home late, but by then she already knew, because Zack had contacted her with his apologies. I have a vague memory of not wanting to go to work the next day. I remember crying into her lap, wiping tears onto the floral-patterned fabric of her nightgown, first with loud, angry sobs, and then hiccupping like a child. I had never felt like that before, ever.
Humiliated. That was the word.