the bridesmaid.

The Bridesmaid by Anthony Azekwoh

This is a tale that reads simple; it is one of a bridesmaid, in love with the bride.

But it should not be so, and Uloma was aware of this. That was why she could do nothing but stare as the makeup artist danced over Faith’s face like she was some delicate flower, content to make her the most beautiful woman in the world. Although, to Uloma, she’d always been nothing but that. Beautiful.

And it was wrong to feel these things—this she knew well—but the truth never stopped her. Not once and not now.

However, she’d reached a point where she had no choice but to just watch. Watch as Faith smiled, such an expression mirroring the sun. Watch as her eyes softened as she stared at herself in the long mirror—as if drinking in the person she was soon to become. Someone else’s, now far beyond Uloma’s reach.

“Perfect,” the makeup artist said, then looked up at the figure standing at the end of the room. “Don’t you think so, ma’am?”

Uloma searched for the right words but settled for a smile. “Yes.”

Faith was perfect, in all ways imaginable, but mostly in ones that centered Uloma’s life. She’d been the anchor when Uloma was sinking, the first crack of dawn after a dark and stormy night, and soon, given the slow tunes of jazz music coming from the heavily decorated hall and the sound of joy and festivities emanating from outside the confines of the wooden door, that sense of completeness Uloma once grasped when she met Faith would slip out of her fingers the instant she would be guided unto that altar.

“You see,” the makeup artist mused. “You’re ready now.”

“Thank you,” Faith said sweetly, then stood. She looked like something out of a dream, like the princesses whose stories had accompanied Uloma while she was growing up. As she treaded towards her, her white wedding dress gave the impression that she was floating. It was exquisite too, a vintage collection, with an eloquent flowery lace and beautiful structure that fit Faith’s bodice perfectly. God, she looked out of this world.

The makeup artist excused herself from the room, leaving the both of them.

Faith stopped in front of Uloma, patted her dress with her gloved fingers, and sent her a soft smile.

“So.”

“So?”

“What do you think?” Faith asked expectantly.

“Does it matter?” Uloma wanted to let her know that being in her presence right now was the closest she had ever been to the divine.

“Don’t be mean.” Faith gave her that look, one that showed she wasn’t satisfied with Uloma. She’d held that same expression once when Uloma had nervously run her lips through her neck one night in her bedroom and then decided to stop. Uloma could remember vividly, and then had made sure such an utterance never crossed Faith’s face.

“That is not my intention, really,” Uloma said, trying to be as composed as possible. Normally, that was her usual character. Everyone knew Uloma to be this reserved, aloof person, but not when it came to Faith. Nothing about Uloma ever made sense when it came to Faith.

And she was getting married.

To a man.

Uloma had experienced the worst sorts of pain, both externally and the ones she inflicted on herself, but this—losing the person who seemed to know you and understand you and complete you in so many ways—being taken away from you, sent her heart crushing under an invisible weight that it almost felt impossible to breathe.

Faith sighed. “I know it isn’t, I just need all the reassurance I can get right now.”

“And what makes you think I’m the best person for that?”

Faith went silent, pressing her lips against each other. This whole thing; her in that dress, Uloma standing here as her bridesmaid, the charade ensuing outside this room—all of it, made her sick. She wanted to hold Faith, to drown into her like she had the first time they were together, to convince her not to do all this, to be with her.

That was impossible—not in a world that would spite them for being their unapologetic selves even before they got to know who they were. Even at that, Faith had made up her mind. This was the life she always wanted to live. A normal one. And knowing Uloma, being with her, was nothing but a distraction.

“Don’t give me that look,” Faith said finally, a tilt to the edge of her lips.

“What look?” Uloma knew exactly what she was talking about. She felt as her face curled, as the top of her lip lifted, and her eyes blurred at the edges.

“Uloma, please.” Faith lifted her hand to touch her but, as if knowing the implications of what she was about to do, she dropped it back. She couldn’t even stomach touching her anymore, when she’d worshipped her once. Amazing.

“I’m sorry, I really am.”

“For what, exactly?” Uloma could hear her voice break. “Everything you’ve done up till now you have done unapologetically.”

“That’s not true,” Faith began to say, then bit back her words. “Please, I don’t want to fight with you. Not today.”

“Yeah, because it’s so special for you.” Uloma laughed, but there was nothing humorous about the sound. She hated being bitter. She had always been the kind of person to confront her challenges head-on. Knowing Faith had changed everything. Had changed her.

“I hope you know I’m not the bad person you’ve made me out to be,” she said. “And I hope you know, despite all of this, I still loved you.”

Loved.

Past tense.

“I know,” Uloma said and fought back the vulnerability. It was of no use. Their story, all they had been, would just become some silly phase in Faith’s life, one she would probably narrate to her future kids and they’d laugh about while surrounded by love and laughter, while Uloma was at the other side of the world holding on to all she would lose today.

Uloma heard Faith take a sharp breath and then raise her arm to touch her face anyway. Her palms were warm like a mother’s embrace, despite the itchiness of her fingerless gloves. Uloma recalled the first time she’d touched her and how she’d crumbled. This was the same, and Uloma could feel the tear slide down her face, ruining her perfectly constructed makeup.

“I’m so sorry,” Faith said again.

“For what?” Uloma managed to respond through a cracked voice.

“Everything,” Faith said. “And Lord knows that I would run towards a life where it’s just you and I. Only if… only if you were different.”

Uloma too, always wished the roles were reversed. Then she would love her unapologetically, without questioning, without reasoning.

“It shouldn’t mean anything,” Uloma said, leaning into her touch. “We could still build a life where it’s just the both of us.”

“We can’t. You know we can’t,” Faith voiced the truth, something she rarely did. “So it’s best if you could just, at least, be happy for me.”

“And are you happy?”

“Of course I am.”

Faith did this thing when she was lying; she always breezed through her sentences too fast, but the fact she was still willing to spill such falsehoods told her all was lost.

Then at least, maybe she could grant her last request.

Faith dropped her hand, then smiled. “You look like a wonderful bridesmaid.”

Uloma wiped her tears with the back of her palm. That was useless; mascara now ran down her face. She couldn’t go into the hall looking like a mess. “And you,” she sniffed, “look like a beautiful bride.”

“Ah, so you can reassure me.”

She was trying to be funny but Uloma didn’t laugh. Her smile fell as she trailed her eyes slowly down Uloma’s face, as if drinking in the person she was about to lose. With that, Uloma took a leap of faith. She leaned down and kissed her.

It was a quick moment and there was no ignoring the rigidness that took over Faith’s shoulders, but unable to deny her, she leaned in, going over everything she’d just said with that mouth. Uloma pressed in further, not bothering if she would mess up Faith’s lipstick and give people a quick guess on what had transpired here. The only thing that mattered now was the woman in her arms. The woman she loves. The woman that had taken Uloma’s pain and bled with her.

Ah. If this was the sin the Bible preached about, Uloma was ready to drown in it.

Faith pulled back to catch her breath, her chest heaving in close succession with her lover’s, her eyes burning with desire, running over Uloma’s face, her mouth, her chest. Her lips saying one thing and her grip on Uloma’s waist telling her another.

She angled her head down and placed a kiss at the base of Uloma’s throat, causing a delightful shiver to run down her spine. Her lips were soft, her kisses tender; displaying love and aching want at the same time.

“Are you sure you still want to marry him?” Uloma said with a breathy laugh in between gasps, but she should have chosen her words wisely. Faith paused, then pulled back, as if she’d been slapped across the face.

Now stood a deep uncertainty in her big brown eyes, a keen sense of questioning, one that raptured into panic as a knock came through the door and Hannah, the Maid of Honor, peeped her head through.

“Um, Faithful,” she said rather nervously. “It’s time.”

Faith nodded, face bowed low. Her lipstick wasn’t ruined much, but that distress at what they’d just done still mapped her features.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” she muttered low, gave Uloma one last look, then motioned for the bridesmaid to do what she was supposed to do; guide her to the hall and not kiss her senselessly.

Grabbing the veil from where it lay on the bed, she draped it over Faith’s head, giving her one last look, taking in the fullness of her mouth she’d get drunk on by just kissing, her soft, angelic face Uloma could never stop thinking of, that today might be the last day she’d see her, then covered it completely.

Faith turned, and the bridesmaid watched as her bride left to go tie herself with a man she might spend the rest of her life with. As a friend, this should be her greatest joy, but as the person she loves, it was her biggest nightmare.