The Augustens deeply regret to inform their friends and community that the wedding is off.
The creamy parchment cards, like thin pats of butter, arrived around town to an array of knowing nods and insincere commiserations.
Dolly Augusten didn’t kid herself. The only thing the inbred hicks of this ‘town’ would enjoy more than a wedding with an open bar was the scandal of calling it off at the last possible minute. Dolly chose to see this in the light of raising serotonin levels without having to wear that dreadful dress.
As far as she was concerned Taylor had dodged a bullet.
“Are you coming with me?” Tom wandered into the den knotting his tie. “After all, it’s not as if you’ve got anything else going on around here.” Nothing threw Tom and he smiled a small kiss onto his wife’s cheek.
“I’d have to pack.” Dolly sighed and stretched. “Give me a cigarette.”
“When are you going to quit this filthy habit?” Tom shook one out of the pack by the sofa and handed it to her.
“When I take up shooting heroin. You’ll be the first to know.” Dolly lit the cigarette and pulled a nice, long drag of minty heat into her lungs. “Seriously, I think someone needs to stay here and face down the hordes. I will not be seen to run and hide after this.”
“Sweet woman, it’s so very middle class to give a shit what the ‘people’ think.” Tom shook a smoke out for himself, looked at it and then tucked it back into the pack. “It’s just another quality in you that I find irresistible.”
“Good.” She stood up and gathered her notebooks. “That’s settled. What time is your flight Friday?”
“A.M.? Who booked that?”
“You can’t sleep on planes.”
“I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”
He slipped her cigarette from between her fingers, stubbed it out and kissed her before sauntering out.
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