“Please, sis,” Phillip had begged her. “Celine doesn’t have anyone. Can’t you do this? Can’t you do this for me?” She’d done this for Phillip, and after she’d said yes she’d given herself up to the obligation of it, but as she leaned against Celine’s door and waited for it to open she wondered why Celine hadn’t asked that black girl who was here to be in her place. The two of them had been friends once, so why wasn’t she standing here instead? The more she thought about it, the more unfair it became and the more incensed she was over the whole affair. Her knocking became banging, growing louder and faster with each passing moment Celine refused to open the door.

“She should be up, shouldn’t she?”

“Why isn’t she answering?”

“Do you think she’s there? She can’t possibly be sleeping.”

“Maybe we should call.”

They dialed the number of the room and listened outside the door as it rang. They did this two more times, listening in the hope of hearing the sound of the phone leaving its hook, a voice, groggy, tired, but still heard.

No one answered.

“Someone go to the front desk or find a cleaning woman to open the door.”

A bridesmaid scurried away, hurrying out of sight while the others continued to wait for her return. Each round of door taps grew with more force, more urgency. “Celine, honey, you need to answer now,” they called to the door. It had been a good half hour of this and they were late, everything veering off schedule because of Celine and her foolishness. None of them wanted to be here. All they wanted was to get through this day, to fulfill the request that had been asked of them, but to do that she needed to answer the door.

The front desk woman came, shuffling as she repeatedly apologized. She looked far too young, a tiny thing, barely eighteen probably, with the smoothest dark skin they’d ever seen. Blemish free without the slightest hint of makeup, and they stood beside her seething at her unaware beauty as she fumbled with the keys to open the door. “Can you hurry up?” they said with a sneer, and the girl stuffed the key in the lock and turned, opening the door for them all.

“Usually I don’t do this,” the girl cried after the fact, her voice shaky over having to make the decision to break with protocol. “It’s not our policy—”

None of them listened. They were already crowding inside, pulling on the sheets to reveal an empty bed. They checked the bathroom, opened the closets, and found nothing, nothing, nothing except the wedding dress on its single hanger, its fabric shimmering underneath the dim light of the room.

XI.