Promises and Pomegranates by Sav R. Miller

doorway suddenly, the burnt orange evening gown she has on hugging her
ballerina’s body.
Jealousy tears through my chest at the sight of her, long and lithe and
beautiful, while I stand here in my wedding dress feeling like an ugly
duckling. I swallow it down, trying to dispel my mother’s comments from
where they repeat in my brain.
“Not again,” Mamá mutters, tucking a stray piece of hair behind my ear.
Nonna rolls her eyes. “Ariana, can you do anything other than complain?”
“No.” My sister blinks, her doe eyes widening as she looks at me. “Jesus,
E. You look gorgeous.”
I smile gratefully at her, guilt gnawing at my insides. From what, exactly,
I’m not sure. “I feel like a porcelain doll.”
“You’ll get over it,” Mamá says, waving dismissively.
Scoffing, my sister crosses her arms over her chest. “Why do we have to
go so early? The guests won’t even arrive for another two hours.”
“Because, nipotina, we’re on setup duty. Like I trust anyone in this town
to get my first granddaughter’s wedding just right.” Nonna winks, walking
over to my sister and slipping her hand around her waist, tugging her from
the room.
“You’re about finished, carina. We have your something borrowed,
something blue...” Pursing her lips, my mother looks around the room, eyes
landing on the gift box Nonna was carrying earlier.
She walks over, slipping the top off, and pulls out a tiara with a veil
attachment. I turn back around as she comes back, watching her steps in the
mirror. Her fingers brush my temple as she slides the band into my hair,
securing it with pins she pulls from her pocket.
Assembling the veil so it falls over my shoulders, past the length of my
hair, she lets out a satisfied squeal and wraps her arms around my shoulders.
“Perfection,” she says, squeezing me. “Mateo isn’t going to know what
hit him when he sees you at the altar.”
Apprehension fills my gut like cement, solidifying until I ache from the
weight of indecision.
“Was it like this for you?” I ask softly, knowing our looks aren’t where
our similarities end.
“What do you mean?”
I chew on the inside of my cheek, hesitating. “Did it feel like you were
being led to your death?”