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Thursday, December 15, 2011

Why I Invited My Ex-Girlfriend To My Wedding . . .a short story

                 Layla’s story about Reed was a big success, even if she did have to fudge a few quotes. She was done with hip-hop and Reed Clarke.  Glancing to her right, she saw that copy of Glamour magazine and the unopened wedding invitation. She still hadn’t figured out who was getting married. She hadn’t really inspected the envelope either.  Layla picked it up and for the first time notice the Atlanta postmark.
                “I know that sorry son of a. . .” She ripped the invitation open and read it. A smile spread across her face as the words sank in. She grabbed her iPhone and dialed the R.S.V.P. line at the bottom of the invitation.
                A week later, Layla was back in Atlanta, dressed in a shimmering strapless ivory dress and standing on the roof of The Ellis Hotel at sunset. A gentle breeze caused her dress to sway and her hair to whip across her face. She didn’t care and neither did Reed as he crossed over to her, taking Layla in has arms as King Span, a jazz band Reed discovered playing at Houston’s,  played Donny Hathaway’s You Were Meant For Me.
                “I wasn’t kidding when I said I loved you,” he whispered in her ear.
                “Reed,” she said. “I never thought we’d get a second chance.”
                “Neither did I, I was ready to settle for something that was nearly meaningless,” Reed said. “But the truth of the matter is –You were meant for me.”
                Layla turned her head upward and kissed him slowly while they danced. Reed pulled back and dropped to one knee. “I’m going to do what I should’ve done a long time ago.”
                She bought her hand to her mouth. “Reed,” she whispered.
                “And I’m not taking no for an answer,” he said as he pulled a black velvet box from his sport coat pocket. “This time, I’m asking the right woman to marry me for the right reason.”
                “What reason would that be?” she asked.
                Reed opened the box, revealing a three carat diamond and emerald platinum ring. “That would be because I love you and there is no other woman in the world that I want to be my wife.”
                “But what about what I want?” Layla asked.
                “What do you want?” he asked.
                “You.” Smiling, Reed slipped the ring on her finger then kissed her hand.
                “I’ll take that as a yes, you’ll be Mrs. Reed Clarke.”
                Layla wrapped her arms around him. “Yes, I will be Mrs. Layla Washington hyphen Clarke,” she said then broke out into laughter.
                “There you go,” he said then scooped her up in his arms. “We have to catch a flight to Vegas.”
                “Vegas?” she asked.
                “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for this? When the sun comes up in the morning, you’re going to be Mrs. Reed Clarke.”
                “No, Mrs. Layla Washington-Clarke,” she quipped as she held him tightly.  

THE END . . .

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