Marriage has a strange appeal to a woman in her twenties. Our plans were set in stone; a quick and painless weekend excursion to Vegas. It had been years since I felt so complete, as though I was on the right track in my otherwise meaningless and avantgarde little life. I should have acted on that satisfaction and joy, but there I was again, hunched over on the bathtub floor with the shower curtain drawn. Henry was right where I had left him, sleeping in his boxers at the center of his bed. My dress was bunched up under his arm and by taking it, he would have awoken and heard what I was up to. My stomach was settling. In a couple of hours, it would probably growl, and I would resolve to water before stepping into coffee territory. I felt weak from the purge and yet, my body was still coming down from the high that Henry had given it. I'd never had make-up sex before. It might have been better, more stunningly conclusive if we hadn't gone out of our way to be so quiet.

On the corner of the tub, there was a single bottle of 3-in-1 soap with a blue mesh bath pouf around the nozzle. I took them both and looked at the label. This is how much of a creep I am. Bourbon Cedar, my nose had been spot-on. It was the same make as his cologne, from a locally sourced shop in Connecticut. I created a lather on the pillow of mesh with the warm water that was streaming overhead. It smelled like him, felt like him. Spicy and smoky. Hot and sexy. This was my therapy without his judgement. I closed my eyes and could have sworn that he was there, participating in this sensual caress. He didn't mind that I was shaking or that I was too weak to pull myself to my feet. I intended to take it so much further and finish what we had started earlier on my own, but the rings of the curtain screeched in protest and I noticed that I was being watched.

"Hey, Mox," I smiled, then laughed at how demurely the puppy had peeked her head between the wall and shower curtain. She started to whine and click her claws against the tiles and the acrylic. "Now, how did you get in here, Little Miss Clicky Toes?" She needn't answer. I'd learned the hard way before that the smoke alarm in the bathroom had no way of differentiating fire from steam. In order to shower without waking up everyone in the building, we had to keep the door cracked so the room wouldn't cloud up too bad. I washed the decadent-smelling suds away and smacked my forehead against my knees. After staying put for a minute or two, Moxie realized that I was doing nothing of interest and pitter-pattered away.

My head was spinning. Laying down on my back was never a good idea in this situation, unless I wanted water in my nose. Rolling back like a fetus with my face between my legs was the winner and I stayed there, thinking pitifully about life, love and the fact that Henry could make me ring like a bell in under five minutes and I hadn't gotten so much as a moan from him. He did do something that I was particularly fond of, however. A beautiful blip for me to replay in my head whenever I thought that I simply could not satisfy. He would tilt his head back, either against the mattress, my arm or the air and swallow the last kiss that I had left upon his tongue. I would watch carefully each time at the pointed architecture of his throat as it froze. It wasn't quite a gasp that followed, but a whisper of a breath in the shape of my name. That's what I meditated on until the hot water ran out.

I'd stacked a semi-fresh towel and my undergarments on top of the porcelain god. The odds of Boris walking by this early in the morning were slim, but I dressed myself and wrapped my hair from behind the curtain just to be safe. Standing upright was hell. I sulked over the sink, running cold water over the pulse points on my wrists. An old trick that I had learned from my naturalist mother about how to get a perk when caffeine was off the menu. One thing was for sure, Henry's water bill and the mutual bill that we would share after getting married, was bound to be amongst the highest in town! Henry's toothbrush was several inches from my hand. That would have been too indulgent. So, I settled for his mouthwash. It was mild, but strong enough to cover the remaining evidence of my self-abuse. I looked in the mirror. The weight that I had put on in rehab was still there. Shrinking my stomach and sucking it in only did so much. It was small, just a bump, really, but it looked like a beachball to me.

"Thank goodness he hasn't realized that I'm not good enough for him." It was only after those words had fallen from my lips did I realize how truly hideous they were. "Dammit." My knees hit the floor, my arms were still draped over the countertop and the icy water was still pounding relentlessly on my wrists. I filled my lungs with as much air as I could without bursting and released a pathetic groan to the wooden cabinet beneath the sink. "You're making it worse, Mare. Pull yourself together before you ruin everything-" a pair of slippered feet- not paws, shuffled in the doorway. In the second that Whoever was There had given me, I straightened up my back and tried to appear composed.

"Miss Casey." Not only did the terribly unfamiliar hand of Henry's new roommate settle onto my bare shoulder and bra strap, he knelt on the floor beside me until we were eye level. "You are unwell. I saw you shaking earlier and you still are. When you are ready, I…" he concluded his strange sentence by gesturing to a large blueberry muffin that he had placed on the counter for me when I wasn't looking.

Annoyance was the first place that my mind went to. He meant well, there was no denying that he meant well, but he was intruding and worse, he was cornering me with food. "Boris, who was the woman that you were talking to on the phone earlier? Emily, was it?" I watched him smile with his big, blue eyes when he heard the name. "Is Emily your special someone?"

"Emily Joon is very special," Boris said with a puzzled nod. "She is very special, indeed."

"No. Is she your special someone?"

Message received. Alarmingly, he blushed and not at the fact that he was sitting on a bathroom floor adjacent to a severely underdressed woman. "Perhaps someday, Miss Casey. Love is not one sided. It would be a very happy circumstance if she were to look at me in such a way. But for now, no."

"How would you feel," I glared, unshaken by his sweet little 'speech', "if Emily was sitting in her bra and panties in front of another guy? Don't get me wrong, you're a sweet dude, but I am Henry's special someone and-"

Boris still appeared to be confused, "If Emily Joon were unwell, I would want someone to help her. Perhaps if I knew more, I would be able to help you. What can I do for you?"

I heaved a flustered sigh and looked upwards to Henry's green patchwork housecoat that was hanging from the door on a hook. "Would you mind handing me that robe?" Boris was on his feet and the covering was in my hands before I could even finish my thought. At least this way, the quaking in my bones would be concealed. "I'm marrying Henry," my voice dropped to a whisper, "and I'm worried that once we're married, he'll realize what a colossal mess I am. So I'm-"

"-Ill from all the nerves." He had that goofy, starry-eyed look that humans get when they believe they've stumbled upon a major epiphany. I let him have it. "Henry told me about you on the telephone. Before, when I was in New York. He was the one to convince me to come down here in the first place and speak to Emily's brother about… well, that is of little importance. He told me that Waterford is a very surprising place. It has a way of presenting you with ideas that you would not considered, otherwise and people who you should have been with all along. He was not looking for you when he came here, Miss Casey, but you were exactly who he needed to find. He adores you. Messy or not." Curiously, Moxie poked her head in the room and curled up in a ball on my lap. I scratched behind her ears and tried my best not to appear irritated as Boris tried, yet again, to feed me. "Here. I think you'll find the sugar crystals on the top to be a delightful addition."

"To share?" I figured Moxie would receive most of my bites, anyway and muffin loving Boris took the bait. He split the sugary atrocity in two and gave me the larger half. "So, what were you hoping to chat with Principal Ballard about, anyway? I've known him for years and he can be kind of a tough customer."

"He is," his eyes fell to the floor and alarmingly, he grinned, "most Ballards are! It truly does not matter."

"Sure, it does!"

Boris looked away again, it was the perfect opportunity to give Moxie a whoppingly massive bit of my little midnight 'snack'. "They were family documents for Emily Joon. Discarded and unimportant. Apparently, he donated them to… well. You have too much on your mind right now to worry about my silly endeavor."

"Silly?! Are you kidding me?" I grinned widely. I was tickled pink to hear this and it showed. "My family owned the museum that they were given to. I'm sure of it! That would most likely put them in the crawlspace of my brother's condo!" My excitement gradually diminished. "You went all the way down here to pick up a couple of documents for a woman who won't even give you the time of day?"

"There is more to it, I'm afraid."

I massaged my temples. Horrible and awkward as I felt, it was nice to have someone there. Someone platonic. Someone who has not Henry or Giselle. "I like you, Boris. Truly. I'll be sure to talk to Jake about this in the morning. Hopefully, over the weekend, when Henry and I are away, he will be able to find what it is that you are looking for. And," a thought dawned on me just then, it was plausible. Originating from my sleep deprivation, no doubt, but plausible, nonetheless. "What do you think of Giselle?" Boris looked as though he had been smacked in the face with a metal watering can. Clearly, attempting to hook Henry's severely polite roomie up with my… severely unpolite roomie, was merely the stuff of sitcoms, so I released the idea into the night.

The towel had absorbed as much moisture from my hair as it could and so, with quivering fingers, I ran a comb through it and returned to bed. Henry was positively darling, embracing my dress and smelling my perfume on its collar as he slept. Come morning, he didn't even question why I was wearing his bath robe. Inseparability. That was what transpired in the hours leading up to our elopement. If it hadn't been for Boris, Moxie and Giselle, we would have spent the entire time in bed and missed our flight! This time, we told her together and my poor bestie was tasked not only with the dog, but with Boris. We checked in successfully, made it through security and were standing at the gate when Henry's phone illuminated.

"He doesn't like the damned muffins!" Giselle squawked through the speaker. "He could learn a thing or two from Mox! She's over there gobbling up her kibbles with no complaints. Now, I have this damned manchild rewinding the Lonely Goatherd number from The Sound of Music so he can watch it over and over again and refusing- I repeat, refusing to touch the muffins that I so generously brought him this morning."

I twisted the bottom of a cold San Pellegrino bottle into my right temple and gazed knowingly at my poor fiancé.

"Well…" Henry struggled, "what kind of muffins were they? Remember, he fancies muffins of the blueberry variety." I could barely hear the machinegun-grade dialogue that proceeded on the other end of the line. "I see. Marigold, darling? What are Blueberry Little Bites?"

After drawing in a deep, therapeutic whiff of the lavender and peppermint blend that I had rubbed into my wrist earlier that morning, I gestured for the cellphone. "Giselle. You are dealing with a man who requires freshly baked goods. You know the Funshine Bear that I left at your apartment? It has a hidden compartment in its butt. In said butt compartment is two rolls of twenties. Go to Panera or Coffee n' San-Tea and buy Mr…?"

"Bordon," Henry said, swiveling his roller bag from side to side and watching our plane approach the gate.

"Boris Bordon? Seriously? Huh. Buy Mr. Bordon a quality muffin before each visit. You may keep whatever remaining cash for yourself. You cannot give him Little Bites and pass them off as the real thing. He knows the difference." Giselle seemed satisfied with this answer, probably because she wasn't initially going to be paid for her generosity. Once the call ended, Henry and I had a good laugh. We simply couldn't help ourselves.