Free On the Way to a Wedding by Suzanne Stengl

reappeared. “Turn off that cell. It interferes with our telemetry. Can’t you read the signs?”
    Greg looked at the nurse like he was ready to have her fired. But he clicked off his phone. And then he turned back to Toria, holding the phone between them. “I need to take this, darling.”
    “I have to go,” her mother said, checking her watch. “You’ll go home with Greg.”
    “I’ll take a cab.”
    “Victoria,” her mother said, simply, a warning in her voice.
    “Greg and I are no longer engaged.”
    Her mother opened her mouth and gaped. Behind the curtains, Toria could hear the young girl coughing, the monitors beeping, and the sound of the PA system asking for a French interpreter.
    “You don’t mean that,” her mother said.
    “Of course she doesn’t,” Greg confirmed. “But we’re entitled to the occasional lovers’ quarrel, aren’t we, Samantha?”
    The curtains fluttered and a short woman with long red hair and freckled skin moved past her mother and bumped into Greg, knocking his elbow with a pair of aluminum crutches.
    “I’ve got your crutches, dearie,” she said, without apologizing to Greg. “I need you to sign here.” She placed a clipboard in Toria’s hands.
    “How long will this take?” Greg asked, rubbing his elbow.
    “Too long,” her mother said, with arms folded.
    The physiotherapist handed a gold colored pen to Toria and showed her where to sign.
    Greg’s phone vibrated, a familiar buzz. He hadn’t turned it off. Behind the curtain, the monitor was making high pitched squeaking sounds.
    “Sit on the edge of the stretcher, dearie,” the physiotherapist said, as she adjusted little wing nuts on the crutches.
    Greg’s phone vibrated again, that buzzing sound like a trapped hornet. “I have to take this.”
    “You always do.”
    His eyes met hers, uneasy. He glanced at her mother, put away the phone, and then looked at her hands. Finally.
    “Where’s your diamond?” A quiet voice now, as some of his confidence slipped.
    “On my dresser. Don’t worry. I’ll give it back to you.”
    “I don’t want it back. I know you were upset, and you’re just reacting. Everything will be all right.”
    “I’m not getting married, Greg.”
    “She’s shaken up from this accident,” her mother said, explaining.
    “It’s the china, isn’t it?” Greg nodded. “You wanted to be involved and they took over.”
    “We didn’t take over,” her mother said. “We had to―”
    “My mother thought you would love inheriting her pieces.” Greg ignored Samantha. “It meant a lot to her.”
    “She wants to run . . . everything.”
    “She’s a wedding planner. Most brides would love to have a wedding planner.” Greg was using his quiet, make-the-close voice. “She’s excited about this. So is your mother.”
    “It doesn’t matter, Greg.” This was pointless.
    “I’ll call a cab for you. I’ve got a deal closing right now, but I’ll see you tonight.”
    “No.”
    “We’ll talk about this, and if you want, we can postpone.”
    “But the invitations!”
    “Now, Samantha. They’re only pieces of paper.”
    “But . . . but . . .”
    The physiotherapist had been fiddling with the wing nuts on the crutches. Now she plunked them on the floor. “How tall are you, dearie?”
    “Five seven.”
    “That’s what I thought.”
    “We simply cannot postpone―” her mother started again. Greg took her arm and led her away.
    The nurse in the orange uniform poked her head around the curtain. “I liked the other one better,” she said.
    “The other one?”
    “The other fiancé.”
    “I―”
    Greg returned, whooshing open the curtains and pushing past the nurse. “Don’t worry, darling,” he said. “Just take care of that ankle.” He tried to step around the physiotherapist. “We can postpone,” he said, peering around her, “if that’s what you want.” He moved to the left. “I’ll come by tonight,” he said. “We’ll talk about it.”
    He moved