Going to the Chapel
Six-year-old Meryl fiddled with her lace gloves, earning a gentle whap on the head from her mother's paper fan. The melancholy feeling permiated every corner of the sweltering church. The priest recited the mass by rote. Uncle looked livid. Meryl could see veins on his forehead throbbing. Aunty was sobbing.
Meryl's cousin stood next to her new, terrified husband, the folds of the simple bridal gown hardly disguising her rounded belly.
Karen, Meryl's best friend, said that marriage was the most romantic thing in the world. But if this was romance, Meryl wanted nothing to do with it.
There's got to be a reason Meryl's so averse to relationships... if her experience is only in momentary passions resulting in shotgun weddings, I'd imagine she'd be cautious.