Miss Independent by Kiki Leach

Because I’m sure she knows not only your name and address, but your birthdate and social security number by now as well.”
                  She headed back for the kitchen.
                  “She’s tied up,” he replied in a smug tone.
                  Vanessa turned back to him and wrinkled her nose. “Is she? Really ?”
                  He looked toward the stairs and appeared hesitant. Then he ran up, hopping over every other one before reaching his bedroom.
                  Later in the evening, Vanessa found herself alone in their large townhome, which is what she enjoyed most. After taking one of the longest showers of her life in hopes of scrubbing away her anger, she had emerged from her bedroom only to find a few well-placed sticky notes on her door. One was from Maurice, informing her that he had gone to a late dinner with some friends he knew from his modeling days. The other was from Nicole, telling her that she had opted to attend another acting workshop before her latest audition.
    And her mother called.
                  Again.
                  It was urgent this time.
                  Being alone gave Vanessa time to reflect, and think; think about what her life would’ve been like with Sheila still in it, what it would’ve been like had she been the one to marry Nathan instead of her former best friend.
                  She walked all over her spacious home, taking in everything from the off-white walls and marbled frames, to the Vincent Van Gogh paintings hanging in her foyer, and wondered if Nathan would’ve appreciated her sense of style if this was his home too. And then she realized he wouldn’t have cared as long as they were together. At least that’s the person he used to be. She didn’t know who he was anymore. And as much as she wished she didn’t care, she couldn’t help but.
    After taking time to reminisce, she went to the kitchen and pulled a tub of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream from the freezer. She slammed the door shut and noticed Maurice’s invitation still laying on the table. No one had taken the time to throw it away.
    Maybe they forgot , she wondered. Or maybe they felt I needed to see it and stare at it long and hard until I finally moved past it.
    She picked it up by the corner as if she were carrying a dirty diaper to the trash bin and moved over to the stove, tossing it down on the edge.
                  “This should’ve been my wedding,” she said to herself as she jabbed the spoon into the middle of the carton, digging out a large scoop. “But you chose a slut over me.”
                  As she looked around, she noticed the knobs on the stove and thought about turning one of them on the highest number it would go, wishing to burn the invitation to a crisp. If it didn’t exist, they didn’t exist. She picked it up and stared at it, shaking her head at the blue cursive lettering and ribbon embroidery. The card itself was light pink, which had always been Sheila’s favorite color. His was yellow. And she realized in that moment that he was nowhere near this wedding. Aside from possibly showing up on the day of, he was nowhere to be found in any of Sheila’s decisions. There were no personal touches, nothing that said he was eager for this wedding to happen in a few months, if at all. A part of her felt bad that he was essentially on the outside looking in on one of the most important days of his life. But then a bigger part of her felt it was karma for choosing someone so selfish to begin with.
                  She stepped back a few feet and placed a hand on her waist. Just as she was deciding what to do with the invite, her cell phone rang. She went over to her purse, pulling it out and scrunched her face when she saw the name. It was her mother, calling her for the seventeenth time in just the last few hours. She took