EPISODE 1: THE WEDDING OF THE CENTURY

The bridal suite smelled like wilted roses and hairspray, which felt about right. I stood in front of the mirror, drowning in white tulle and lace, clinging to me like an overenthusiastic little sister, practicing my best bride smiles from the magazines. Mother kept fussing with my dress, while Maya – my maid of honor did nothing to stop her. She just scrolled on her phone.

“Too much cleavage,” Mother muttered, tugging at the bodice.

“It’s fine,” I said.

If you couldn’t tell, my voice had two settings this morning: annoyed and trying really hard not to choke anyone, just until their eyes turned red.

“It’s not fine,” she snapped. “The photos need to capture this. Immortalize it. We don’t want this day to be remembered for….” She gestured vaguely at my chest. “…. that.”

“Yes mother.” I surrendered.

She cut a strip of white cloth and pressed it down like a bandage, securing the gals into polite, immovable positions.

Freedom to my gals.

“And did you bring it?”

“Huh?”

I’d been up since dawn, verifying every ribbon, every corsage and boutonniere but I managed to forget our family heirloom. Sigh. It was intentional. Shhh...

“Don’t ‘huh’ me. Did you bring it or not?”

“Nope…. I must have forgot.”

Her eyes went cold and so did the temperature.

“Huh…we’re stopping this wedding immediately…,” she started yelling like a mad woman. “…. I’ll send your sister to fetch it….”

“Mooooom…we’ve been over this. It’s just a superstition and….”

“And nothing. Since time immemorial our family has always used it, at every wedding. Didn’t you listen to your grandma? Her cousin’s baby brother’s daughter refused to put the talisman on and what happened? Huh?”

“I know what happened mom…”

“Her husband ran away…,” she waved her hands around my face, “….with another man….on their anniversary. That poor girl hasn’t found a man since. Do you want the same to happen to you?!”

“Well, that wasn’t exactly the talisman’s fault….and besides modern marriages are different. They’re….” I stuttered for lack of a better word. “…complex. Talismans can’t decide whether a marriage works or not.”

She spit on the ground dramatically.

“Huh, Blasphemy! I pray you won’t get to regret those words,” she said, her eyes twitching then left the room.

I’m not the one in the wrong about this. Trust me. Most families have their own traditions, right? Ours was no different.

So, my Grandmother God rest her soul, was a sweet gentle woman. And since I was old enough to know what a kiss was, she sat me and my sister down and showed us the Dragon.

Not a real dragon but wouldn’t that be something.

This one was small about the size of small bottle.

Carved from dark wood and polished smooth by countless hands, the dragon’s mouth was open and had two tiny amber beads for eyes that stared at you wherever you go.

She showed us multiple times how to carefully place the talisman, which was a folded slip of yellow paper inked with brushstrokes. Not exactly, well designed.

“This dragon guarded our ancestors’ weddings for generations,” she would say. “Keep the talisman on its head, and your marriage will be strong.”

If you hadn’t guessed by now, Grandma came from a different time where one could buy bread and car for the same price. Look, I’m not saying I didn’t believe her but unless the dragon could change and become Mushu, then help me fight imperial guards I just didn’t see the point for it.

Still, I took the talisman and would try many times to place the Talisman on its head but it just wouldn’t stick. What was I supposed to do?

“Grandma, it won’t stay,” I would say but she would always answer the same way.

“Keep the Talisman on the its head.” She would press my little hands over the dragon’s forehead. “Like a marriage. It slips… but you keep working at it. Never give up.”

Grandma was wise like that and the strongest person I knew. She had always been there whenever mom and I would disagree which was a lot. When she became sick, I packed up, and came to stay with her until she eventually passed. And my life just stopped. There were times I couldn’t even get out of the house and during that time I grew ‘closer’ with the dragon. Maybe as a way to cope but I went everywhere with it, heavy as it was.

Coincidently, that’s how Ethan and I met. He was searching for a wedding planner for his sister when the dragon fell from my bag.

Anyway, this morning at the house, I thought about grandma a lot. How she wouldn’t get to walk me down the aisle. I could hear her voice urging me to try again.

So, I tried everything: Glueing it, stapling, duct-taping it and I wasn’t proud but I even used the old lick it and stick it method. All failed.

I left it, on top of the shelf with the talisman below it and that was that.

“Five minutes until we walk, Leah!” Mother called from the door. “Positions!”

The church smelled like money. Not roses, not incense—money. White lilies lined every pew, candles flickered dramatically like this was the set of a period drama, and a string quartet was sawing through Pachelbel’s Canon like they were being paid by the note.

Mother and I walked down the aisle, smiles plastered on me like a hostage. I couldn’t hear her, but I could swear she was cursing me under her breath.

For a split second, I imagined the dragon smirking at me from its dusty shelf.

Everyone stood but they weren’t quiet. It wasn’t until I reached the end of the aisle that I realized: my fiancé wasn’t waiting with vows and trembling hands. Just an empty spot, like he’d been edited out of the scene.

The priest coughed.

My mother gasped so loud it echoed.

And Maya, didn’t even look up from her phone once—probably scrolling Twitter for memes.

The whispers started:
“Cold feet.”
“Traffic, maybe?”
“Is he dead?”

I had the same questions.

He’d better be dead or I was going to kill him.

I could hear it louder now. The dragon’s laughter. I swear I could hear it, but it was my own laugh. Weird.

Mother stumbled toward the altar, face blotched red, hissing like a cornered cat:
“This is because you left the talisman! The dragon would have held him here!”

I wanted to scream. Or cry. Or collapse. Instead: practical, petty, useless thought number three hundred and twelve that day.

God, I should’ve just kept that stupid paper on its head.

But then Ethan walked in, grinning like an idiot in an overpriced tux. Relief gut-punched me so hard my knees almost gave. Next was my sister, Clara — angel-faced, six years younger, ass for days and with the moral compass of a rabid raccoon. But I remind myself, this is my day. Not hers.

The music returned and the murmurs died. What If Ethan hadn’t showed up….? Ah. Stop crazy thoughts. Smile, good brides smile.

It was all going well until Pastor Mark said those words that should be expunged from wedding ceremonies at this point.

“….speak now or forever hold your peace.”

I mean its pointless right. We all know why we are here….

“I OBJECT!”

My smile froze on my face.

The words ricocheted in my skull. I blinked once, twice, hoping it was some kind of wedding-day hallucination brought on by dehydration and tulle-induced oxygen deprivation. But no—the voice was unmistakable.