Cath...

Note: So it's back to that emo story telling I seem to be so fond of. I havnt written anything like this in a while. Its based on the song "Cath..." by Death Cab for Cutie which is where I got the title of the story from.
I've been wanting to write this story for a long time but it never seemed the right time or the right mood. Woke up this morning and as soon as I played the song the words just started pouring out of me, through my finger tips and across the keyboard. I literally just finsihed this like 5 minutes ago so there are bound to be mistakes but I hope you enjoy it none the less...

CATH...

"You can do this, you can do this, you can do this." Catherine muttered to herself, twisting her mother's embroidered handkerchief between tightly fisted hands.

It was the only thing of her mother's that had survived the separation, the funeral and the children's homes.

Cath, as almost everyone called her, felt her breath catch in her throat. She was going to panic...but she shouldn't panic...no, she couldn't panic...yes, panicking would be bad...frack! she didn't want to panic...but she couldn't breathe. It was like when you were a kid and you fall and hurt yourself and there's that moment between the initial yelp and when you blast out a full alarm. That moment when your breath is a huge glob of paper mache lodged in your larynx and you can't swallow it and you can't spit it out and for those few precious moments you're scared shitless because your wondering if you're going to survive the next 30 seconds...

yeah, it was like that. Only it wasn't. She hadn't fallen off her bike, or sliced open her palm on a broken beer bottle, or let Patrick set her hair on fire (all things by the way, that had happened in her wild and bucking days. No, not her Cosmo.com Sex Position of the day "Bucking Bronco" days, no, those had come much later) but was standing in front of a full length mirror in a hand me down wedding dress wondering just how the hell she had gotten there.

"With no condom, no birth control and a pundit of a preacher for a future father-in-law who believed more in 'saving face' than he did in 'saving grace' or even in 'doing the right thing' is how."

Something about that thought, probably the perfect mixture of incensed disbelief and cold arcane horror, Cath thought much later, unlocked her chest and the glob of paper mache came shooting out past her pursed lips...and she could breathe again. Thank God.

Cath stared at herself in the mirror. They hadn't been lying, she did look pretty. If a bit shell shocked, all wide eyes and lower lip trembling. A lot of the little money that they had been able to scrape together at the last moment had gone into the hair and make up. For her and the bridesmaids. Not her bridesmaids, no. Future mother-in-law had picked them out for her. Had actually picked them out for her. According to her, Josiah's mother that is, all of Catherine's friends (She was the only one who called Cath by her full name) were knocked up little whores with soup for brains. No, she was going to pick out for Catherine some respectable girls. Girls like the one her son should be marrying. Cath tasted bile.

"This isn't exactly what I wanted either lady."...but it is what it is.

Swallowing, Cath looked down at the dress she was wearing...and let out a sigh. The dress looked exactly like what it was, like a dress that belonged to someone else. This was going to be its 3rd trip down the isle. The first two had been with the same woman, Josiah's older sister Annie. Two different men though. They had to let out the dress a little at the stomach for Cath though. Make the baby bump a bit less obvious. Saving face and all of that.

There was a knock on the door. Cath turned. The door opened a foot or two and Helen, Mrs. Future Mother-in-Law stuck her head around the corner.

“Are you ready? It's just about time.”

Cath wordlessly nodded.

She must have seen the doe-in-the-headlights look Cath had on her face because opening the door further, Helen walked into the small office that had served as their dressing room her heels clip-clopping across the wood. She stopped in front of Cath. She was a small woman. Five foot three even when in heels. She took Cath's hands in her small doll like ones. He expression was sympathetic.

“It'll be fine.” she said. Took one hand and placed it over Cath's stomach where the life of her 3rd grandchild was silently growing.

“It'll be fine.”

She held Cath's gaze and again said,

“It'll be fine.”

Satisfied, Helen let her hands fall to her sides.

“Now come on. We wouldn't want Josiah to think that you weren't coming, would we?”

Again listless, Cath silently shook her head.

And so steeling herself as best she could, Cath took a deep breath and put her best heel forward.

Clop.