This was supposed to be a happy time for me. That afternoon, on the twenty-fourth day of September in the year 1999, my fiancée and I were enjoying a snack at the bar of a department store in one of our malls downtown. The next day would be my birthday and we were looking forward to celebrating it with family and close friends.
Then I saw the horror jellyfish.
Me — I'm Peter Anslinger. My fiancée's name is Denise Roy. If you're waiting for the part where I describe that shop, I should probably tell you right up front that I'm not good with details. I don't know the name of the department store, where it was located, or what kind of mall catered to the rich and spoiled brats that shopped there.
All I remember is that it was a big glass-walled monstrosity, one of those snooty, high-class places that make you feel like a commoner the minute you walk in. Too many security mirrors and glass partitions, and there's a guy in a dapper tuxedo standing by the entrance with a clipboard in his hand, checking off names and making sure that all your credit cards match. It's enough to make you feel like you don't belong there. Hell, to me it felt like it was just a little too much like prison.
The whole time I was there, I felt a sense of foreboding creeping over me like an approaching cloud. Maybe I'm babbling, but I've always had a good imagination, and I was plagued with a feeling of impending doom.
I'd had that feeling ever since I saw that jellyfish. It wasn't the first time I'd seen it, but it did seem to be the one that had given me the panic.
I snapped my head over to Denise, and saw that she was looking at me, with a concerned expression. I forced a chuckle. It came out as a cough.
"Sorry, baby," I said. My voice was choked, and I didn't like the way I sounded. "You know, we never did have a chance to discuss the guest list. I remember we talked about whether or not we wanted to invite certain people or just certain people's spouses — but your mother came up with the idea to invite both, to keep peace. I can't believe she actually went through with it. I mean, if you think about it, nine times out of ten, it only makes for more trouble. And with our friends, that means a lot of people to work around. I hate to admit it, but it's shifted a lot of my thoughts." I paused, and added, "To say that by choosing to invite Naomi and Dan, you made the decision for everyone."
I included Naomi's husband in my thought, because it had slipped from my mind when my words hadn't been able to catch up with the realisation I had.
"I guess that's an accurate assessment. But the talking about the wedding plans make sense," Denise said. "And you are right. I should have thought about it better, though. I'm sorry, honey."
"No, don't worry about it." I shook my head, trying to clear it.
