Wash 28

Teddy pushed his apartment door open, heart pounding from the sprint upstairs,

his hands still sticky from the boba tea he spilled trying to juggle everything.

To his surprise — and slight relief — the two laundry bags he’d left outside

the convenience store were now propped neatly inside.

Probably the Taco Guy again.

He made a mental note: Do something nice for Taco Guy.

For real this time. Maybe a thank-you dinner... or socks.

Taco Guy looks like a man who appreciates warm socks.

But then his foot hit something wet. Squish.

Teddy frowned, looking down at the floor.

Why the hell is my apartment soaked? And... are those bubbles?

His jaw dropped.

The entire apartment was flooded in sudsy foam.

Like a giant bubble bath had exploded and nobody told him.

The couch was half-submerged.

His rug had disappeared under clouds of frothy white.

The air smelled like lavender dish soap and chaos.

From the far side of the room, a shape shifted in the foam.

A ghostly silhouette rose like some kind of detergent demon.

Teddy squinted. “...Mom?”

The figure stood up fully. A long, slow blink. Not Sylvia.

“Clarisse?” he said, stunned.

She beamed, her arms dripping with soap bubbles.

“Sorry! I think I used too much detergent.”

“No doubt. No doubt at all,” Teddy said,

his voice flat with disbelief. “Why are you here?”

“Oh, you know,” Clarisse said lightly, twirling a sudsy curl of hair around one finger.

“Just checking in. Seeing how my favorite laundromat lover boy is doing.”

Teddy raised an eyebrow.

“That’s weird. I don’t think we’re close like that. I mean—not saying

I didn’t appreciate you stopping by and flooding my entire home... but?”

Clarisse laughed, musical and too bright.

“Just wanted to do something nice for you. Aside from this...”

She reached into her purse and pulled out... a slightly squished cupcake.

Teddy took it slowly, confused. “Clarisse... is there something you want to tell me?”

She shrugged, suddenly cagey. “Not really. I should go.”

But before she left, she paused, digging again into her oversized designer purse.

“Oh, by the way.” She handed him a heavy cream-colored

envelope with gold script. “I want to give this…to you”

Teddy looked at the envelope, then at her. “He invited you?”

Clarisse’s eyes gleamed with something sharp. “You knew?”

Teddy nodded. “Yeah... he had a few of these scattered around his place.

I tripped over them today. You should go if he invited you.

Cliff’s... a nice guy. I can help you find something for his birthday.

He’s really into patterned ties lately.”

Clarisse stepped closer. Her smile faltered. “Birthday?”

Teddy smiled, awkward. “Yeah?”

Clarisse’s expression changed. Something flickered—triumph? Sadness? Pity?

“Teddy,” she said softly. “Look again. Look harder.”

Teddy opened the envelope.

The invitation shimmered under the light.

He stared at the text, eyes swimming. The script curled like snakes.

Clarisse watched him.

“If there’s ever been a time you need to try, Teddy—this is the time.”

He looked up at her, panic blooming. “Clarisse... I can’t read. I don’t know how.”

Her whole face twisted. “Read, Teddy!” she screamed,

stepping closer. “It’s simple. READ! Don’t you see? His name—it’s right next to someone else’s.

Teddy, that’s not a birthday party. It’s a wedding.”

The card slipped from Teddy’s hand.

It hit the soaked floor, paper wilting on impact.

Clarisse’s voice turned venomous.

“Do you really think I came here to clean your laundry and play bestie?

Teddy, I hate you. I’m not your friend.

I’m not your damn washing machine. And you forgot something.”

Her voice dropped into a hiss. “You’re playing with my man. You’ve played with Drew”

She stepped closer, inches from his face. “So I’m playing you back.”

Silence swallowed the room.

Clarisse took a dainty bite from her cupcake, like she hadn’t just detonated a bomb.

“The wedding’s happening right now.

St. Claire’s. Four blocks away. You gonna do something about it?

or just stand there and stare like a sorry loser?”

Clarisse was wrong about Teddy.

Teddy didn’t wait for her to complete what she has to say.

He ran.

Down the apartment stairs, barefoot, bubbles clinging to his sleeves.

He ran past the bodega, the taco stand, the old man who always yelled about pigeons.

He didn’t even stop when someone shouted his name.

He just ran.

Towards St. Claires.

Towards Cliff.

———————————————————————

The chapel doors stood open like a dare.

Teddy stepped inside, each breath shallow and trembling.

The air was thick with the scent of roses, vanilla candles,

and the sickening perfume of celebration.

His shoes squeaked against the marble floor,

still soaked from his foamy disaster of an apartment.

A single soap bubble clung to his elbow,

catching the light like it didn’t know this wasn’t a happy ending.

He took one step down the aisle.

Then another.

And then he saw him.

Cliff.

Standing at the altar in a silver suit,

his tie patterned just the way Teddy remembered—swirls and stripes,

obnoxious and charming.

This morning that tie sat idly by the bedside table.

What happened to the Morning Cliff

who wants to drive him to the convenience store to

pick up the laundry bags he forgot?

He’s- gone.

Before he left Cliff’s room, he held his hand.

But now—-

His hands were clasped with someone else’s.

A beautiful woman in a white gown, her veil glittering like snow.

She was happy.

Everyone was happy.

Even Cliff.

But not

Teddy.

The organ swelled. The priest's voice echoed: “You may now kiss the bride.”

Cliff looked up.

And that’s when he saw Teddy, right in the middle of the wedding aisle.

Their eyes met.

Everything inside Teddy screamed.

Say something.

Don’t kiss her.

Run towards me.

Cliff, you can still run towards me.

RUN.

OH.

PLEASE.

CLIFF.

RUN.

TOWARDS.

ME.

Cliff’s legs wouldn’t move. His mouth stayed shut.

Cliff didn’t say anything.

He kissed his bride.

Right there.

Right in front of Teddy.

Everyone cheered.

Teddy didn’t remember leaving the church.

He didn’t remember the stares.

Or the whispers. Or someone saying, “What’s that detergent smell?”

All he knew was the sound of his own breathing, rough and broken,

as he stumbled down the front steps.

The cupcake in his hand had been crushed into frosting and crumbs.

His chest felt like it was caving in.

The sky was still blue. Birds still chirped.

And his world had ended anyway.

Teddy’s legs moved on instinct, weak and trembling, as if the stained glass

had spat him out like he didn’t belong there in the first place.

The bells rang behind him.

Not in celebration. Not in mourning. Just cruelly indifferent.

He missed a step down the marble stairs and nearly fell, catching himself with a gasp.

His fingers crushed the cupcake Clarisse had given him—smeared frosting now bleeding into his palm.

His knees buckled.

But before the tears could spill, a sound slid into his ears.

A slow, lazy strum.

Someone is playing a guitar.

Not for Cliff’s wedding.

But for him.

Teddy looked up.

There, leaning against the far church gate stood Roger.

Black jeans. Cigarette tucked behind his ear.

Guitar slung across his back like a confession.

Eyes shadowed by the golden hour sun, but the smirk on his lips was unmistakable.

“You look like you lost a war,” Roger said, not moving.

“Was it a good fight?”

Teddy didn’t answer. His throat was tight. He could barely breathe.

Roger finally pushed off the gate and walked toward him.

His boots clicked against the pavement with the rhythm of a line dance gone wrong

When he reached Teddy, he didn’t offer a hug or a shoulder.

He offered a napkin from his coat pocket.

“Here. You’re bleeding sugar.”

Teddy looked down. Frosting and shame coated his fingers.

“I wasn’t invited,” he whispered.

Roger tilted his head. “Weddings are for the blind. You, my friend, just saw everything.”

The wind picked up. A soap bubble floated out from Teddy’s coat,

clinging to the air for one final shimmer before it burst.

“You wanna drink?” Roger asked.

“I’m playing a set tonight at The Cactus Room. And I’m taking you with me.”

Teddy almost said no.

Almost turned away.

But instead, he nodded—silent, numb.

Roger walked a step ahead, strumming softly as they moved.

Teddy followed, one broken step at a time, each footfall echoing with the

memory of Cliff's lips on someone else’s mouth.

As they disappeared down the street, the church bells rang again.

Not to welcome love.

But to mourn the death of a maybe.