The combination of pop music on the radio, cumulus clouds in the bright blue sky and unusually cool breeze blowing Fabienne's long blonde hair under any other circumstance would've been a happy moment. But this particular venture south on the interstate was anything but idyllic.

She gripped the steering wheel at 10 and 2, and sat up stiffly and awkwardly in the driver's seat of her convertible. It was just before 11 o'clock and traffic was moving at about six miles an hour. Fabienne tried not to look at the other drivers. She chewed her lower lip.

An advertisement came on the radio. Johnny's Sub Stop. Five new locations in South Florida. Fabienne had eaten there just the day before. The turkey and provolone sandwich she had eaten seemed especially good. Although, she wasn't sure if it was really all that good, or if it had only felt good because it was a sort of revenge. A kind of "fuck you" to the owner of Branson's Deli, even though Rick Branson didn't really deserve a "fuck you".

Rick Branson didn't really deserve anything Fabienne had thrown at him in the past week. Had things gone as planned, Fabienne would've been sitting in a rented banquet hall just then, eating scones with raspberry jam and trying hard not to smear her mauve lipstick on a champagne glassÉsmiling at people she didn't especially like and seeing her own face reflected in the faces of the women staring up at her. The fake smiles hiding a sort of bitter jealousy that she couldn't quite place. The thought of all that kind of made Fabienne a little sick to her stomach. As much as she knew everyone was telling each other "it was just nerves" "she had cold feet" "she needed a little more time, but she'll come around", she couldn't justify those excuses to herself. As a matter of fact, she wasn't entirely sure why she broke up with Rick a week before the wedding. And she wasn't certain how she was able to do it so calmly and coldly.

They were sitting at the kitchen counter, eating bowls of cornflakes and drinking coffee. "I'm not going to marry you, Rick," she said between sips.

"What?"

Fabienne had remained silent, finished the last of her cornflakes, then washed out the ceramic bowl in the sink. She placed the still wet bowl back in the cabinet. It made a loud clink against a teacup. The cabinet snapped shut. She proceeded to take all of her clothes out of the closet, fold them up and place them in a box. This wasn't exactly planned. At least not for more than a half an hour. When she woke up that morning, she noticed the empty box that only the day before had held a new television. Rick had spoken to her, but she couldn't remember what he had said. At some point, he left to go open the store. And while he was gone, she packed the most important of her belongings into the car and drove off.

She didn't know where she was going, exactly. She jumped on the interstate and headed south. Fabienne could picture Rick sitting in the back room of Branson's, wringing his hands and attempting to call home. It wasn't exactly guilt that Fabienne felt just then. Of course, it was unfortunate that she was the cause of Rick's bad day. He was a good man, a man of his word. He was handsome and generally well liked. But, he'd get over it, she thought. Somehow she found herself an apartment that day. And now she was making the final drive with the last of her belongings from her tiny, manufactured home in Sebastian to a storage facility in Miami. The apartment wouldn't be ready for another week. Somehow, it wasn't until just then, stuck in traffic, when it occurred to Fabienne that her life had been permanently altered. Her hands shook. She was overwhelmed with an intense feeling of uncertainty. A male voice came on the radio and sang something about love lasting forever. She switched off the radio and pressed the button that automatically put the top back up on the car. It was as though the other cars in the lanes next to her were watching. She felt naked, exposed. She pried her right fingers off the steering wheel and buttoned the top button of her blouse. Not that it really helped. Angry road-ragers cursed out their windows and stuck upturned middle fingers out at each other. None of it was directed at her, and she knew this, but felt it should've been.

She recalled that morning looking at Rick watching her drive away through the window. He'd been silent and sad. He should've been angry, she thought. She wanted him to be angry. Somehow this would've been easier had he been raging mad. But she knew it was confusion. She'd have been confused under the same circumstances. And why she expected a reaction other than the one he gave, she wasn't quite sure. "Why don't you love me?" he had asked. She hadn't answered. She wasn't certain what love really was, she guessed. Fabienne wanted it to be something special. But there was something decidedly not special about what she felt towards him. She could sit on the couch and watch television with anyone and enjoy it just the same. Ultimately, the only difference she could see between Rick and her cousin Isobel was that sometimes she and Rick had sex. Of course, Rick was an important part of her life. And, in that sense, she did love him. But to answer, "I do love you" seemed like the most inappropriate thing to say.

But she said it now. Aloud, and quietly, to herself.

She felt a little more relaxed. She turned the radio back on. Her thoughts returned to the wedding she was supposed to be participating in right then. She sighed a sigh of relief, in knowing that she would not have to dance to the Village People that day.