Chapter 10
The double doors at the back of the reception hall pushed out into the parking lot and the cool air hit me all at once. It was the first real breath I'd taken since I'd slumped into that gold chiavari chair. Outside the chandeliers and the white tablecloths didn't reach. It was just asphalt, the amber glow from the wall sconces, and a line of cars with their windshields starting to fog in the October night.
I hadn't planned to leave. My phone was already in my hand, my thumb hovering over Mom's contact. The bandana was still tied tight over my head, light blue and damp at the edge where I'd been sweating. My light blue strapless dress felt thin out here without the warmth of the room. I could still hear the muffled bass of the DJ and someone laughing too loud inside, like nothing had happened.
I sat on the low concrete curb by the side entrance where the catering vans were parked. My legs didn't want to hold me. The polished floor inside had been unforgiving. This curb was cold and solid and it let me breathe.
Mom picked up on the second ring.
"Hey, honey? You okay? How's the reception?" she said. Her voice had that kitchen-phone sound, like she was already standing still to listen.
I swallowed. My throat was dry. "I stepped outside," I said. "I needed air."
"Are you feeling sick? Do you need me to come?"
I looked down at my hands. My left hand was empty. My nails were chipped from gripping the chair. "She said it in front of everyone, Mom," I said. I paused and made myself say it exactly how she'd said it, because I didn't want to soften it or make it sound different than it was. "She looked at me when I was trying to stand and she said, 'You can't sit, it's my day.'"
There was a silence on the other end. Not an empty silence, a working one. I could hear her breathe in.
"Oh, honey," she said, and her voice dropped. "She said that while you couldn't even stand up?"
"Yeah. The glass broke right after. On the floor. Everyone saw."
"That's not okay," she said. The softness in her voice went tight. "That's not okay to say to anyone, let alone you. You wore that dress for her. You showed up when you didn't have to. You don't have to prove anything tonight."
I pulled the bandana a little looser at the knot. "I know."
"Listen to me," she said. "You don't have to stay and be talked to like that just because it's her wedding. Your health comes first. I can come get you right now. I'm twenty minutes away. You just say the word and I'm in the car. You can leave your car there and we'll get it tomorrow."
I felt my eyes sting, but not in the way that meant I was going to cry. It was the wind and the relief of someone saying the obvious thing out loud. Part of me wanted to say yes immediately. The lot was quiet. Her car had heat and the seat went back and I wouldn't have to walk back into that ballroom and feel every guest trying not to stare.
"I brought the car," I said. "I could just drive."
"You shouldn't drive feeling like this," she said quickly. "Let me come. Or call a car. Don't worry about making a scene. Worry about getting home safe and getting rest. You've done enough."
Before I could answer, the side door opened again and the light from inside cut a yellow rectangle across the asphalt.
It was her — the standing bridesmaid. Her light brown hair was still pinned up, and she'd wrapped a shawl over her light blue one-shoulder dress against the cold. She saw me on the curb and her face did something complicated, relief and worry at the same time. She held the door with one hand so it wouldn't slam.
She mouthed, "Can I?" and I nodded and held up one finger to Mom.
"Mom, hold on one sec," I said.
I covered the phone. "Hey," I said to her.
She stepped out and let the door close softly behind her. She didn't sit right away. She stood close enough that I knew she wouldn't let me tip over if I needed her.
"You came out here alone," she said quietly. "I didn't want you out here alone."
"I'm just getting air," I said. "Talking to my mom."
She nodded. The wind lifted the edge of her shawl. "Is she telling you to leave? She should. I would."
"She offered to pick me up," I said.
"Do you want to go? I'll walk you to your car. I'll tell them you weren't feeling well. You don't owe anyone an ending tonight."
I looked back at the phone in my hand. Mom was still there, waiting. The parking lot was so quiet I could hear crickets from the field beyond the venue fence. Inside, the music had shifted to something slower, something for dancing.
The standing bridesmaid crouched down so we were eye level. Her breathing was normal now, not like mine. Her eyes were still wide from earlier, but not shocked anymore — steady.
"But if you go now, it ends with that," she said, and her voice was low and careful. "It ends with you on the floor and her line and the glass. If you come back in, even for ten minutes, you decide how it ends. I'll stay with you. I will not leave your side. No one gets to tell you you can't sit. You sit if you need to sit. You stand if you want to stand. Let them see you okay."
I uncovered the phone. "Mom? You still there?"
"I'm here, sweetie."
"I love you for offering," I said. My voice was steadier than before. "Don't come. I'm not going to drive like this either. I'm going to go back in for a little while. Not for her. For me. I don't want my night to be that parking lot."
Mom was quiet for a beat. I could picture her in our kitchen, holding the phone with both hands.
"Okay," she said finally. "But you call me the second you want to leave. And you sit whenever you need to. Promise me. Drink water. If she says anything like that again, you walk."
"I promise," I said. "I'll text when I'm heading home."
"I love you. Bandana still on?"
"Still on," I said, and I almost smiled.
"Good. Keep it on," she said.
I hung up and slipped the phone back into the little clutch I'd left on the chair inside. The standing bridesmaid stood and offered me her hand. Not to pull me up fast. Just to be there.
"On your time," she said.
I pushed off the curb. My knees complained but held. The cool air had done its work. My breathing was even again.
"Okay," I said. "Let's go back in. But I sit where I want to sit."
May you like
She nodded like that was law. "You sit where you want."
We walked toward the side door together, slow enough that I could feel each step land solid on the asphalt before we went back into the warm light.
