Chapter 15 - Forever Meant Staying
I didn't understand that a wedding could be cancelled with a phone call. I thought it needed a church and music and people standing up. But that week it was just Dad at our kitchen table with his cell on speaker and a notepad.
That morning my name was still Emily and I was still five, almost six, and Dad was still just Dad.
The venue office picked up after two rings. I sat on the rug by the radiator with my legs crossed, wearing my blue leggings and a gray t-shirt with a faded star on it. My flower girl dress hung on the back of Dad's closet door in its plastic cover. I could see the puff sleeves through the plastic.
Dad said, "This is Daniel Mercer. For the wedding last Saturday." His voice was even. He'd written down what he wanted to say. "We need to formally cancel the remaining hold and confirm no reschedule. Yes. No new date with Vanessa."
The woman on the phone asked something about a deposit form. Dad said, "Send it to my email. I'll sign today." He paused and looked at me. "And the guest list notification, I'll handle that directly. I want it clear the wedding will not be rescheduled with her."
I watched his jaw. It didn't tighten the way it had on the aisle. He just breathed and listened. When he hung up he wrote CANCELLED on the notepad and underlined it once and slid it toward me. I traced the letters with my finger.
Later Aunt Maya came over. Dad's sister. She had short dark hair and wore jeans and brought grocery bags and a small pink backpack she said was for me to keep at our apartment, not for sleepovers. She didn't talk like an apology. She just started putting milk away and asked Dad if he'd eaten lunch.
Maya knelt to my level by the couch. "Hey, Em. You good?"
I nodded. She didn't ask about the wedding. She asked if I wanted apple slices with peanut butter. I said yes. Dad sat next to me and Maya cut the apple the way Dad did, in thin crescents, and we ate at the coffee table with our feet tucked under us. The apartment smelled like coffee and laundry detergent. The big double doors and the white arches felt a long way away, like a place on TV.
The next morning was a school day. Dad laid out my everyday clothes the night before, jeans and a light yellow sweater with tiny buttons at the shoulder. He put my hair in a ponytail with the small white bow I always wore. Not the big one from the wedding. The small one.
In the car line at Jefferson Elementary, Dad pulled up by the sidewalk where Mrs. Alvarez stood with her clipboard. The drop-off line moved slow. Kids with backpacks bigger than they were shuffled toward the front doors. I had my water bottle in the side pocket and my lunch bag on my lap.
Dad put the car in park and turned to me. "You remember yourLibrary book?"
"Yes."
He reached back and squeezed my hand. "I'll be right here at pickup. Same spot."
I got out and the cold air hit my cheeks. I didn't look back right away because I wanted to be like the other kids who just walked. But at the door I did look back. Dad was still there, watching through the windshield with his hands on the wheel. He waved once. I waved back. Then I went inside.
That afternoon after pickup we walked up the three flights to our apartment. The hallway smelled like someone cooking onions. Dad unlocked the door and tossed his keys in the bowl and I toed off my sneakers by the mat.
My flower girl dress was no longer on the closet door. Dad had moved it to the top shelf of his closet in its cover, folded carefully. He showed me. "We keep it if you want it," he said. "Or we give it away when you're ready. Your choice. You don't have to wear white again unless you want to."
I said I wanted to keep it up there for now. He nodded.
Then he went to his dresser and opened the top drawer. He lifted out the note. He'd flattened it on a book for days. The creases were still there, thin white lines, but it lay flat now. He'd put it between two pieces of plain cardboard to keep it smooth.
I stood beside him and looked at the handwriting I still couldn't really read. He didn't read it out loud. He didn't need to.
He cut a piece of cardboard a little bigger and taped the edges so the paper was held but not stuck. He slid it into the back of the drawer, under his folded t-shirts.
"This stays in here," he said quietly. "Not on the wall. Not for other people. Just for us to remember."
I asked, "Why keep it?"
He looked at me and his eyes did that thing where he was about to be very careful with words. "Because it helps me remember what I promised you."
He said it exactly the way he'd said it on the aisle. Low and firm.
"No, never still stands, Em."
I felt my shoulders drop. I hadn't realized I'd been holding them up. "Even forever?"
"Even forever."
Maya had stayed for dinner and she was at the table folding laundry. Dad called her in. He got a piece of printer paper and a marker. He wrote at the top in big letters HOUSE RULE.
He looked at me. "You tell me what it should say."
I thought about it. I twisted the hem of my sweater.
"Anyone who joins our family has to want me forever," I said. My voice was small but I got it out without stopping.
Dad wrote it down exactly as I said it. Anyone who joins our family has to want Emily forever.
He held it up. Maya read it out loud. Then Dad taped it inside the pantry door, at my eye level. He crouched so we were the same height.
"That's the rule," he said. "If someone doesn't like that rule, they don't get to live here. They don't get to make rules about you."
Maya added, "And I get to enforce the rule too. I'm backup."
I laughed a little. It came out wet, but it was a laugh.
Later after Maya left, Dad and I brushed our teeth side by side in the bathroom. The apartment was quiet except for the pipes humming. I was in my pajamas with little dinosaurs on them. I climbed into my bed and Dad sat on the edge and pulled the blanket up.
May you like
Outside I could hear cars on the street and someone's dog barking. Inside it was warm.
I wasn't a flower girl anymore that night. I was just Emily at home. And Dad was right there, and the note was flat and private in the drawer, and the rule was on the pantry door where I'd see it every morning when I got my cereal. I fell asleep knowing the answer hadn't changed.
