Chapter 7 - My Father's Pocket
The parking lot was hotter than the aisle had been. The white runner and the rose arches were behind the wooden doors, and out here the asphalt smelled like sun and cars. My dad had carried me past the edge of the crowd and set me down on the low concrete curb by the sidewalk where the caterer's vans were parked. My white dress puffed around my knees and my bow had slipped to one side.
He'd unbuttoned his tux jacket. I could see the square of white in his pocket where he'd put the note. I kept looking at it. I was afraid if I stopped looking, it would disappear.
He sat next to me even though his pants would get dust on them. He didn't say anything for a minute. He just breathed and let me lean into his side. His boutonniere had bent a little, the white rose tipped forward.
"Daddy," I said. I tugged at his sleeve. "Don't throw it away."
He looked down at me. "What, sweetheart?"
"The paper," I said. My voice was small and I felt my throat get tight again. "Please don't throw it away. If you throw it away no one will believe me."
I thought if the note was gone, it would be like I had made it up. Like her mother had never said I had to leave forever and I was just a kid crying for attention on his wedding day.
My dad's jaw moved once. He reached into his inside pocket slowly so I could see his hand the whole time. He pulled out the crumpled note, still folded the way I had given it to him on the aisle. The paper made that soft wrinkled sound.
"I didn't throw it away," he said. "See? I kept it right here."
He unfolded it on his knee. The creases were deep from my hands squeezing it. He smoothed it once with his palm but didn't try to flatten it perfectly.
"I'm not going to hide it either," he said. He held it so I could see it, not reading it out loud, just letting me see it was still there. "This stays with us. Okay? No one gets to say this didn't happen."
I nodded and wiped my cheek with the back of my hand. He folded it again, careful, and slipped it back into his pocket and patted it.
"I want to make sure we keep it safe even if the paper gets lost," he said. He pulled his phone out of his pants pocket. "I'm going to take a picture of it while you watch, so we have two copies. Is that okay?"
I said yes.
He took the note out again and laid it flat on his open palm. The sun made the white paper bright. He held his phone over it with his other hand. I heard the little click sound the camera made.
"Hold still for me, Em," he whispered. He took one photo, then moved his hand a little and took a second. He turned the phone so I could see the screen. There it was, the same crumpled paper and the handwriting, now on his phone too.
"That's us," he said quietly. "Now nobody can say we don't have it. You and me both saw it saved."
I felt my shoulders drop a little. I reached out and touched the edge of the phone, then touched his jacket where the real note was. Both were there.
We were still sitting on the curb when I saw her coming from the side of the building. The bride's mother. She had her purse clutched in front of her and she was walking fast across the parking lot, trying to smile at me.
"Emily, honey," she called softly before she got close. "Can I just talk to you for one second? Just us girls?"
My dad stood up quickly. He didn't pick me up, but he stepped half in front of me.
He kept his voice low and even. "We need you to stop right there," he said.
She slowed down at the edge of the sidewalk. Her smile got thinner. "I just wanted to apologize to her directly. She’s upset and I don't want her to be scared. It was a misunderstanding. Let me just—"
"No," my dad said. He didn't raise his voice. "Not without me. You don't talk to my daughter alone."
She glanced past him at me. "Emily, sweetheart, I didn't mean—"
I pressed closer to my dad's leg and didn't answer. My hands twisted in my dress.
My dad put his hand lightly on my shoulder. "I hear that you want to apologize," he said to her. "If you want to do that, you do it with me right here. Not pulled aside. Not in a parking lot away from everyone."
The mother's mouth tightened. She looked at his pocket, then at his phone still in his hand. "You're making this bigger than it needs to be," she said.
"I'm making it exactly as big as it is," he said. He slipped his phone into his pocket and zipped his jacket just enough to cover the note again. "We have what was written. We're keeping it. If there's an apology, it happens where I can hear it."
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She stood there for a second, then nodded once and stepped back. "Fine," she said, and turned and walked back toward the venue doors without touching me.
My dad sat back down on the curb next to me. He put his arm around me. The paper was still in his pocket against his chest. I could see the faint outline of it when he moved. I kept my hand on his arm and watched the doors where she had gone. The note was safe, and the picture was safe, and he hadn't let her talk to me alone.
