Chapter 9: The Guests Are Waiting
The hallway felt smaller with the ballroom doors still closed. I could hear the string quartet through the wood, playing something bright and polite that was meant to keep people from checking their watches. My dad held me against his shoulder and I could feel his breathing trying to stay even. His tuxedo jacket was warm from where I'd been pressed against it. Lauren stood a few feet away near the marble baseboard where the chain had been. Her hands were clasped now, not near her face anymore, like she was trying to hold herself still.
The side door by the wall sconce opened and Mark came through. I recognized him from the rehearsal dinner the night before, my dad's best man, his bow tie a little looser than my dad's. He didn't come all the way in at first. He kept one hand on the door and leaned his weight on it.
"Mike," he said, quiet. "They're getting restless in there. Lauren's mom asked me to check. The quartet's looped twice."
My dad didn't answer right away. He shifted me a little higher on his shoulder.
Mark took a step closer and lowered his voice even more. "Listen, you do a thirty-second thank-you. Just pop in, tell them we're running five minutes behind on photos. I'll have the coordinator pull the kids to the family room with juice boxes or whatever. You handle it and we reset. That's all they need."
I felt my dad's hand tighten on my back. Not hard, just a small squeeze. He looked at Mark, then at Lauren.
Lauren smoothed the front of her dress. It made a soft sound against her hands. "That could work," she said. She looked at my dad, not at Mark. "Michael, what if you just carry her in for one photo? At the doorway. So everyone sees she's fine. We smile, they clap, and then Jenna can take her to the suite with the other kids. Then we do the reception the way we planned."
Her voice was careful and even. I watched her mouth try to keep the shape of a normal wedding smile while her eyes kept flicking to the doors.
My dad stared at the closed double doors for a second. The brass handles caught the light. I could hear a chair scrape on the other side and a few low voices that rose and fell.
"No," he said. His voice wasn't loud. It was flat and tired. "I'm not carrying her in for a photo so people can feel better."
Mark frowned. "Mike, nobody's saying use her. It's just optics. You walk in, you wave, they see dad has his kid, everything's good. You give them a picture and they stop writing their own story."
"It's the same thing," my dad said. He looked at Lauren again. "You want me to prove she's okay by showing her off for a second and then sending her away again. That's exactly what hurt her."
Lauren's hands twisted once. "I didn't mean it that way. I meant we can show them we're still a family. We don't have to explain anything else tonight."
"Vows can't be built on her being upset," my dad said. He said it slowly, like he was making sure he got the words right. "I can't stand up there and promise to take care of you and your family while she's crying in another room so the pictures look clean. That's not a promise. That's just a schedule."
The quartet stopped for a breath between songs, and in that gap the hallway was really quiet. I could hear the air handler humming and my own nose still sniffling a little. I tucked my face closer to my dad's collar. It smelled like his aftershave and a little like sweat.
I didn't mean to say it again. It just came out the way it had in the little suite when the door was locked and the chain was cold against the baseboard.
"Daddy?" I whispered.
It was small and hoarse from crying earlier. My dad turned his head so his cheek was against my hair. He didn't shush me.
"Yeah, honey," he said to me, not to them. "I'm here. I've got you."
Lauren heard it. I saw her blink fast and press her lips together. She took a half step back like the sound had pushed her.
Mark looked at the floor, then at the closed doors, then back at my dad. He let out a breath through his nose.
"Okay," Mark said. "Okay, so not the photo. What do you want me to tell them?"
My dad kept one hand on my back and didn't put me down. "Tell them we're delayed. Tell them we're handling a family matter and we'll update them in ten minutes. Don't make it about her. Just tell them to keep their drinks and stay seated."
Lauren didn't argue. She nodded once, quick, and looked down at her dress like she was checking it was still there. She understood. Not gracefully, not like she'd made peace with it, but the way someone understands a door isn't going to open the way they wanted it to.
May you like
Mark pushed off the wall and pulled the side door open again. The light from the ballroom slipped in in a thin line and then cut off when he stepped through. We could hear his shoes on the marble for a second and then the heavier sound of the ballroom doors opening, and a swell of voices before they closed again.
My dad stayed where he was, holding me in the hallway, while the quartet started up again to cover the waiting.
