Because he was angry enough at Caleb to need distance from the knives.
Owen remained seated.
His eyes were on the table.
I waited.
He said nothing.
That irritated me.
“Well?”
He looked up.
“Well what?”
“Don’t you have some wise support-person comment?”
“No.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Why?”
His voice was quiet.
“Because you handled that yourself.”
I hated how much that meant to me.
The wedding morning arrived blue and cold.
The sky was clear.
The kind of perfect weather that feels staged.
My mother came into my room at 6 a.m. holding my veil.
For a moment, we only looked at each other.
Then she said, “I don’t know what this day is anymore.”
I smiled faintly.
“Me neither.”
She sat on the edge of my bed.
“You were supposed to marry Caleb today.”
“I know.”
“You were supposed to walk into a simple life.”
I touched the satin dress beside me.
“Maybe simple was never the promise.”
Her mouth trembled.
“I am so afraid.”
“I know.”
“I’m afraid of losing you.”
“I know.”
“I’m afraid of watching you suffer.”
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