“No, no. It’s beautiful. Blue is just part of our wedding palette, and I don’t want it to look strange in the photos. It might read as if you’re part of the bridal party.”
Weddings make people particular about things that would not otherwise matter. I understood this. I reminded myself of it firmly. It was a dress. I would buy another one.
I bought a sage green one from a department store three days later. It fit adequately. It cost me money I had not planned to spend and time I did not have to spare, but Grant was getting married and I wanted the day to be what he deserved.
When I arrived at the venue on the day of the wedding, Vanessa’s mother was standing near the entrance in a floor-length blue gown, greeting relatives with the ease of a woman who had never once been asked not to wear that color.
I stopped moving.
I stood just inside the door and looked at her and looked at the color of her dress and stood very still for a moment while I confirmed what I was seeing.
Two of Vanessa’s aunts were nearby in coordinating shades of blue. They wore small white corsages pinned at identical angles, the kind of detail that does not happen accidentally.
I found Vanessa before the ceremony. She was surrounded but I waited, and when I had a moment close enough for quiet conversation I said, simply: “You told me blue was part of the wedding palette.”
She shifted. “Not exactly.”
“Then what, exactly?”
