I stepped back.
It was his wedding day. Whatever I was feeling, whatever was happening, I was not going to create a scene at his wedding. I found my table and I sat down and I put on the face of a woman who is having a lovely time, and I held it for the next several hours while I watched my son.
After the ceremony, the photographer assembled everyone for photographs. Grant, standing beside me for a moment while the bridal party was being reorganized, leaned toward me and said something to the photographer about getting a shot of just the two of us.
Vanessa heard it from six feet away.
“We don’t have time for that. We have a schedule.”
“Maybe just one—”
“Grant.” Her voice had the quality of a door being closed.
He went quiet.
The photographer looked at the middle distance.
I told Grant it was fine. I kept my voice warm and uncomplicated. I had been imagining that photograph for six months. It did not matter. Everything was fine.
