Weddings are said to bring families closer together.
On the other hand, there are occasions when they gently demonstrate to you how far apart you have become. The blush-pink dress that I had been keeping for years was the one that I wore. The banana bread that he used to eat when he was a child was baked.
The cardigan with the small pearl embellishments, which he once remarked made me seem like the mother from those black-and-white television repeats, was even buttoned. However, I was aware of this fact when I entered the wedding hall and saw that no one had reserved a place for me close to him.
Nothing remained the same. in a low, quiet voice. That one little adjustment would completely transform everything.
In the spring, Northern Michigan is a peaceful place.
Not calm and quiet at all. There is complete silence. In close proximity to a lake that is completely crystalline, my home is encircled by pine trees and memories. I am now living by myself.
Jack, my spouse, went away during the winter of four years ago. There are fewer and fewer visits from our kid, Tyler. On the other hand, I understand. Teenagers are responsible for their own life.
Shouldn’t it be the reason we bring them up?
My days have been passing by like smoke as of late. In the morning, I do the baking of banana bread. You should drink lukewarm coffee as you read the Traverse City Gazette. There are tulips in the front yard that, despite my best efforts, do not seem to be going to blossom until June. I need to water them.
There are days when the postal truck may be seen driving by without stopping. In addition, I am curious as to if there is another elderly lady down the road who is similarly acting as if she is not expecting for anything.
When Tyler phoned three weeks ago, he informed me that he was going to be married. He gave off an enthusiastic tone. occupied with other things.
The name Rachel was what he said.
I inquired about the design of the wedding that they were planned. He made a statement that was basic yet sophisticated.
Later on, he became less noticeable.
He didn’t ask me what I felt about it. The weekends on which I may be available were not checked.
I inquired as to if they needed assistance with anything (menus, guests, or a cake). Don’t be concerned, he assured me. that there was no need to worry about anything.
During the rehearsal dinner, I volunteered to cook the pie for attendees. That, he said, was quite lovely.
After hanging up, I did nothing except gaze at the phone. My chest was filled with a sensation that I was unable to put my finger on.
I felt as if I had just been given the position of “guest” in a narrative that I had believed I had contributed to writing.
I persevered in my optimism.
The dress was set out by myself. The porch was cleaned. The sleeves of my coat were even brushed off, as if it were a significant detail.
There was a part of me that continued to think and hope that this wedding would bring us back together in a more intimate context.
However, the most devastating heartbreaks aren’t often easily audible.
They do not throw insults or slam doors in your face. They speak in a whisper. They appear in the form of minute omissions. The rejections are polite.
One thousand gentle injuries.
According to Tyler, Rachel was mostly responsible for making the choices.
The phrase “modern yet classic” was what she was looking for.
I came before the scheduled time. Every time, I do.
I put on the dress that I had kept ironed for years; it had gentle pleats and a subdued tone. The bun I’ve made for my hair. Lipstick that is light. It is just right.
This is the type of attire that a mother might wear to the wedding of her only son.
I entered the room by myself.
I was greeted by a girl who seemed to be unfamiliar with me, as she smiled across the table. My name was Margaret Bell, and I was given a name tag that just said that.
There is no “Mother of the Groom.” A gold ribbon, similar to the one that the bride’s relatives wore.
For a little while, I was fixated on it. After that, I hooked it on.
Once inside, folks had already begun to congregate. Above the music, there was a sense of laughter. Glasses of champagne and bite-sized hors d’oeuvres served on porcelain spoons were carried by waiters as they were carried around the room.
I saw Tyler, who was smiling with Rachel and was surrounded by individuals I did not know, standing close to the altar.
Initially, he did not take notice of me.
My side was suddenly approached by a young guy who was carrying a clipboard and a headphone.
“Right over here, ma’am,” he answered, pointing behind him to a little table that was located in the rear corner of the room.
I had a look around.
Groom’s Friends, Bride’s Relatives, and Maid of Honor’s Family were the names of the tables that were placed closer together.
The name Margaret was written on my place card.
Without a surname.
There is no part.
