That surprised me, but I said yes without hesitation.
What followed were 8 months of the most exhausting, quietly cruel experience of my adult life.
The bridesmaid dress fittings were held at a boutique with three steps leading up to the entrance and no ramp.
When I pointed this out, Brooke said, and I quote, “Can’t you just have someone carry you up? It’s not that big of a deal.”
The bachelorette party was planned at a venue that was too small to accommodate a wheelchair.
So Jolene stayed back with me while the rest of the girls went.
Every time I raised a concern about accessibility at the wedding venue, Brooke would get this look on her face, this tight, controlled look, and say something like, “I’m really trying, Savannah, but this is my wedding, not an accessibility audit.”
I started to feel it then.
That familiar shrinking, that sense that I was asking for too much just by existing.
But I kept showing up because that’s what you do for family.
Or at least that’s what I thought.
The wedding was held at a vineyard outside of Columbus on a Saturday in late September.
The kind of day that looks like it was designed by someone who really understood autumn.
Golden light, leaves just turning, air that smelled like wood smoke and something sweet.
I had spent two months finding the perfect dress. Champagne colored, off the shoulder, with a full skirt that draped beautifully even while seated.
Jolene helped me with my hair, soft curls pinned back with tiny pearl clips.
I felt genuinely, unexpectedly beautiful that morning.
We arrived early.
The venue had told Brooke, and Brooke had confirmed with me, that there was a side entrance with a ramp for wheelchair access.
There was.
It led directly past the catering setup and the staff bathrooms.
Not exactly the grand entrance the other bridesmaids got, but I didn’t say a word.
I just wheeled through and focused on the day.