When I was tired, he didn’t tell me how strong I was.
He made dinner.
When I had a difficult day, he listened without immediately suggesting that I should be more understanding of the people who had disappointed me.
We spent nearly two years planning our wedding.
Neither of us wanted an elaborate ballroom celebration.
We wanted a place with old trees, long wooden tables, warm lights, and enough room for the people we loved to eat together and enjoy themselves.
We found Whitmore Estate outside Charlottesville.
It was a renovated farmhouse with white clapboard siding, a broad porch, and an enormous oak tree overlooking the garden.
The first time we visited, Aldrich stood beneath that tree and looked at me.
“This feels like us.”
I smiled.
“It does.”
We booked the venue well in advance.
We sent invitations eight months before the wedding.
My parents received theirs in February.
My mother called the same afternoon.
“Oh, Verina, the place looks beautiful!”
“I’m glad you like it.”
“What colors are you using?”
“Soft green, ivory, and gold.”
She sounded delighted.
“I’ll have to find something that doesn’t clash with the wedding party.”
My father asked whether the venue had enough parking.
Celeste wanted to know whether she could bring her boyfriend, Gareth.
Everyone confirmed they would attend.
My mother even mailed back the RSVP card with a handwritten note beneath her name.
“We wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
I kept that card.
Later, it would become one of the most painful things in my wedding folder.
In early spring, Celeste announced her engagement.
Gareth proposed during a weekend trip to Charleston.
She called the family group chat from their hotel balcony, showing off her ring and laughing so hard that she could barely get the words out.
I was genuinely happy for her.
I sent flowers.
I called to congratulate them.
I even helped her compare several wedding planning websites because she said the choices were overwhelming.
For a few weeks, everything seemed normal.
Then my mother called to tell me that Celeste wanted to host an engagement celebration in October.
I was reviewing vendor invoices at my desk.
“That’s wonderful,” I said. “What weekend?”
There was a pause.
“The same weekend as your wedding.”
I stopped typing.
“What?”
“Well, Gareth’s parents are coming into town, and it’s the only weekend that works for everyone.”
I stared at my calendar.
“Mom, you know our wedding is that Saturday.”
“I know, sweetheart.”
“Then they can choose another weekend.”
She sighed.
“Celeste already reserved the restaurant.”
I leaned back.
“Mom, we’ve had our venue booked for almost a year.”
“I understand. But Celeste is very excited, and Gareth’s family has complicated schedules.”
I waited for her to explain that my parents would attend my wedding regardless.
Instead, she said, “You know how emotional your sister gets about these things.”
I closed my eyes.
“She’s having an engagement dinner, Mom. I’m getting married.”
“There’s no need to compare.”
“I’m not comparing. I’m asking whether you’re coming to my wedding.”
She hesitated.
“Let’s not make a decision right this minute.”
That was how it began.
Over the next several weeks, every conversation became a careful exercise in avoiding the obvious.
My mother would call and talk enthusiastically about Celeste’s engagement dinner.
The restaurant had a private dining room.
Gareth’s parents were bringing relatives.
Celeste had found a beautiful dress.
My mother was helping choose flowers for the tables.
Meanwhile, the wedding I’d been planning for two years seemed to have disappeared from the family conversation.
When I asked directly whether they planned to attend, my mother told me I was putting her in an impossible position.
“Verina, I have two daughters.”
“I know.”
“And I want to support both of you.”
“Then come to my wedding.”
She sighed.
“You’ve always been the strong one. Celeste needs us there.”
I looked at my phone.
“Why does her engagement dinner require both of you more than my wedding does?”
My mother sounded hurt.
“That’s an unfair question.”
But she didn’t answer it.
Aldrich found me sitting on our apartment balcony after that call.
I had my laptop open in front of me, but I wasn’t working.
He set two mugs of tea on the table.
“How bad was it?”
I looked up.
“They still won’t commit.”
He sat beside me.
For a while, we listened to the evening traffic.