Then he asked, “What do you want to do?”
I looked at him.
“I want my parents at my wedding.”
“I know.”
“And I want my sister to be happy.”
“Those things shouldn’t be mutually exclusive.”
I nodded.
He took my hand.
“Verina, you can’t make them come. But you don’t have to spend the next six months convincing people that your wedding matters.”
The words hurt because they were true.
Three weeks before the ceremony, we sat at our dining table and talked through every possible outcome.
What if my parents attended but Celeste didn’t?
What if they arrived late?
What if nobody came?
What if they changed their minds at the last minute?
Aldrich never told me what I should feel.
He simply helped me prepare.
We decided the wedding would happen regardless.
We wouldn’t postpone it.
We wouldn’t rearrange the ceremony around Celeste’s dinner.
And if my immediate family chose not to attend, I would stop organizing my life around the hope that they might eventually choose me.
I also made another decision.
I opened my bank account and reviewed every automatic payment I’d been making for my parents.
The numbers were more significant than I wanted to admit.
The SUV payment alone had cost me more than twenty-five thousand dollars over nearly three years.
Household transfers, groceries, and subscriptions added thousands more.
I printed the statements.
Then I placed them in a folder beside the original wedding invitation and my mother’s RSVP.
Two sets of documents.
One showed how consistently I’d supported my family.
The other showed how confidently they’d promised to support me.
I sat there for a long time.
Then I scheduled a reminder on my phone for the wedding morning.
If they came, we’d have a conversation about the finances afterward.
If they didn’t, I would stop the voluntary payments and let them take responsibility for their own expenses.
I wasn’t planning to surprise anyone with a debt or take back money I’d already given.
I was simply preparing to stop making future payments that I had never been obligated to make.
Aldrich watched me close the folder.
“Are you sure?”
I nodded.
“I’ve spent years being afraid that if I stop helping, they’ll stop needing me.”
He looked at me gently.
“And what if they do?”
I swallowed.
“Then maybe I’ll finally find out whether they wanted me around for any other reason.”
He put his arm around me.
I leaned against him.
For the first time, that possibility didn’t feel entirely unbearable.
The week before the wedding was busy.
There were flowers to confirm, seating arrangements to finalize, and last-minute questions from the caterer.
Odette arrived two days early to help.
She had been my best friend since graduate school and knew my family well enough to recognize when I was pretending something didn’t hurt.
She found me standing in the kitchen staring at the seating chart.
“Those three chairs?” she asked.
I nodded.
“Your parents and Celeste?”
“Yes.”
She looked at the paper.
“Have they confirmed?”
I shook my head.
Odette set down her coffee.
“Verina, I’m going to say something, and you don’t have to like it.”
I managed a small smile.
“That usually means I’m about to dislike it.”
She stepped closer.
“You’ve spent your whole life making sure nobody else is disappointed. Don’t let that become the thing you remember most about your wedding.”
I looked down.
She touched my shoulder.
“We’ll be there. Aldrich’s family will be there. Your friends will be there.”
“I know.”
“And you won’t be alone.”
I wanted to believe her.
But part of me still hoped that my parents would walk through the doors at the last possible moment.
The day before the wedding, my mother sent an email.
She explained that Celeste’s engagement dinner had become larger than expected.
Several members of Gareth’s family had traveled from out of state.
The restaurant required everyone to arrive early.
She said my father felt uncomfortable leaving Celeste without family support.
Then came the sentence I’d heard in different forms my entire life.
“You’ve always handled things so gracefully. We know you’ll be fine.”
I read it twice.
I didn’t respond.
I couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t turn into another argument about why my wedding deserved the same consideration as my sister’s engagement dinner.
Instead, I gave the email to Aldrich.
He read it.
Then he closed my laptop.
“Tomorrow, you marry me,” he said.
I looked at him.
“That’s the important part.”
I smiled through tears.