Renée shrugged.
“I’m just saying, you might spend your entire reception watching him entertain everybody else.”
I looked at her.
“Why would you say that?”
She smiled.
“Because I’m your sister. I notice things.”
Then she walked away.
I stood there for a moment.
The remark was unnecessary.
It was also familiar.
Renée had a way of presenting discouragement as concern.
I could never quite challenge her without being told I’d misunderstood.
The following week, my mother called about the wedding seating plan.
Halfway through the conversation, she mentioned that Renée had been feeling emotional lately.
One of Renée’s friends had recently announced an engagement.
Apparently, that had been difficult for her.
“She’s trying to be happy for you,” Mom explained.
I stared at the seating chart spread across my desk.
“I know.”
“Just remember that weddings can be complicated for people who haven’t had the same opportunities.”
I closed my eyes.
“Mom, I’m not asking Renée to organize anything. She only has to come and enjoy the day.”
“Of course, sweetheart. But you know your sister is sensitive.”
I waited.
Then my mother said something that made my chest tighten.
“I hope you won’t spend the whole wedding making her feel uncomfortable.”
I looked toward the photograph of Callum and me on the bookshelf.
“Mom, it’s my wedding.”
“I know, Lyra. There’s no need to sound defensive.”
After the call, I sat on the kitchen floor.
I don’t know why I chose the floor.
Perhaps because I was tired of pretending I wasn’t hurt.
Callum found me there twenty minutes later.
He sat beside me without asking questions.
For a while, we listened to the refrigerator humming.
Then he said, “Do you want to talk?”
I shook my head.
“Not yet.”
He put his arm around me.
We sat there until I felt ready to stand.
That was one of the reasons I knew I was marrying the right person.
He didn’t need to fix every feeling.
He simply stayed.
On the morning of our wedding, I arrived at the venue shortly after eight.
The ceremony was scheduled for four.
I wanted a slow, peaceful morning.
The bridal suite had large windows overlooking the mountains, pale upholstered furniture, and a long vanity beneath a wall of mirrors.
My dress hung inside a protective garment bag near the window.
The hair and makeup team was scheduled to arrive later that morning.
Odette and Hannah helped arrange snacks, flowers, and the little emergency kit we’d packed with safety pins, tissues, and extra hair clips.
Nadine arrived around nine carrying pastries, coffee, and a long garment bag.
I noticed it immediately.
“What’s that?”
She smiled.
“Something I brought along. Just in case.”
I laughed.
“Just in case of what?”
“You never know when a bride might need an extra wrap or a little help.”
I didn’t ask more.
That was Nadine.
She prepared for things.
She made sure people had what they needed.
And she rarely made a production of it.
My mother arrived around ten.
Renée came with her.
I was surprised.
I’d specifically told Renée she didn’t need to arrive until the ceremony guests began gathering.
But my mother explained that they had driven together.
“We thought we’d come early and help.”
I smiled.
“That’s nice.”
Renée looked around the bridal suite.
“Wow. Fancy.”
She picked up one of the floral arrangements.
Then she examined the makeup products spread across the vanity.
“Everything looks very expensive.”
I laughed softly.
“We’ve been saving for a long time.”
She looked toward the garment bag.
“Is that the famous dress?”
I nodded.
“Yes.”
She smiled.
“Can I see it?”
“Later, when I put it on.”
Her expression changed slightly.
Then she shrugged.
“Fine.”
The next hour passed quickly.
The hair stylist began preparing my hair.
The makeup artist arranged brushes and palettes.
Hannah went to speak with the florist.
Odette helped the photographer find a good place for getting-ready pictures.
My mother walked outside to inspect the ceremony arrangements.
Nadine stepped into the adjoining room to speak with Melissa about the timing.
At some point, I realized Renée wasn’t there.
I assumed she’d gone to the restroom.
Then I remembered the dress.
I wanted to make sure the garment bag was hanging properly before the photographer came in.
I walked toward the small dressing room beside the window.
And there she was.
My sister.
Standing beside my wedding gown.
Holding scissors.
For several seconds, I couldn’t move.
The beautiful silk flowers had been separated along part of the skirt.
A long opening ran through the fabric.
It was far beyond anything a seamstress could quickly repair.
I said her name.
“Renée.”
She turned.
Then came the words I still remember with painful clarity.
“You should be thanking me. You never deserved something this beautiful anyway.”
I stared at her.
I hadn’t expected kindness.