Brandon’s mother had never been enthusiastic about me having a daughter.
She was too socially polished to say anything openly cruel when other people were around.
That almost made it worse.
At family dinners, Barbara smiled at Lisa.
She asked about school.
She bought her Christmas presents.
She remembered her birthday.
If anyone had watched us from across a restaurant, they would have assumed she was perfectly welcoming.
But Barbara had a way of waiting until Brandon left the room.
Then the little comments began.
Once, while Brandon was outside helping his father with the grill, Barbara and I were clearing plates.
She handed me a dish and said casually, “Brandon really does have such a generous heart.”
I smiled.
“He does.”
“Not every man would be willing to take on another man’s responsibilities.”
My hands stopped over the sink.
I turned.
“Lisa isn’t a responsibility Brandon got assigned.”
Barbara gave me a patient smile.
“Oh, Emily, don’t be defensive. I only mean raising another man’s child is a tremendous commitment.”
“She’s not a burden.”
“I didn’t use that word.”
“You didn’t need to.”
Barbara dried her hands.
“I’m simply realistic.”
Another time, she asked whether I expected Brandon to pay for Lisa’s college.
I actually laughed because I thought she was joking.
Barbara didn’t.
“She’s seven,” I said.
“I’m thinking long-term.”
“So are we.”
Barbara folded her napkin into a perfect square.
“Brandon will have children of his own someday.”
I remember staring at her.
Children of his own.
The words stayed with me.
That night, after Lisa went to bed, I told Brandon what his mother had said.
He rubbed the back of his neck.
“I’ll talk to her.”
“She says things like that every time you leave the room.”
“I know how my mom is.”
I looked at him.
“What does that mean?”
He sighed.
“She’s old-fashioned. Protective. Sometimes she says things without realizing how they sound.”
“No. She knows exactly how they sound. That’s why she waits until you’re gone.”
That made him quiet.
Then he took my hand.
“I’ll handle it.”
I wanted to believe him.
And to his credit, after that, Barbara became more careful.
At least with me.
During most of the wedding planning, she behaved.
She complained about the flowers being overpriced.
She thought our guest list was too small.
She said a bed-and-breakfast was an odd wedding venue.
Normal mother-of-the-groom complaints.
Nothing cruel enough to start a war over.
Eventually, I relaxed.
That was my mistake.
Our wedding was held at a small country bed-and-breakfast about forty minutes outside town.
It had a white wraparound porch, an old garden, a little ceremony room with tall windows, and just enough guest rooms for our immediate family.
We planned to stay there for several days afterward.
Lisa had named it our “family honeymoon.”
The night before the wedding, she packed her own little purple suitcase.
When I tried to inspect it, she threw herself dramatically across the top.
“No!”
I stopped.
“No?”
“You’re not allowed to look.”
“I’m your mother.”
“It has secrets.”
“That sentence does not make me less concerned.”
She giggled.
“Mommy.”
“Did you pack underwear?”
“Yes.”
“Toothpaste?”
“Yes.”
“Toothbrush?”
She hesitated.
I pointed toward the bathroom.
She groaned.
“Fine.”
A few minutes later, she returned with her toothbrush and zipped the suitcase.
Then she pointed at me sternly.
“No checking.”
I raised both hands.
“Fine. I won’t check it.”
“You promise?”
“I promise.”
What I didn’t know was that inside the suitcase was a wedding present for Brandon.
And something else Barbara desperately did not want him to see.
On the morning of the wedding, the bridal suite was chaos.
My sister Megan was doing my hair.
One bridesmaid had misplaced an earring.
My aunt was having a crisis over waterproof mascara.
The photographer kept asking everyone to move toward the window.
Someone had put coffee beside my veil, and Megan nearly had a nervous breakdown.
My dress hung from the wardrobe.
It was simple from the front, with fitted lace through the bodice and a long satin train that fanned out behind me.
I loved that train.
Barbara came in and out of the room several times.
At one point, she offered to steam part of the gown.
At another, she said she was checking whether the florist had arrived.
Then she disappeared for about twenty minutes.
I barely noticed.
There was too much happening.
Later, I would replay those twenty minutes over and over.
By the time I stepped into the gown, I was trembling from nerves and happiness.
Megan fastened the back.
One bridesmaid fixed my veil.
Someone handed me my bouquet.
I looked at myself in the mirror and almost didn’t recognize the woman staring back.
I was getting married.
After everything Lisa and I had been through, we were becoming a family.
A real, permanent family.
Barbara entered just as we were preparing to leave the suite.
Her eyes moved over the dress.
For half a second, something flickered across her face.
Satisfaction.
I didn’t understand it then.
“That train is going to be difficult,” she said. “I’ll carry it for you.”
I was surprised.
“Thank you.”
“Of course.”
She gathered the fabric over her arms.
On the way downstairs, I couldn’t see what she was doing behind me.
Neither could Megan, who was walking ahead to make sure the hallway was clear.
Just before the ceremony doors opened, Barbara crouched behind me.
“Hold still.”
I felt her tugging gently at the fabric.
“What are you doing?”
“Arranging the train properly.”
She stood.
“There.”
I glanced over my shoulder, but all I could see was white satin disappearing behind me.
“Good?”
Barbara smiled.
“Perfect.”
The music started.
The doors opened.
And for the first few seconds, nothing in the world existed except Brandon.
He stood at the end of the aisle in a dark suit.
The instant he saw me, his eyes filled.
He smiled.
I smiled.
My hands stopped shaking.
