I felt embarrassed.
Then happy.
Then embarrassed that I was happy.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to.”
“People will look at me.”
“They already know you’re there.”
“What if I cry?”
“I’ll deny knowing you.”
I hit his arm.
He laughed.
Vanessa walked into the room.
“What are you two looking at?”
Dad handed her the program.
“I added the family promise.”
Her smile disappeared for less than a second.
Then it returned.
“That’s sweet.”
“Thought so.”
She read it again.
“Does it need to happen during the ceremony?”
Dad looked at her.
“When else would it happen?”
“Maybe at the reception.”
“No.”
“It might interrupt the flow.”
“Vanessa.”
“I’m only asking.”
Dad took the program back.
“It stays.”
She nodded.
“Okay.”
That evening, after Dad went upstairs, Vanessa stood beside me in the kitchen.
“You won.”
I looked up.
“What?”
“The little ceremony moment.”
“I didn’t ask him to do it.”
“No.”
She picked up an empty wineglass.
“You never have to ask.”
She carried the glass to the sink.
That was the first time I truly understood that Vanessa saw me as competition.
Not as a child.
Not even as an inconvenience.
Competition.
The realization frightened me.
I began watching her more carefully.
Once I did, I noticed things I had missed.
She became irritated when Dad and I shared an old joke she did not understand.
She interrupted stories about my mother.
She changed the subject whenever Dad talked about vacations we had taken before meeting her.
She did not object to my existence.
She objected to any proof that Dad had loved someone before her or that he loved someone independently of her.
I also noticed something else.
Vanessa was careful.
Extremely careful.
She never behaved that way when Dad could clearly hear.
If he entered a room, her tone changed.
If Aunt Claire visited, Vanessa became generous.
If Marcus came over, Vanessa asked me about school.
The difference made me question myself.
Maybe I was imagining it.
Maybe I disliked her because I was afraid of change.
Maybe I was jealous.
That was the explanation Vanessa encouraged.
A week before the wedding, Aunt Claire took me for ice cream.
She waited until we were seated in a booth before asking, “How are you really doing?”
“I’m fine.”
“You said that like your father.”
“I am fine.”
Claire stirred her coffee.
“Do you like Vanessa?”
The question was too direct.
I looked down at my ice cream.
“She makes Dad happy.”
“That wasn’t what I asked.”
Apparently direct questions ran in the family.
“I used to.”
Claire’s face changed.
“What happened?”
I shrugged.
“Nothing.”
“Ellie.”
I looked around the shop.
A little boy was dropping sprinkles onto the floor.
His mother was trying to stop him.
Finally I whispered, “She doesn’t want me at the wedding.”
Claire sat back.
“What makes you think that?”
“She keeps trying to change where I’m standing.”
“Daniel told me you’re beside him.”
“I know.”
“Has Vanessa told you differently?”
“Sort of.”
Claire leaned forward.
“What does sort of mean?”
I told her about the dress shop.
I told her about the family photographs.
I told her about the comments in the kitchen.
I did not tell her everything because saying it aloud made me feel disloyal.
Claire listened without interrupting.
When I finished, she asked one question.
“Does your dad know?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“He loves her.”
“That’s not a reason.”
“What if I’m wrong?”
Claire was quiet.
“What if you’re not?”
I had no answer.
She reached across the table.
“Adults can make mistakes, Ellie.
Loving someone doesn’t make us good at seeing them clearly.”
“Are you going to tell him?”
“Do you want me to?”
I panicked.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because then Vanessa will know I told.”
Claire studied me.
That answer mattered.
I did not understand why.
She did.
“All right,” she said eventually.
“I won’t run to your dad tonight.
But if I see something, I’m not promising silence.”
I nodded.
“And if you ever feel unsafe or like you’re being pushed out, you call me.
Day or night.”
“I’m not unsafe.”
“Good.”
She squeezed my hand.
“Keep it that way.”
The rehearsal dinner happened two nights later.
That was when Vanessa stopped being subtle.
The hotel ballroom had long tables covered in white linen.
The wedding coordinator moved everyone through the ceremony order.
Dad stood near the front.
I moved beside him.
Vanessa’s mother, Diane, looked at me.
“Shouldn’t she be seated?”
Dad answered.
“No.
Ellie’s with me.”
Diane glanced at Vanessa.
Something passed between them.
I noticed.
So did Claire.
Vanessa smiled.
“Mom’s just confused because we discussed a traditional arrangement earlier.”
Dad frowned.
“When?”
“Months ago.”
“We decided this months ago too.”
“I know.”
The coordinator cleared her throat.
