Happy.
Our younger daughter, Sophie, 19, cried harder than I did.
Tom attended alone.
At least, I thought he had.
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It wasn’t until the reception that I saw him standing at the entrance to the ballroom.
Beside him was Kristen.
His wife of four months.
I’d met Kristen twice.
Emma had met her once, briefly, at a birthday dinner.
Sophie had never met her.
Tom hadn’t mentioned bringing her.
Not once.
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Kristen wore a pale blue dress with one hand linked through Tom’s arm.
I looked toward Emma.
Her smile disappeared.
Maybe half a second.
Then it returned.
That was Emma.
She walked over.
Kissed her father on the cheek.
Hugged Kristen.
“I’m glad you made it,” she said.
If you didn’t know my daughter, you’d have believed her.
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I knew her.
Her shoulders had gone rigid.
Sophie appeared beside me.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
“Don’t.”
“He brought her?”
“Sophie.”
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“Emma barely knows her.”
“It’s Emma’s wedding. Let Emma handle it.”
Sophie looked at her sister across the room.
Emma was already showing Kristen where to sit.
“That’s the problem,” Sophie muttered. “Emma handles everything.”
I should have listened more carefully to that.
Kristen didn’t exactly make herself invisible.
When the photographer called for the bride’s parents, Tom stepped forward.
Kristen came with him.
The photographer lowered his camera.
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“Just Mom and Dad for this one.”
Kristen immediately started to step away.
Tom touched her arm.
“She’s fine.”
Kristen glanced at Emma.
Almost as if checking.
Emma hesitated.
Then smiled.
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“It’s fine.”
Click.
Sophie was standing beside me.
I heard her whisper, “Unbelievable.”
When the wedding planner was checking place cards, Kristen told her Tom should be seated closer to the bride.
Emma overheard.
“It’s fine where he is,” she said.
Kristen smiled.
