Her sister looked at the floor.
One of Brandon’s cousins slowly shook his head.
Even the pastor looked stunned.
Barbara grabbed her purse.
Then she walked out.
The doors closed behind her.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Barbara was gone.
But the little suitcases were still attached to my dress.
Lisa sniffled against Brandon’s shoulder.
“Are you still getting married?”
A few guests laughed.
Brandon looked at me.
“Are we?”
I looked down at the train.
Eight little suitcases remained.
Lisa pointed toward the one bearing her name.
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“Can you take my name off?”
My throat tightened.
Before I could answer, Megan appeared beside me holding a tiny pair of embroidery scissors.
I looked at the train.
“Cut all of them off.”
My sister and two bridesmaids crouched around me and carefully removed every single suitcase.
One by one.
And somehow, after one of the ugliest moments I had ever experienced, Brandon and I still stood in front of everyone and got married.
At the reception, Lisa’s handmade picture frame sat beside our wedding cake.
MY NEW DAD & ME.
That night, after the guests finally left, the three of us went upstairs to our room at the bed-and-breakfast.
Lisa changed into her pajamas and climbed right into the middle of our bed.
“This is supposed to be your wedding night,” she said.
Brandon took off his shoes.
“Correct.”
Lisa looked thoughtful.
“Don’t married people usually want privacy?”
I nearly choked.
Brandon slowly turned toward her.
“Who have you been talking to?”
“Aunt Megan.”
He looked at me.
“I’m having a conversation with Megan tomorrow.”
Lisa finally smiled.
A real smile.
A few minutes later, she fell asleep between us.
On the bedside table sat the glitter-covered frame she had made for Brandon.
And downstairs, eight tiny fabric suitcases were lying in the trash.
Lisa wasn’t one of them.
She never had been.
