Once the transfer clears, she can hate me from another state.
My son watched it three times.
Then called me.
“Do not play it for me yet.”
I said.
“Why?”
“Because I need to get through today without acting on twenty-eight seconds emotionally.”
“Mom, it’s her.”
“Yes.”
“You still sound like a lawyer.”
“I am not a lawyer.”
“You’re worse.”
I almost smiled.
Then he said:
“I froze everything else.”
“What else?”
“The marriage license.”
My breath caught.
“You did what?”
“It won’t be filed.”
“Does she know?”
“No.”
“Son.”
“I need to know whether she admits it.”
“This is a terrible plan.”
“I know.”
“You should stop the ceremony.”
“It already happened.”
I froze.
“What?”
“We did the ceremony.”
“When?”
“Ten minutes ago.”
I stood.
“You married her after seeing the video?”
“No.”
“I saw it after.”
My anger rose.
“The sister sent it while we were walking out.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
Timing.
Cruel, ridiculous timing.
“Did you sign the license?”
“Yes.”
“Did she?”
“Yes.”
“Officiant?”
“Not filed.”
“That does not necessarily mean you are not legally married depending on state law.”
“I know.”
“I called counsel.”
“Good.”
There was silence.
Then:
“Mom, I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“All of it.”
“You didn’t shave my head.”
“I brought her into your life.”
“That is not the same.”
“I should’ve seen it.”
“No.”
I sat again.
“Do not turn hindsight into a weapon against yourself.”
He breathed.
“What are you going to do?”
“Come downstairs.”
“And?”
I looked at the note.
“I’m going to give a toast.”
He was quiet.
Then:
“Oh no.”
I smiled.
“Exactly.”
At four-thirty, the reception began.
The ballroom was breathtaking.
White orchids.
Silver branches.
Candles reflected in crystal.
A string quartet near the terrace doors.
Hundreds of guests dressed beautifully.
Everything looked perfect.
That was almost offensive.
I entered alone.
Conversation changed.
People saw my hair.
Some looked away quickly.
Some stared.
Some assumed it was fashion.
Family members knew it was not.
My son saw me from across the room.
His face broke.
He crossed the floor.
When he reached me, he did not speak.
He hugged me.
Long.
Hard.
I felt his shoulders trembling.
I whispered:
“Not here.”
He stepped back.
His bride stood behind him.
White gown.
Diamonds.
Perfect makeup.
Expression carefully concerned.
She approached.
“Oh my God.”
I looked at her.
“What happened to your hair?”
There are moments when lies become almost artistic.
Her performance was excellent.
Eyes wide.
Hand over mouth.
Tiny step forward.
I understood why she worked in brand strategy.
I smiled.
“Interesting night.”
She touched my arm.
“I’m so sorry.”
I looked at her hand.
She removed it.
My son watched.