“And I was going to be her parent too.”
“Then you should have respected her.”
“I was trying to help.”
“With scissors?”
“Her hair looked unkempt.”
Daniel looked at her for a long time.
Lauren’s eyes filled.
“I didn't mean it like that.”
“How did you mean it?”
“It was too long.”
“That isn't unkempt.”
“It was frizzy.”
“She has wavy hair.”
“It photographed badly.”
Michael shifted.
Daniel saw Lauren notice and become defensive.
“See?”
she snapped.
“This is exactly why I wanted privacy.”
Michael straightened.
“You cut a kid’s hair for wedding pictures.”
Lauren’s face flushed.
“I did not ask you.”
“No.”
Michael looked toward Daniel.
“But I am going to say this once.”
Lauren stared.
“My niece is not a centerpiece.”
Silence.
Daniel closed his eyes briefly.
Lauren whispered:
“It was supposed to be our day.”
Daniel opened them.
“There it is.”
“What?”
“You think Ava was taking something from you by existing imperfectly inside our wedding.”
“That is not fair.”
“Isn't it?”
“No.”
“I spent eighteen months trying to become part of your family.”
“And I appreciated that.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
“You still let Susan make decisions like she was Ava’s second parent.”
“She is Ava’s grandmother.”
“You consult her before me.”
“Because you were not Ava’s parent.”
Lauren recoiled.
“Wow.”
“It is true.”
“I lived here.”
“Yes.”
“I cooked for her.”
“Yes.”
“I drove her to school.”
“Yes.”
“I went to parent-teacher night.”
“Yes.”
“I helped when she had the flu.”
Daniel’s voice softened.
“I know.”
“Then why was I never enough?”
His anger faded slightly.
There was real pain in her question.
Daniel answered honestly.
“Because love does not automatically give authority.”
Lauren stared.
“You wanted the authority before Ava trusted you with it.”
“I thought marriage would make us a family.”
“It would have made us married.”
“That is not the same thing.”
Tears spilled down her face.
“Then you should never have proposed.”
Daniel absorbed that.
Perhaps there was truth there too.
“I thought you understood what joining this family meant.”
“I thought you understood what marriage meant.”
“What did it mean?”
“That I wouldn't always come second.”
Daniel stared.
Lauren immediately tried to correct.
“I don't mean to Ava.”
“You do.”
“No.”
“You do.”
She began crying harder.
“I was tired of everything revolving around her grief.”
The room went silent.
Even Lauren seemed shocked by her own sentence.
Daniel whispered:
“She was four when her mother died.”
“I know.”
“She doesn't revolve around grief.”
“You keep Anna’s photographs everywhere.”
“She was my wife.”
“She was Ava’s mother.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
Lauren's face tightened.
Daniel continued.
“You asked me to remove Anna’s wedding picture from my bedroom.”
“Because I sleep there.”
“I moved it.”
“You wanted the hallway photograph down.”
“Because it felt like a shrine.”
“It is one photograph.”
“You kept her recipe cards.”
“She wrote them.”
“You keep her Christmas ornaments.”
“For Ava.”
“You compare things.”
Daniel frowned.