Chapter 1
Now
I swing the veil and watch as it slowly floats over my daughter’s perfectly styled French twist.
It falls in slow motion, and the years flash through my mind like old family films.
The positive pregnancy test that changed our entire life.
The ultrasound looked more like an alien than a baby—telling us she was a girl.
Although, I couldn’t see anything. They’ve become so advanced. The significant gender reveal parties involve Mom and Dad with bouncy houses and ice cream machines.
The day she was born, I couldn’t believe she was real—and mine: her first birthday party—cake all over her face.
What was supposed to be a special day…well, it wasn’t.
But I made sure to make it memorable for her.
Her first day of school.
I think that’s when she learned about divorce.
I picked her up from school, and she wanted to enlighten me that some moms and dads live together.
At that moment, I realized she never remembered her father and I ever being married.
And I don’t know if that’s a good thing or bad. Probably good.
Her first crush was Davy Wells, who lived across the street.
Summers grew from playmates holding hands to kissing in the dugout during travel league.
I thought he was the one until we stayed up all night eating ice cream and using up an entire box of Kleenex as she cried, reliving the horrid scene of catching Davy with Rachel Matthews in bed at a party.
My chin quivered uncontrollably at her high school graduation.
Although I was not too fond of the fact she was leaving for college in a few short months, I was so proud of her and me—we made it. Alone.
My voice chokes as my throat tightens.
“Monica, you are such a beautiful bride.”
“Oh, Mom, don’t start.”
Through the veil, I can see her eyes welling up.
“There’s no time to reapply my makeup.”
I pull the sheer veil over her head and touch her cheek.
Rapidly batting her eyes, she looks up, forcing the tears to dry up.
“I’m sorry.
You know I can’t help it.
That’s what, as a mother, I’m supposed to do—cry at every event in your life.”
We laugh out the tears and reach for the Kleenex box.
Cautiously, she dabs under her lashes and then turns to admire her bridal reflection.
“I wish you had a wedding dress, Mom, so I could wear it today.”
It’s times like this when I feel guilty about how things ended.
“I know, but...we just didn’t have a wedding.”
“But, do you ever wish you had? Didn’t you have those dreams of planning your wedding when you were a little girl?”
That look she is giving me drains my whole existence.
Of course, I wanted that-- the white dress, the music, the doves, the first dance as man and wife.
I would have loved to have someone look at me with tears as I walked down the aisle to become his wife, thinking how beautiful I looked.
“Yes, honey, of course I did.
But we didn’t plan things very well, and now it doesn’t matter because I get to experience it with you, the person I love more than anything. This is what makes me happy, Monica.”
I straighten her veil, standing behind her as we look at each other in the mirror.
“You look beautiful, Mom.
I think you’re going to steal my day.”
We laugh, and I give her a wink.
“I’ll let you have a little thunder.”
“I love you, Mom.”
I wrap my arms around her from behind and take her in a long hug.
This day will be the last of only her and me.
It hurts, but it feels so good for her to have this.
A man who loves her to death.
A man who stood in the rain, begging her to talk to him after he drove two hundred miles after a fight one night on the phone. A man who tells her what his babies will look like with such a beautiful mother. A man who will stand with tears in his eyes as she walks down the aisle to become his wife. “I love you so much, Monica.”
The door opens, and Chelsea, her bride’s maid, pops in her head.
“Hey, I think the photographer is ready to get pictures of all of us brides’ maids.”
“Okay.
Just give me a minute with my mom.”
“Sure, no problem.
Jill, you look smokin’ hot.
Just a warning, my Dad is going to be all over this,”
she says, running her finger up and down in my direction.
She smiles and then shuts the door.
Chelsea’s dad has been begging for a date—and it doesn’t help that Monica gave him my number.
“Mom, are you sure it doesn’t bother you that...Dad is here? I never expected him even to come.
Let alone…”
“Yes, it shocks me too.
No, honey, it doesn’t bother me.
It’s what you wanted, and I’m just happy your father has been thinking of someone other than himself for once.”
“It’s strange, you know—having a man walk me down the aisle who I haven’t seen since I was three.
Are you sure you don’t want to walk me down the aisle? It’s always just been you and me, Mom.
Please don’t think that he will ever take your place.”
“Oh, honey, don’t think that.
This is what every daughter should have—her father giving her away on her wedding day.
It’s perfect—exactly how I always wanted it to be for you.”
“Because…you didn’t have a wedding?”
“No, because you deserve it, baby.
And besides, he could never take my place.”
I smile and kiss her cheek.
She looks at me and then at her reflection in the mirror.
She presses her lips and gives me a sweet smile.
“No one will ever take your place, Mom.”
“You look perfect.
Now, let’s go take those pictures,”
I say, leading her by the hand.
Monica wanted a rustic wedding, so six months ago, we found this beautiful historic round barn, which leases out for weddings—for a hefty price.
It’s late spring—the end of June- and trees burst with luscious green leaves.
Cherry trees explode with white blossoms, and the winding creek fully crest its boundaries.
It’s a gorgeous sunny afternoon, and all the bridesmaids are perfectly polished.
The photographer poses the girls around the cherry blossom trees and snaps several pictures.
Next, we move to a bench set along the creek’s edge, and he poses the bride on the court with the bridesmaids behind.
Monica then insists on several pictures of just her and me.
Her smile is genuine, and I couldn’t be happier for her.
I wonder how that smile would look when it’s time for her to pose with her father—a stranger.
There are a few sillier poses and sentimental ones.
Then comes the big moment—her father walking her down the aisle.
Will anyone even know who he is?
We rush back inside, careful not to let the groom spot his bride.
As I walk past the reception hall, I stop.
Servers work like busy little bees, setting white linen tables into stellar perfection.
I gasp at each table’s array of silver buffets and floral arrangements.
One would think this is an affair for royalty. My insides ache with happiness to think this is all for my daughter. I swallow the lump burning my throat and return to the bridesmaids’ area.
“Did you think he saw me?”
Monica squeals from giddiness.
I’m so happy for her to have this moment—this day in her life.
She deserves all of it.
“No, he didn’t see you, Monica,”
Chelsea says, arranging her veil and straightening out the long train of her dress.
“Mom, did you like the poses? How’d they look?”
She, indeed, is beside herself.
“I loved them, Monica.
I know I’m going to want each one.”
I smile and help Chelsea with her dress.
A knock on the door startles Monica.
“Oh God, oh God, oh God,”
she says, her hands fanning her face.
“Something’s wrong.
He didn’t show up.
Oh, God.
Mom, how could he do this to me?”
“Monica, calm down.
Jordan would never leave you at the altar.
He’s crazy for you.”
“Not him, Mom.”
Her eyes fill with panic, and I realize the dread of abandonment is behind that look.
Chelsea cracks open the door.
“It’s just the photographer.”
“Your father has requested pictures with you and your mother,”
she says.
My head swings around, thinking I didn’t hear correctly.
“What? Are you sure that’s what he has requested?”
I ask.
I thought Michael would surely be bringing a date, or whatever he calls them these days.
“Yes, ma’am.
Are you Jill?”
“Yes.”
“Then I need you and the bride to come with me.”
I squint my eyes in Monica’s direction as she shrugs her shoulders.
Why would he want me in his pictures? It’s been over twenty years since we’ve seen each other.
And now, I’m suddenly assessing my looks.
Why would I care? I’m sure that, with his lifestyle, he’s aged horribly: late-night parties, closing down the bars.
I shake my head and inwardly yell at myself. This is Monica’s day—not yours, Jill.
We follow the photographer onto the lawn, where she assures us that the groom and the groomsmen are all back inside.
As she leads us across the garden, I see a man standing with his back to us between the cherry trees.
Michael? When we are a few feet away, he turns around.
I was wrong.
He’s still just as handsome as the day he left us. He’s a little thinner than I would expect, and his hair has just the right amount of gray at the temples to give him that distinguished look. And he still has that perfectly square jaw, I remember.
“Jill,”
Michael says, reaching for my hand.
I hesitate, feeling awkward.
Is this a joke? Is there going to be some bimbo half his age calling out his name the minute I take his hand? Even though I’m ten years his junior at thirty-nine.
Yes, that’s what this is all about.
He wants to rub in my face how he’s still got it, dating women half his age.
“Wow.
You haven’t aged a bit.
You are just as beautiful, Jill.”
Me? Is he talking to me? “Ah…thank you, Michael.
That suit wears you well.”
That suit wears you well? What the hell? “I mean…you look nice, too.”
I take his hand with the expectancy of a firm handshake, sealing a business deal, and freeze when his lips gently press a kiss on the top of my hand.
Desperately, I try to look past his deep blue eyes, which are looking up at me through his lashes.
It’s a look I do not recognize—not from him.
It’s sincere.
And a bit of something else I can’t put my finger on. I slowly pull my hand back and begin fussing with Monica’s veil. “Doesn’t Monica make a beautiful bride?”
I say, bringing the attention to where it should be.
Monica’s smile is almost devious.
“Yes, she is a gorgeous bride,”
Michael says, his eyes slowly moving from me to his daughter.
“So, you want some pictures of…the three of us? Or…”
“Please,”
he says.
“Yes, I thought…”
He trails off, and we both know why.
He takes my hand and pulls the three of us together.
“Whatever you think is best.
I want lots of pictures,”
he says to the photographer.
Lots? Well, he is the one paying for them.
And that’s another topic.
For Monica’s sake, the photographer poses us in several positions, and I only hope I don’t look stiff or bogus.
After ten or so snaps of the three of us, Michael suggests some of only he and I.
Again, I look stunned, but I try not to overly show it, and I suggest they would be nice for Monica to have.
However, when Michael wraps me in his arms, I know the look on my face only shows confusion, so I purposely don’t look at the camera.
I hear the camera click several times, all while I look past Michael, over to the creek, and when I stare down the front of his chest, he kisses my forehead just as the shutter flashes.
“Perfect,”
the photographer says.
“It’s like you never knew I was here.
I think you’re going to love these pictures.”
What? I thought she was messing with her camera.
We never posed.
“Are you sure? I mean…I was waiting for directions from you.”
“Do you want me to take some more?”
“Oh no, it’s fine.
I shouldn’t be looking at the camera anyway,”
I laugh.
Lord knows what my expression must have looked like.
Michael still has his arms around my waist, and I look into his eyes and see that unrecognizable expression again.
What’s that look all about?
“I better go check on Monica.
She’s a nervous wreck—although everything is smoothly coming together,”
I say, breaking from his hold.
He smiles and tucks his hands in the pockets of his trousers.
“I’m glad.
I want everything perfect for our daughter…and you, Jill.”
I swallow and fight back the urge to ask him the big question—the thirty grand he has dropped on this wedding.
Monica only reached out on Facebook.
I’m sure Michael used it more as a dating site and asked if he would attend the wedding.
The next thing I knew, Michael told her the sky was the limit.
He also is paying for their honeymoon in Paris.
“Michael, thank you for making Monica’s dream come true.
And I don’t mean all the money you have spent.
I mean…yes, that is amazing too.
But, just being here for her on this day.
Well, it means the world to her.”
His blue eyes soften, and he blinks a few times.
Are those tears he’s fighting back? “It means the world to me, too, Jill.
You don’t know how much.”
I find it hard to break from his sincere gaze.
And so I nod, smile politely at him, and turn back inside.
I’m about to open the door, looking back at Michael.
He has his back to me and seems to be pondering over the beautiful countryside.
I watch him walk to the creek and bend down to gather water in his hand. He lifts his hand and watches as it spills back into the stream. He turns and spots me watching him and smiles. I quickly turn my head, rush inside, and smack right into Chelsea’s recently divorced father.
“Hey, Jill,”
he says, grabbing me lightly by the arm, “Looks like you got the wedding jitters.”
“Ah, just a little,”
I laugh, pulling my arm from his embrace.
“I need to go find Monica.”
I break from his hold and rush down the hall.
“Better save me a dance,”
I hear him holler.
I roll my eyes and return to the bridesmaids’ room.
Opening the door, I shut it and lie against the cool wood.
“Mom, are you okay?”
Monica walks over and looks at me with concern.
“Oh, yes, honey.
I’m fine.”
Her eyes scan my face, searching for whatever has come over me, but I don’t want anything to take away from her day.
“Hey, it’s just about time,”
I say, taking her in my arms.
“You’re going to be a married woman soon.”
Another knock on the door, and I hear Michael’s voice. “Monica,”
he says, and I slowly open the door.
His eyes shine as he looks at his daughter.
I’ve never seen that look, either.
He holds out his elbow, and she graciously takes it.
“I know we have a few minutes, but may I have a moment alone with you as just my daughter before you’re someone’s wife?”
Her chin begins to quiver, and I touch the small of her back.
This will be the last time I see her before she belongs to someone else.
“I love you, Monica.”
She turns and kisses me on the cheek, and I watch them leave the room as father and daughter—a precious sight I never thought I’d see.