Chapter 11 Blythe
BLYTHE
Maggi wiggles out of my grasp when she hears her grandfather and hops all the way down the path.
“She’s spotted us, pet, I hope you’ve got your diaper on.”
“Papa!” Maggi giggles when he catches her and swings her around.
These are the moments that bring me equal amounts of joy and sadness. Joy that my daughter has this relationship with her grandparents, despite the distance. Sadness that she’s not getting this relationship with her father.
A comforting weight slips onto my shoulder, followed by a gentle squeeze. “Are you okay?” Sam asks quietly, his breath ghosting across my ear.
I clear my throat and smile up at him, trying not to notice how close his lips are. “Yeah. It’s…well, bittersweet, that’s all,” I confess, looking away quickly.
He gives me one more squeeze before his hand drops, and I almost want to ask him to do it again.
“Sam!” Martha exclaims when they get closer.
“Glad to see you looking less green.” Her eyes slide to me, widening in a way I wish I could ignore.
Conveying that she assumes there is something going on here.
Which, of course, there isn’t. Sam being here is Maggi’s doing.
It’s not my fault she’s nearly impossible to say no to.
“Someone”—he points at Maggi—“asked if I wanted to look for the good folk, and I couldn’t resist. But…
” He steps away from me, nodding back down the path.
“I should go have a shower so I’m ready for the rehearsal.
” He begins walking away before turning back.
“I’ll see you there.” He gestures at the group, but his eyes are locked solely on me.
It’s not until he disappears through the trees that I realize I hadn’t said bye.
“Do I get flowers now?” Maggi asks as we walk to the courtyard for the wedding rehearsal.
“I don’t think so. But Aunt Sarah said you’ll have a whole basket of white petals tomorrow.”
“Okay.” She pouts. “Can I take Nessie?” She holds up her stuffie, hope blooming across her little face.
“I’m sure that will be okay for tonight. But you can’t bring her tomorrow. Nessie needs a break from all the travel. She’s going to need all the rest she can get before your adventure with Nana and Papa.”
Maggi nods excitedly. “We’re going to find her daddy,” Maggi whispers, leaning in conspiratorially.
This is new. Usually when she talks about looking for the Loch Ness Monster it’s about finding Nessie and maybe a baby. She’s never mentioned wanting to search for her dad.
“Oh?” I tip back a little on my heels while remaining at her level. “What if you don’t find him?”
She shrugs and plays with the stuffie’s fins. “Maybe he’s with my Daddy.” She sighs the sigh of someone ten times her age, and I take her face in my hands, tipping her chin so she looks at me.
“Daddy would be very excited to be hanging out with Nessie’s daddy.”
She smiles back. “They could swim all over.”
“Absolutely,” I encourage. “Daddy loved to swim. He may have been part Loch Ness Monster.”
Maggi’s mouth drops open in surprise. “Really?”
I nod. “Really.”
“Is Papa too?” she whispers, looking over my shoulder in wonder.
I look behind me to where Thomas is in the middle of telling a story and I catch the end of what he’s saying. “He’s not really a full shillin’.”
I shake my head and focus back on Maggi. “He’s part somethin’.” I chuckle. “Now, are you ready to do this?”
She stands straighter, tips her chin up, and gives me a quick nod.
“Alright, let’s get you into position.” I take her hand, and we walk to the entry to the courtyard.
We’re met by the planner, who hands her the little basket that will be full of rose petals tomorrow before she squats to ask Maggi if she’s ready
“Yep!” Maggi chirps, smiling up at me before looking back at the planner.
“Now, Maggi, do you think you can walk slowly down the aisle?”
This should be good, I smirk. Asking a kid to walk slowly without offering any other instruction is going to lead to the slowest, sneakiest processional in the history of weddings.
I really should ask her to demonstrate; after all, it’s not like this is the actual wedding.
She could show Maggi exactly what to do, and it wouldn’t mess anything up.
But I keep my mouth shut, wanting to see how my daughter interprets the instruction.
Maggi doesn’t disappoint as she takes one cautious step after the next, pretending to spread petals as she goes.
She’s taking the tossing very seriously, at one point even flopping her hand around as if there’s a petal stuck to her finger.
It dawns on me that we watch a lot of Whose Line is it Anyway, and that may be playing a role here.
The first bridesmaid stifles a laugh, and I look at the end of the aisle to see Colin and his groomsmen all trying to keep it together.
Sam’s eyes are glued to Maggi, lips rolled, hands in the pockets of his charcoal pants, which fit as well as the navy ones. His eyes flick up to me, and he stops fighting the smile.
He’s not smiling at you. I tell myself. He’s finding humour in what’s happening in front of him. A fact that seems to be cemented as his eyes return to Maggi, who has only made it about halfway down.
The wedding planner scurries up next to her, and within a couple steps, Maggi is walking faster, although without an ounce of joy in her step.
When she gets to Colin, he takes her hand and leads her to a chair, presumably the one I’ll be sitting in, and she sits without argument, legs swinging as she peers back at me over her shoulder.
I blow her a kiss, and she pretends to catch it, tapping her chest before blowing one back at me.
I return the catch and tap without realizing anyone could be watching us.
But of course when I look up, Sam is grinning at me.
He pulls his right hand out of his pocket, and my heart stops as he raises it.
There’s no way he’s going to—he runs it through his hair and turns to listen to whatever Colin is saying, laughing along with the other guys as the first bridesmaid begins her walk.
Twenty minutes later, a jovial wedding party makes their way to the rehearsal dinner with Maggi and I trailing behind.
“Mommy?”
“Yeah, Roo?” I ask, looking down to see a very tired Maggi slowly blinking up at me.
“I’m sleepy.”
I crouch down next to her. “Do you think you could last through dinner, and then we can call it an early night?”
She looks from me to where everyone has gone into the estate and sighs. “I guess.”
“We won’t stay late, I promise. It’s a buffet so we can be lickity-split.”
She nods warily as we head inside.
The large dining room is noisy with lots of laughter and chatter, and before I can double-check that she’s definitely okay with everything, she’s pulling out of my grasp and running to Martha.
“You were such a good flower girl, Mags,” my mother-in-law coos as she takes her granddaughter's hand and leads her to one of the tables.
I use the opportunity to pop to the washroom, where I end up staring at my reflection longer than I should.
I’ve got my hair in a low bun, but a few tendrils have come out along my face.
It wasn’t intentional, but it works. My simple wrap dress is a dark teal that makes my hair pop and is dressy enough for the evening.
It has taken me years to look at myself and be happy with who I see in the mirror, and right now I stand here feeling beautiful and happier than I anticipated.
There is something about the air here, I think, as I dry my hands and head back to the party.