I knew it was really just another opportunity to worship at the altar of Madison.
I arrived at seven, parking on the street instead of the driveway, leaving myself an easy exit if I needed one.
The house looked exactly the same as it had when I left for college. Same beige siding. Same brown shutters. Same neglected flower beds Mom gave up on years ago.
I walked up to the front door and rang the bell.
Even though I’d grown up here, it didn’t feel right to just walk in.
This wasn’t my home anymore.
Mom answered, looking harried.
“Oh. You made it.”
Not hello. Not a hug. Just a statement of fact.
“I said I would,” I replied evenly.
The house was chaos.
Wedding decorations were everywhere. White tulle draped over doorways. Boxes of party favors stacked in corners. Madison’s wedding dress hung on a mannequin in the living room, the train spilling across the floor.
Everything revolved around tomorrow.
Madison was in the kitchen surrounded by bridesmaids, all of them laughing about something. She saw me and waved but didn’t get up.
“Hey, Rosie. You’re here. Great. We’re just finishing up some last-minute details. Make yourself comfortable.”
Translation: we’re busy with important things. Entertain yourself.
Dad was in the dining room with Brandon, going over the seating chart one more time. He glanced up when I entered.
“Rosalind. Good. You’re here. We’re just about to eat.”
No hug. No smile. Just acknowledgment of my presence.
The table was set for eight people.
Mom and Dad at the heads.
Madison and Brandon on one side, along with Brandon’s parents, George and Linda.
Me on the other side—alone—with two empty chairs beside me like bookends of isolation.
George and Linda were polite when we were introduced. They shook my hand warmly, asked how I was doing.
“Madison has told us so much about you,” Linda said.
I wondered what, exactly, Madison had told them.
Probably not the truth.
Dinner was Mom’s pot roast with roasted vegetables and mashed potatoes. It was actually good, but no one complimented her on it.
The conversation flowed around me like I was a rock in a stream.
“We’ve spared no expense for Madison’s special day,” Dad announced proudly, cutting into his meat. “Nothing’s too good for our successful daughter.”
Successful.
Madison was a receptionist at a dental office. She made maybe $35,000 a year, but she was successful in the ways that mattered to them: she was getting married, she was photogenic, she performed happiness for an audience.
“The flowers alone cost $6,000,” Mom added. “But they’re going to be stunning. Madison has such exquisite taste.”
“Must be nice to have free time to plan such an elaborate wedding,” George said, I think, “what with Madison’s demanding career and all.”
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