Something he could use.
He didn’t find it.
He didn’t move.
Melissa reached the stage and grabbed the microphone from the bandleader so quickly he barely had time to blink. His hands lifted in an instinctive protest, then fell. Confusion gave way to that weary expression service workers get when they realize they’re caught in someone else’s drama.
Melissa turned, holding the microphone like a trophy, and grinned as if the whole room belonged to her.
The quiet rolled through the ballroom in a slow wave. Two hundred guests turned in their chairs. Forks paused halfway to mouths. A woman near the dance floor lowered her glass, red wine trembling near the rim. Phones rose almost automatically, the soft glow of screens catching on faces.
A wedding reception is supposed to be about love.
But people love a spectacle more.
I spotted my mother halfway out of her seat, the way she always did when she sensed trouble, as if standing might give her some control over it. Anxiety was written across her face like someone had drawn it there in ink.
Melissa plus microphone plus alcohol never ended well.
My mother just didn’t know what kind of ending was coming.
From the side of the room, Kelsey, the wedding coordinator, stood frozen with her clipboard and earpiece. She looked at me like she was watching a fire start. Her mouth opened as if to say something.
I gave her a small shake of my head.
Let it happen.
Kelsey’s eyes widened a fraction, then she swallowed and said nothing. Even she, in her neatly organized world of timelines and seating charts, understood the unspoken truth.
No one ever stopped Melissa.
“Excuse me, everyone!” Melissa’s voice rang out. It was slightly slurred, but clear, the kind of clarity that comes from adrenaline. “I have an announcement.”
A nervous laugh fluttered somewhere near the back. It died quickly.
Melissa lifted her chin, soaking in the attention like sunlight. She gestured toward us dramatically, like she was introducing a couple on a game show.
“My beautiful sister Emma just married James!”
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