His father, Marcus, had died twelve years ago from a sudden heart attack at age forty-six. Karin could still see his face sometimes in Dominic’s expressions, still hear his laugh in Dominic’s voice. Marcus would have worn a ridiculous tie covered in tiny footballs and told embarrassing stories from Dominic’s childhood, then danced with Karin during a father-mother dance that would never happen now.
Karin pressed her fingers against the cool champagne glass. A bead of condensation ran down the side and dripped onto her hand.
“Mom.”
She turned around quickly.
Dominic stood three feet away. His jaw was set in that particular way, tight and determined, the muscles working under his skin. Karin knew that look intimately. She’d seen it when he was seven years old and absolutely determined to ride his bike without training wheels. When he was sixteen and announcing he was going to college across the country. When he was twenty-two and telling her he was moving in with Bridget.
It was the look that said he’d decided something final and nothing would change his mind.
“The ceremony was so beautiful, honey,” Karin said, forcing brightness into her voice. “Bridget looked absolutely stunning in that dress and the flowers were just—”
“You need to leave.”
The words hit her like ice water. Like a physical slap. Like suddenly falling down a flight of stairs with no warning.
Around them, wedding guests continued laughing and dancing and clinking glasses together. Someone’s uncle was attempting an enthusiastic but poorly coordinated version of the electric slide near the DJ booth. The music thumped loudly through the floor, some current pop song Karin didn’t recognize.
“What?” She couldn’t have heard him correctly. The music was too loud. The room was too crowded. Her ears must be playing tricks on her.
“You need to leave,” he repeated, still not looking directly at her face.
His eyes were fixed somewhere over her left shoulder, like he was talking to someone standing behind her instead of speaking to his own mother.
“Bridget doesn’t want you here. You’re making her uncomfortable.”
The champagne glass felt slippery in Karin’s hand. She gripped it tighter, terrified she’d drop it and the glass would shatter on the polished floor. Everyone would turn and stare and know immediately that something was terribly wrong, that the groom’s mother was causing a scene at her own son’s wedding.
“Dominic, I haven’t even spoken to her since the ceremony ended. I’ve just been standing here quietly, staying out of the way—”
“Just go, Mom.”
Now he looked at her. His eyes were hard, flat, emotionless. Like she was a complete stranger.
“Please don’t make this difficult.”
Difficult. She was making things difficult by simply existing at her son’s wedding.
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