We hug again…
“I love you, too, Vi.”
…and the lovebirds run out onto the dance floor.
I am so caught up in Violet and Chris that I don’t notice someone walk up behind me until I feel a hand on my shoulder.
My mother.
She's been crying—I can see it in the careful way she's holding her face, trying not to smudge her makeup. The same trick I use when I'm filming after a hard day.
"That was a beautiful speech," she says.
"Thanks, Mom."
She hesitates. Catherine Gable doesn't hesitate—she commands, she critiques, she controls. But right now she's hesitating, and I don't know what to do with that.
"Julian seems... solid," she says finally.
From my mother, that's practically a marriage blessing.
"He is," I say.
She nods. Looks out at the dance floor, where Violet and Chris are swaying together, lost in their own world.
"Your father was charming," she says quietly. "Exciting." A pause. "But he wasn't solid. I think..." She takes a breath. "I think I've been so afraid you'd pick charm over substance that I didn't notice when you found both."
My eyes sting. "Mom—"
"I'm not good at this," she interrupts, and there's something raw in her voice I've never heard before. "Saying the right thing. Being supportive without being controlling. Your sister makes it easy—she chose the path I understand. But you..." She shakes her head. "You've always terrified me, Poppy. Because you're brave in ways I never was."
I don't know what to say. Twenty-eight years of waiting for my mother to see me, and now that she's finally looking, I can't find the words.
So I do something I haven't done since I was twelve years old.
I hug my mother.
She stiffens. Then, slowly, her arms come up around me.
"I love you, Mom," I whisper.
"I love you, too." Her voice is thick. "Even when I don't know how to show it. I am proud of both my girls. I know I don’t always show it, but I’ll try harder to be more supportive."
We stand there for a moment—not fixed, not healed, but something. Something that feels like a beginning instead of an ending.
Then she pulls back, dabs at her eyes with her signature handkerchief, and says, "Now go dance with that man before I embarrass myself further."
There she is. My mother. Critical and controlled and doing her best.
I smile. "Yes, ma'am."
Days like this one come with their own balance sheet—gains and losses, good and bad. Julian crossed a line he never thought he would, but it seems to have lifted a weight off his shoulders. Even with all that, the night isn’t over.
The DJ earns every penny of her fee.
By 9 PM, the dance floor is packed. What began as a carefully selected playlist has given way to one crowd-pleaser after another, and even my mother is doing some sort of dignified sway near the edge of the crowd.
I dance with Violet. Dance with Chris. Do a mortifying group dance with the bridesmaids to a song that was popular when we were fourteen. My feet hurt, my hair is escaping its updo, and I haven’t stopped smiling in hours.
