“You can’t walk down the aisle in that. Go find a seat in the back.” Pearl’s voice has gone flat and clipped. “I’ll deal with you after.”
It’s a different tone than I’ve heard from her before. I’ve watched Pearl cry, deflect, go quiet and wounded. I’ve seen her perform her hurt like it was a second language. But this—dismissive, rude, snarky—is something else.
This isn’t Pearl losing her patience. This is Pearl dropping the act.
This is the Pearl Rose has always known.
Pearl turns to Jo, who has already opened her mouth to object. “That red is going to pull every eye in the room. It’s your wedding, Jo. Do you really want everyone staring at her?”
Rose takes the bait. She chews the inside of her cheek, eyes going bright, like she’s trying to hold her emotions in check. “Jo, she’s right. I’m so sorry, I wasn’t thinking. Don’t worry about me—I’ll grab a seat. It’s okay. This is your day.”
“Honey, you are not taking a single thing from me. I don’t care that your dress is red.”
But Rose is already shrinking with discomfort, and Jo can see it. Pearl is right, too. Every eye in that room will be on Rose. Just not for the reason Pearl is implying.
“Okay, honey. What terrible luck about that bridesmaid dress. But I understand—you don’t want to be a distraction up there. But I absolutely insist you’re in the pictures. You could show up with blue hair, and I’d still want you beside me. Okay?”
Rose sniffs and they hug. Over Jo’s shoulder, she catches my eye and gives me a small, reassuring smile. She knows I’m seething. Then she slips out of the room.
I’m too pissed to say anything, and it’s not the time or the place.
Pearl arranges everyone—bridesmaids on one side, groomsmen on the other, Jo and Roger at the back, to walk in last. The music begins. Pearl steps in beside me, and something nags at me. I glance back down the line, then count forward.
“Pearl,” I say through gritted teeth. “Shouldn’t there be an extra groom?”
She frowns, looking up at me. And then understanding dawns. She doesn’t look ashamed. She looks like she’s been caught.
“If Rose was always meant to be a bridesmaid,” I continue, “then someone was supposed to walk her down the aisle. So, where is her groom?”
The doors open. The music rises. She takes my arm at the elbow, fingers curling in. If it weren’t for Jo and Roger, I’d already be done with her.
Pearl’s fingers cling to my arm until we reach the altar, where I have to remove them to part ways. When Jo and Roger arrive and the ceremony begins, I do my best to stay present.
I find Rose in the back. She got there too late for a front seat, and I already know she wouldn’t have asked anyone to move. That’s just not who she is.
In the back, alone, at her father’s wedding, while her sister stands proudly at the front.
It’s so fucked up.
The ceremony is quick, which I’m grateful for. They aren’t religious, wrote their own vows, kept it short and sweet. By the end, some of my anger has burned off, but I can see the hurt on Rose’s face she’s trying desperately to hide. When the party files out after Jo and Roger, I reach the end of the aisle, let Pearl’s hand fall, and reach across the row of chairs toward Rose.
She gives me a bright, small, awkward smile, excuses herself past the couple beside her, and takes my hand. We walk out together, and I pull her in close.
I want her to know I see her. That she’s loved.
Fuck.
But it’s true.
It’s not just these few days. It’s been culminating. From an out-of-control crush over the years to this.
I’m crazy about her.
Rose relaxes against my side, and at Jo’s insistence, she ends up in the wedding photos after all. Roger, Rose, and Jo alone first, then the full group. Rose’s smile is real, whereas Pearl looks like she’s swallowed a stone, shooting me glances which I ignore.
When it’s over, I find Rose’s hand and don’t let go. We move away from the atrium and down the hall without a word, past clusters of guests, and I keep her close at my side, my jaw tight, my thumb moving slowly against her knuckles.
“Are you okay?” I ask, not looking at her.
