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Debbie used her finger to wipe at her black tears. “I’ve seen worse,” she smiled. “Remember how I looked when we got caught in that thunderstorm at the Glad Peach Festival out in Coloma,” she giggled.
“Oh no,” Donja grumbled. Her makeup had rivaled Gene Simmons. She wiped at her cheeks then turned to fall in with the flow of bodies. She saw Carson’s daughter, Makayla, and her uppity friend, Heather, deep in conversation. Makayla, dressed in a beautiful blue mini with spiked heels, raised a hand to brush back her golden locks and they shared a look, though cursory at best.
Mikayla averted her gaze.
“Your new stepsister’s ultra-strange,” Debbie whispered, “she looks at us like we have two heads.”
Donja spiked her brows. “She’s Ivy League in case you didn’t notice.”
“I think there’s more to it than that. There’s something about her.”
“Maybe it’s a fear of losing her father.”
“That’s about stupid.”
“No, not really. You have your mom and dad, but how would you feel if some woman was taking your mom’s place.”
“I don’t know, I never thought of such.”
“Well it’s not easy, I mean, I actually feel a little insecure about this whole thing myself.”
“But you like him—don’t you?”
“It’s not about liking or disliking, it’s about him worming his way into our lives and Mom…” her words trailed.
“What?”
“Forgetting my dad.” Donja mumbled.
Debbie quirked her face to a scowl.
“Don’t look at me like that, it’s dumb I know, but Mikayla lost her mom just four years ago. Perhaps she feels the same way.”
“Well I guess you both better get over it, they’re married now.”
Donja dropped her head. “Yeah.”
“And anyway, your new sister,” she emphasized the word, “is lucky. She doesn’t have to move.”
“Don’t remind me,” Donja frowned.
Debbie gripped her arm. “I’m gonna miss you so bad.”
“Don’t start,” Donja’s lip trembled. “I won’t have any liner left and anyway, you and Gina are tight not to mention Faith, who talks like your besties. You won’t be alone.”
Beside the antiquated black carriage with six white horses, Makayla, Donja and Frankie joined the bride and groom for a photo shoot. Donja noticed Makayla took her father’s side while she took her mom’s, but Frankie took the middle between her mom and Carson and wouldn’t budge. Donja studied his bruised nose, contrasted by his brown, Chippewa skin as wind whipped his ebony locks. He had a smile from ear to ear. Something warm washed over her. He was happy…at least one of them was. She glanced to Makayla and strangely found her sneaking a little glance of her own. Makayla dropped her eyes.
What’s your problem?
“One last time,” the photographer beamed. “Ready?”
They froze, and though it was but a moment in time, their candy-coated smiles would adorn the wedding album of Carson and Lisa Hampton, forever.
“Excellent!” the photographer chimed as the music from inside the barn echoed the grounds.
Donja smoothed her lacey black dress and found Debbie. Together, they moseyed silently through the heavy crowd. Inside the renovated 1800’s barn, where round tables covered in white satin cloth with bouquets of yellow lilies circled a dance floor, they made a beeline and sat down at the bridal table.
Mirella, the wedding planner, microphone in hand, took to the dance floor. “And now Lisa and Carson will have the first dance,” she announced. The room occupied by a hundred or more, fell silent and the music swelled.
