Six hours after my father walked me down the aisle, I was sitting in a hospital waiting room wearing the white tracksuit I’d bought for my honeymoon.
My hair still looked perfect.
My makeup did not.
One of my lashes was hanging on by a thread.
Literally.
Thomas crouched in front of me in a gray T-shirt and sweats, holding both of my hands. A few hours earlier, he’d been wearing a tuxedo and calling me his wife for the first time. We were supposed to be on our way to the airport.
My carry-on was still in the trunk of our car.
My passport was tucked into the little white crossbody bag sitting beside my chair.
Every few minutes I looked at the clock on the wall and remembered that somewhere, according to the itinerary I’d spent four months obsessing over, we were supposed to be doing something completely different.
Instead, we were waiting to find out if my mother was going to be okay.
Daddy sat across from us, still in his suit. His tie was gone, his boutonniere crushed. He had cuts and bruises, but the doctors had already cleared him.
Auntie Michelle was a few chairs down in the emerald-green dress she’d had custom made for my wedding. Her heels were off. A bandage wrapped around her arm.
Everybody looked like the wedding had exploded.
Which, honestly, wasn’t far from the truth.
The wedding itself had been everything I wanted.
Mama cried before I even put on my dress.
Not cute little tears either.
Full crying.
“You’re going to ruin your makeup,” I told her.
“I’m the mother of the bride. I’m allowed.”
“You’ve been crying since breakfast.”
“Mind your business.”
Auntie Michelle arrived at the bridal suite with champagne and a gift bag.
“You’re late,” Mama said.
“I’m fabulous,” Michelle said. “There’s a difference.”
Then she looked at me and immediately started crying.
“Oh, look at my baby.”
Mama’s head snapped toward her.
“Your niece.”
Michelle rolled her eyes. “You know what I meant.”
That was them.
Mama and Auntie Michelle had been like that my entire life.
Michelle was the fun one. The singer. The traveler. The woman who disappeared for months and came back with stories and gifts.
She had postcards from places I couldn’t find on a map when I was little. She’d call me from airports at ridiculous hours because she forgot what time it was at home. She once brought me a purse from Italy when I was nine and Mama wouldn’t let me take it to school because, according to her, “A third grader does not need imported leather.”
When Mama said no, Michelle usually found a loophole.
When I was sixteen, Mama said I couldn’t go to a concert.
Michelle bought two tickets.
When Daddy said I couldn’t have a car until we figured out insurance, Michelle pulled up with a used Volkswagen Beetle.
Mama nearly killed her.
“What?” Michelle had said. “He said she couldn’t have a car until y’all figured out insurance. Figure it out.”
Daddy walked straight back into the house.
Auntie Michelle had always been my person.
That morning, she and Mama argued over my veil.
“I know how she wants it,” Michelle said.
“I am her mother.”
“And I’m the one who went to three fittings.”
“Because you invited yourself.”
“I was asked.”
“By Camille.”
“Exactly.”
I sat in the chair between them while my bridesmaids suddenly became extremely interested in their phones.
Daddy finally appeared at the bridal suite door.
“Come get your wife and her sister,” somebody told him.
Daddy backed away.
“Nope. I’ve survived thirty-four years by staying out of that.”
Later, he walked me down the aisle.
His hand shook when he tucked mine through his arm.
“You nervous?” I whispered.
“No.”
“Daddy.”
“I’m emotional. That’s different.”
When the officiant asked, “Who gives this woman to be married?”
Daddy said, “Her mother and I do.”
Somewhere behind me, Michelle made a little sound.
I thought she was crying.
At the reception, Michelle wanted to give another speech.
Mama refused.
“You already gave a speech at the rehearsal dinner.”
“That was not a speech. I was drunk.”
“You’re drunk now.”
“I am festive.”
“Sit down, Michelle.”
“I have three sentences.”
“You have never had three sentences in your life.”
Thomas leaned toward me.
“Should I intervene?”
“Absolutely not.”
They went back and forth until Mama finally lowered her voice.
“You gave up your place. You don’t get to come in here today and make this about you.”
Michelle went still.
For just a second, the whole energy between them changed.
Daddy stepped between them.
“Not today.”
Michelle picked up her champagne.
“Fine.”
I didn’t think much of it.
They had been arguing like sisters my entire life.
A few hours later, Thomas and I changed clothes and were getting ready to leave for the airport when Daddy called.
There had been an accident.
The drive to the hospital barely exists in my memory.
I remember Thomas driving.
I remember calling Mama’s phone even though Daddy had already told me she couldn’t answer.
I remember staring down at my wedding ring because it was the only thing in the car that looked like it belonged to the day I’d been having.
By the time we reached the hospital, Mama was already being prepared for surgery.
Daddy had cuts and bruises. Michelle needed stitches in her arm.
Mama was hurt the worst.
Nobody would tell me anything fast enough.
Every answer created another question.
Where was she?
Was she awake?
How bad was it?
Could I see her?
Why couldn’t I see her?
Thomas kept getting me water I didn’t drink.
Eventually, a doctor came into the waiting room.
He explained that Mama had lost blood and would need more.
I stood up immediately.
“Can I give her mine?”
The doctor looked at me. “We can test for compatibility.”
“No.”
Everybody turned toward Michelle.
Daddy’s face changed.
Not confusion.
Recognition.
“Chelle.”
I stared at her.
“Why don’t you want them to test me?”
She looked like she wished she could pull the word back out of the air.
Daddy said her name again, quieter this time.
“Chelle…”
Michelle looked directly at me.
“It won’t match.”