My face. My body. Photographs from 2014 held up next to a mirror at about eleven at night.
Whether I had let something go without noticing. Whether there had been a year somewhere in the middle of those thirteen in which I stopped being somebody worth looking at, and simply had not been told.
Then, about fourteen months after it was all finished, the wedding was announced.
Four weeks after that, the invitation arrived.
My first instinct was not to go. That lasted about four days, and I told two people about it, and both of them agreed with me.
But my daughters were going to be in that room. In dresses, with their hair done, at ten and three.
And I was not having them in it without me. That is the only completely clean decision in this entire account.
So I decided I would go.
And then I spent about four weeks deciding what going was going to look like, which should have told me something at the time and did not.
