Catherine was eighty-one.
Still wore Daniel's wedding ring.
I was sixty-six.
I wore blue because Zane always said blue made my eyes brighter.
I almost chose another color out of spite.
Then realized dead men do not own colors.
Blue it was.
The morning of the wedding, Emily invited me into the bridal room.
Her dress hung by the window.
She looked nervous.
Not about marriage.
About family choreography.
“I have a problem.”
I laughed.
“Only one?”
She glared.
Then:
“Who walks me down the aisle?”
I knew the question was coming.
Zane would have.
In another version of our life, he would have stood beside me crying too much.
Emily had considered walking alone.
Nathan suggested she do whatever made the least interesting story for guests.
Wise man.
I said:
“You don't need to replace Dad.”
“I know.”
“You also don't need to turn the aisle into a referendum on our family.”
