“Oh,” the surgeon had said politely. “That must be stable work.”
“Very stable,” I’d agreed, not mentioning that Anderson Global’s stability came from having exclusive contracts with every major food retailer in North America.
The conversation had moved on to their vacation plans.
Someone’s family had a house in the Hamptons. Another was planning a month in Europe.
When they’d asked about my travel plans, I’d simply said I didn’t have any scheduled rather than explain that I’d be in Singapore next week finalizing a $1.8 billion merger, followed by board meetings in London and a factory opening in Bavaria.
The wedding ceremony itself was beautiful.
Patricia looked radiant in her grandmother’s lace dress, and Marcus seemed genuinely happy.
I stood at the altar holding the bridal bouquet, trying to focus on their joy instead of the whispered comments from various relatives about my appearance.
“Poor Emma,” I’d heard Aunt Susan tell someone behind me. “That color is so unflattering on her. Patricia should have chosen something more appropriate for her complexion.”
“The dress isn’t the problem,” someone else had whispered back. “It’s the stress. Financial pressure ages you.”
I’d maintained my smile throughout the ceremony, even when the photographer had positioned me slightly behind the other bridesmaids for the formal photos.
“For composition,” he’d explained, though everyone understood it was to minimize the visual impact of the family member who didn’t quite fit.
The reception was held in the Fairmont’s Grand Ballroom, a beautiful space that I’d actually considered purchasing two years ago before deciding the location wasn’t right for my real estate portfolio.
The dinner was excellent, though I barely tasted it as I endured toast after toast that somehow managed to celebrate everyone’s achievements except mine.
“To Patricia’s family,” Marcus had said, raising his champagne glass. “Judge Whitfield, who’s dedicated her life to justice. To Jason, who just sold his company for more money than most of us will see in a lifetime. To Mr. Whitfield, who built his construction empire from nothing.”
He turned to our side of the room.
“To my family. Uncle Richard, who just made partner at his accounting firm after 20 years of dedication. To cousin Derek, who opened his second dental practice this year. To Dr. Patricia’s maid of honor, Sarah, who’s saving lives as a pediatric surgeon.”
His eyes had found mine during the pause.
“And to family members who support us in their own special ways. My sister Emma, who flew all the way from Seattle to be here despite the expense. She works in food service, which is honest, necessary work, and we love her for her dedication to simpler values.”
The applause had been polite but pointed.