“Why?”
“Because later they’ll say I misunderstood.”
Her face tightened.
She saved it.
My wedding coordinator, Odette Lewis, entered carrying a clipboard and a cup of tea. Odette was in her forties, always dressed in black, and so calm that even florists lowered their voices around her.
She looked from Celeste to me.
“What happened?”
“My parents are at the airport.”
Odette’s eyes moved toward the empty chair where my mother was supposed to sit during hair and makeup.
“Both of them?”
“Yes.”
“And your father?”
“He won’t be walking me down the aisle.”
Odette set the clipboard on the table.
She did not say she was sorry. She did not tell me everything happened for a reason. She did not offer the kind of pity that makes pain feel public.
She asked, “What would make the entrance feel right to you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you want to walk alone?”
“I could.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
The room grew quiet.
Celeste sat beside me.
I looked through the window toward the garden. Staff members were placing white chairs in curved rows. Beyond them, someone in a navy suit stood near the greenhouse speaking with two groundskeepers.
Julian.
Odette followed my gaze.
“He has mentioned several times how impressed he is with you.”
“With me?”
“With the way you planned this wedding. The way you speak to people. The way you handled every change without making anyone feel small.”
I gave a tired laugh.
“That sounds like an employee evaluation.”
“It was more personal than that.”
“What are you suggesting?”
Odette folded her hands.
“I could ask whether he would walk with you.”
The idea was so unexpected that I almost smiled.
“I’ve known him for three weeks.”
“You’ve known some people your whole life, and they still didn’t show up.”
No one answered.
I looked at Celeste.
She raised one shoulder.
“It’s unusual,” she said. “But so is everything worth remembering.”
“I can’t ask a stranger to do that.”
“Then let Odette ask.”
I stood and walked to the window.
Julian had moved toward a bed of white roses. He bent to adjust one bloom that leaned into the path, then stepped back to examine the entire row.
He looked steady.
That was the word that came to me.
Not fatherly.
Not symbolic.
Steady.
“Ask him,” I said.
An hour later, I sat across from Julian in the estate greenhouse.
Sunlight fell through the glass roof, warming the stone floor and the long wooden tables covered with trays of herbs. My hair was finished, but I had not yet put on the dress. I wore a white robe and slippers, which made the conversation feel even more unreal.
Julian had changed out of his work jacket and wore a pale blue shirt with the sleeves buttoned at his wrists.
Odette explained the situation simply.
He listened without interrupting.
When she finished, he looked at me.
“Do you want someone beside you?” he asked.
The question surprised me because it did not assume what I needed.
“Yes.”
“Then I would be honored.”
“You don’t have to say yes because you feel sorry for me.”
“I don’t.”
His answer was immediate.
“I feel sorry that they made the choice they made. That is different.”
I looked down at my hands.
“This is not how I imagined it.”
“Most meaningful days are not exactly as imagined.”
“You’d be walking into a room full of people who don’t know you.”
“I have done that before.”