Olivia walked down the aisle in a dress that caught the light in a way that made the photographer take about forty more photos than planned. She looked happy in a specific way — not performed happiness, just someone who had made a decision and was at peace with it.
During the ceremony I thought about a lot of things that had nothing to do with the ceremony, which is what happens when you’ve had an eventful several months and your brain hasn’t finished processing them yet. I thought about the Sunday dinner and the coasters and the twenty-five thousand dollars. I thought about Ms. Delgado and the grants and the bus that left at 4:22. I thought about Sophie, who was not at the wedding but had texted me that morning to say she hoped it was good and that she’d hear about it Monday.
I thought about my savings account, which still had twenty-eight thousand dollars in it, because I hadn’t given any of it away.
At the reception my parents hugged me, which they do at every family event. My mother said I looked beautiful, which she says at every family event. Then she said, quietly, “I’m glad you said what you said. Even though it was hard.”
I said, “I know.”
She said, “I mean it.”
I said, “I know that too.”
That was the whole conversation. It wasn’t everything. It was more than nothing, which was where we’d been before.
At some point in the evening, Ethan found me near the bar and we stood together watching Olivia do something excellent with their first dance that involved a spin she’d clearly practiced. He said, “She’s been practicing that spin for three weeks.”