“ARE YOU SURE you don’t need a date?” Ryan asks for the ten-millionth time. I’m trying to talk hands-free as I pin my hair up with the phone wedged between my shoulder and ear. It isn’t working out so well.
“Yes, I’m sure,” I fumble, “and besides, Emily sent the head count in weeks ago. There isn’t a seat for you at the table.”
“I am not above wedding crashing. I can stand at the bar all night.”
“Ryan . . .” I laugh.
“Fine. Send me a pic of you in your dress, at least.”
“I will.” I smile. “But I gotta go, the limo will be here any minute. I’ll call you later.”
“Okay, love you, babe.”
“Love you, too.” I hang up, then stare down at the phone. There isn’t anything I want more than for Ryan to come to Emily’s wedding with me. For him to be on my arm and proudly announce he’s my plus one. My permanent plus one. It doesn’t really matter about the head count, there would’ve been no problem adding him. Especially if he was my date. But what would I tell my father? Dad, this is Ryan my secret boyfriend who strips for a living? Who, by the way, you also convicted five years ago on a drug charge. Why don’t you just lock me in a tower and throw away the key?
Judge Remington would interrogate Ryan the moment he laid eyes on him. It would go something like this . . . where are you from, what’s your family background, where did you go to school, what’s your occupation?
And when Ryan answers every single question wrong, my father will freeze him out. Then forbid me to see him, and when I refuse he’ll rip the carpet out from underneath me, forsaking me as his daughter.
Ryan will meet my father on my terms, when I know he can’t take him—and everything I want—away. It may take years, but I’m more than willing to sacrifice. I just hope Ryan is, too.
There’s a beep in front of my house. It’s time. I run down the curved staircase, my mint-colored bridesmaid dress rippling at my knees.
I hop into the white Navigator limo to find Emily decked out in the most beautiful wedding dress I have ever seen. It’s an over-the-top, ivory Lazaro bridal ballgown. The corset is covered with a sheer overlay that elongates her bodice. The skirt is organza, asymmetrically layered, and flowing like a waterfall all the way down to her feet.
She’s absolutely glowing, and so is my Uncle John, dressed in a black tux with a mint green vest that matches the bridal party colors. He’s openly proud, and full of love for his daughter.
I sit across from them, pelted with pangs of envy.
What I wouldn’t give for my father to look at me that way.
To even see me at all.
My uncle sees me though. He loves me like a daughter, even if I’m not his own.
I’m grateful for that. For him. For Emily.
They’re my only true family.
I stand by the bar sipping champagne. Emily and Alex’s wedding went off without a hitch, and now I’m just taking it all in. I can’t believe my cousin is married. I can’t believe she actually went through with it.
I feel his presence before I see him. It’s like a gust of cold wind. My father. The Honorable Merrick J. Remington, is standing next to me.
“Alana,” he regards me like I’m an acquaintance.
“Daddy.”
“You look very nice,” he comments impassively.
“Thank you.”
Silence.
I catch a woman patting the corners of her eyes; she’s been crying. I think she’s one of Alex’s aunts, I remember her from Emily’s bridal shower. She’s a very nice, older woman who dresses impeccably and treats her two Pomeranians like the children she never had. Watching her reminds me of the last time I cried. It was shortly after my mother died. I was ten, it was Christmas morning, and there were all sorts of presents under the lavishly decorated tree. But I couldn’t bear to open one. Not without her. My father came downstairs and just looked at me from across the room. He didn’t say a word. Just stared as I cried my eyes out. He forced me to open my gifts as the wallops of tears shredded my face. When I was finished, surrounded by piles of soaking wet wrapping paper, he stood up in his smoking robe and slippers, looked down at me and said, “Remember this feeling, Alana. It’s weakness. And Remington’s aren’t weak.” Then he disappeared for the rest of the day. I was only ten and my own father was calling me weak because I was mourning my mother’s death. Someone I loved. And because I was showing emotion. I knew from that moment on if I wanted to survive in this house without her, I was going to have to make a drastic change. So, I cried every single tear I could that day, and then never cried again. I shut down, becoming the robot my father wanted. The robot he expected. Living without my mother is like living in a world without color. I saw black and white for so long that I didn’t recognize pigment even when it was splashed right in front of me. The first time I saw a rainbow since my mother’s death was when I met Ryan. He re-introduced what was missing in my life.
I keep turning over what Ryan said, how he wants to be the father he never had. Someone loving, and caring, and actually there.
Sometimes, I wonder if I’m strong enough to be the mother mine once was. Someone tough, yet tender, and affectionate.
Someone who doesn’t need to be the lifeline between father and child. Because that’s what she was. She linked us, and now that she’s gone, the only thing that strings us together is obligation.
On so many levels I hate this man.
On so many levels I love him.