With a breath for courage, I walk toward them with a pit in my stomach. Jessica appears in front of me, hands on her hips.
“Bold of you to show up today,” she sneers.
“Not now, Jessica.” I step around her. “I’m not here for you.”
Shescoffs behind me, but thankfully leaves me alone as I make my way to the twins.
“Hello,” I say nervously, fidgeting with the garment bag still draped over my shoulder.
Lydia drags her gaze from the bottle of champagne she’s holding to look up at me. A tight smile stretches across her lips when she sees me. Kate is still looking at me in disbelief, so I try to break the tension first.
“Happy wedding day,” I offer.
Her nostrils flare slightly as she draws in a breath. “You still came,” she says by way of greeting.
“Did you not want me to?”
“I—” she begins. Someone pops another champagne bottle behind us, causing her to jump. “Hang on.”
I watch as she turns to the mimosa bar and grabs the bottle from Lydia’s hands. She pours two glasses of champagne and drops in a teaspoon of orange juice. Then she turns to face me again, a glass in each hand and nods her head behind her to the covered balcony outside her room.
“Come with me. I think we should talk,” she says.
“Okay,” I mutter, first finding a place to hang my dress and deposit my shoes before following her out. We take our seats in the little wicker chairs adorning her own room’s small balcony. We’re both silent for a moment, staring straight ahead at the water and the sun shining down waiting for the other to speak.
Nerves are sparking through my body as I try to find my words or wait for hers. I’m scared she’ll tell me to leave. That she never wants to see me again. That I’ve ruined everything I worked so hard to make perfect for her.
I take a hefty sip of my champagne. When I lower the glass, I find Kate’s glass already half empty. She sets it on the low coffee table between us with trembling fingers that I chalk up to wedding day jitters. Because there’s no way she’d be afraid of talking to me. Not when I ever—besides last night—get mad at her for anything.
“I’m so sorry, Jane,” she finally says.
I shake my head. “You . . . what?”
She twists in her chair, reaching out to grab my free hand in both of hers. When I drag my eyes from our hands up to her made-up face, I find tears glistening in her blue eyes. The same blue as mine.
“I’m sorry. For all of it. For telling you what to wear and how to look. For never inviting you anywhere. For siding with Jessica. For getting mad at you for finding love. For never taking accountability for my actions and how they’ve hurt you. For just assuming that you’ll always forgive me, even if I do stupid stuff.” She lets out a heavy breath. “And I’m really sorry for buying the dress you wanted. I heard you say you liked it at the shop. And I should’ve asked your permission first. I just . . . I don’t know. I wanted to be like you for once.”
I gape at her. “What do you mean? You’ve always done everything exactly opposite of me. I thought you never wanted to be anything like me. You know, with my granny hobbies and matronly clothes.”
“I’m so sorry I said any of that. You do have granny hobbies, but that’s not a bad thing.”
I huff a laugh, despite the heaviness still in my chest. “Yeah, not when you get a handmade crocheted blanket for Christmas.”
“Or the crochet bag you made for my birthday. I still use that bag.”
“As you should. It’s a good bag.”
Her lips tip up into a smile, but it doesn’t meet her eyes. She lets out a sigh, releases my hands, and deflates back into her chair. “I don’t know, I just feel like mom and dad have always seen me as this delicate little flower that needs help and protecting and can’t make her ownchoices. And I ended up leaning into that. If no one liked how I did things or planned things, then I’d just have them do it for me. And then it becomes easier to live that way.”
I blink at her. “You mean to tell me you don’t actually like having people do everything for you?”
She sputters a laugh. “It sounds so stupid when you say it like that, but yes. Kind of. I feel like no one ever approved of my engagement or my big plans for my wedding or how fast it all moved. The engagement party I told mom about didn’t pass her high expectations, so when she asked me to try again, I panicked and remembered you mentioning that venue downtown. She seemed pleased. Then she asked about what kind of flowers to get for the couples shower. I told her I was happy with lilies. She said they weren’t bridal enough. I remembered how much you love pink roses, so I thought you’d be happy to see your favorite flower there, so . . .”
Kate shrugs. She’s avoiding my gaze, instead choosing to look at her fidgeting fingers.
“So when I had to pick out a dress and everyone kept handing me things that were short and low cut and, honestly not very bridal, I . . . I don’t know. I got mad. It felt like no one was taking me seriously. It felt like this was just a big party to everyone and not a marriage for me. And I was happy to play that role for a while, but the wedding dress just made me snap. And then I saw the dress you had looked at the week before and it looked so grown up and mature. And I already knew that you liked it, so I figured you’d be happy that I bought something smart. I should’ve known better. I should’ve used it as inspiration instead of buying it outright, but I wasn’t thinking clearly. That’s not an excuse, I’m just explaining. But know that I am truly, deeply sorry for hurting you with that. And everything else too.”
Butthe more she talks, the more things all click into place for me and the anger starts to dissipate. I’m not the only one who never felt like I did enough—mom made her feel like she wasn’t enough too.
