A Police Officer Walked Into My Wedding Reception and Shouted, ‘Step Away from Your Glass! You Can’t Drink from It!’
“You thought I’d see Mom’s jewelry and be so touched that I’d forget you let me believe my sister stole it?”
“When you say it like that…”
“How else is there to say it?”
His shoulders dropped.
“I don’t know.”
Neither did I.
I looked at the man I’d married only hours earlier.
That was the hardest part.
If he’d confessed the day Lauren and I fought, I would have been furious.
But I probably would have forgiven him.
Instead, every day after that had become another choice to stay silent.
He’d watched me remove Lauren from the wedding.
He’d watched me cry because my only sister wouldn’t be there.
He’d even held me while I did it.
And all along, he’d known exactly why she refused to apologize.
“I don’t know what happens to us tomorrow,” I said.
His face changed.
“Melissa.”
“But tonight, you’re not coming home with me.”
“You’re serious?”
“Yes.”
“On our wedding night?”
I stared at him.
“You should have thought about our wedding night sometime during the six months you were lying to me.”
He left about 20 minutes later.
I stayed.
At first, I wanted to leave too.
Then I looked around the room.
My family was still there.
My friends were still there.
And, somehow, my sister was there.
Lauren stood near the back doors as though she still wasn’t sure she was allowed inside.
I walked over.
“You don’t have to stay.”
She nodded.
“Okay.”
“That wasn’t me asking you to leave.”
She looked at me.
“I don’t exactly have wedding clothes.”
“I don’t care.”
“I’m wearing sneakers.”
“Mom would have approved.”
That finally made her smile.
Our mother had hated uncomfortable shoes.
Lauren looked toward the tables.
“Are you sure?”
“No.”
I took a breath.
“But I’ve been sure about a lot of things lately, and apparently that hasn’t gone very well.”
She laughed.
It was the first time I’d heard her laugh in six months.
“Stay.”
So she did.
The reception never returned to what I’d planned.
But eventually the music started again.
Someone cut the cake.
My best friend convinced me to dance.
And around ten that night, I found myself sitting beside Lauren with our shoes off under the table, talking.
Not about Ryan.
Not at first.
We talked about Mom.
We talked about the stupid things we’d fought over as teenagers.
Eventually, we talked about the last six months.
“I really thought you took them,” I said.
“I know.”
“You’d borrowed her necklace before.”
“I borrowed it. I didn’t steal it.”
“I know that now.”
Lauren looked at me.
“I was so angry that you assumed the worst.”
“You had every right to be.”
“I probably didn’t help.”
“What do you mean?”
“I yelled at you and hung up.”
“You were being accused of stealing.”
“Still.”
I shook my head.
“No. That part is on me.”
Repairing things with Lauren didn’t happen in one evening.
But it started there.
Ryan and I spent the next several weeks apart.
He returned every piece of Mom’s jewelry.
The repaired earrings.
The pendant.
