He was gone. Again. At least this time I had an explanation for why, but it didn’t change the way my heart felt like it was twisting over itself, attempting to wring itself dry.
I found myself staring at my dad’s hand cupped around Ford’s shoulder, the two of them smiling for the camera like they were best friends and life was just all so grand. I couldn’t take it. I’d managed to keep up appearances up to now, but I wasn’t sure how much longer I could. Charlotte’s wedding day might not have been the ideal time for me to drop the fa?ade, but I just couldn’t do it anymore. Not after everything I’d learned last night.
“The Abbott family?” the photographer called to the small group staggered around the yard, waiting their turn to smile and suck it in with the bride and groom. “I need the sisters now too.”
I hung close to the tree, wishing a few more layers of Spanish moss would magically appear because that might have been thick enough to keep me hidden from them.
“The other sister? Where’s she?” The photographer had the kind of voice that made a person believe he spent half of his life waiting and the other half of his life being bored. With the way he’d been hollering orders and commands all afternoon, hearing him continue to call for the “other” sister was making me want to wrap a few layers of duct tape around his mouth.
“Clara Belle?” First my mom, then my dad, called out.
“Clara Belle?” Next Avalee called, and finally Charlotte joined in, although hers was edged with annoyance.
“I’m here,” I said under my breath, making myself shove off the tree and start in their direction. “I’m right here.”
“What took you so long?” Charlotte asked as I approached, fanning herself with her bouquet, although I didn’t know why. I’d never once seen Charlotte’s hairline damp with sweat, or her face flushed from the heat, not even as kids after we’d sprinted circles down the driveway in the middle of the day in August. The perks of being someone who had ice running through her veins.
“Just trying to figure out if I was still a member of this family,” I answered as I headed toward where Avalee was lining up beside my mom.
“Of course you’re a part of this family, dear,” my mom replied with a nervous chuckle. I wasn’t sure if she knew what had happened last night, but she could sense the tension. “You’ll always be a part of this family.”
“I meant that more in the way that I’m trying to figure out if I still want to be a member of this family,” I said matter-of-factly, to no one in particular but to all collectively. It might have been me, it might have been them, but I knew one thing—I didn’t fit. I really never had, and after this past week, I knew I never would.
I felt both of my parents’ eyes on me as I lined up behind Avalee, relaxing my stomach muscles instead of contracting them like I knew everyone else in line was. The seamstress had supposedly let out The Thing, but where she had I couldn’t tell because I still felt like my body had been vacuum-packed inside a layer of satin.
“Oh no, that won’t work.” After messing with a few dials on his camera, the photographer came rushing over to us.
Guiding my mom out of line, he stuffed her behind Avalee and started to pull me to the other end of the line. I dug in my heels when he tried to stuff me between Ford and my dad. That was like being tossed into the snake pit and the lions’ den at the same time.
“I’m not standing there,” I said, shaking off the photographer’s hold on my arm. “You want the ‘other’ sister to smile for the family portrait, you put me somewhere else.”
Ford let out a sigh while my father shifted. My father knew why I was fighting this, and he knew I had every right to. He stayed quiet, which was a first for my dad when it came to getting one of his family members to “fall into line.”
“Oh no, that won’t work.” The photographer shook his head.
“Yeah, you already mentioned that. Why not?” The humidity was clinging to me, coating my skin in what felt like twelve layers of sweat.
“Well first, because we need to have an even number on either side of the bride and groom.” The photographer waved his finger down the line, like that should have been obvious.
“Here, I’ll stand down there and Clara can be here.” Avalee stepped out of line and started to slide between Ford and our dad.
The photographer grabbed her hand and pulled her out. “Eh, no. That will not work.”
“Why not?” Avalee and I asked at the same time.
Next he pointed at my dress, his nose curling just enough to give away what he thought of my bridesmaid gown. “I can’t put that shade of . . . whatever you want to call it next to the shade of pink the mother of the bride is in. All anyone would see when they looked at the family portrait would be the clashing colors.”
“Sounds like an accurate depiction of the family,” I added, not as under my breath as I’d intended.