Page 2 of What You left in Me

I’ve never seen a person smile with their whole body before. His joy infects every part of his body. His shoulders may as well be grinning too.

When he catches sight of us, the corners of his eyes crinkle, and my insides do a small, careful flip. He is not handsome like the movie stars Mom used to fawn over. He is more precious than that. He is kind, and you can see it from across a lawn.

I take my seat in the front row on the aisle. I smooth my dress one more time for bravery, and then the music swells into the kind of song that turns the day into a story. Mom finally descends the aisle. The crowd lets out a soft noise, part sigh and part applause, as she glides toward the arch, stepping perfectly. The white aisle cloth rustles under her, and the lake adds its own peacefully quiet wash of water against the stones.

“Hi,” Richard mouths when Mom reaches him, and it’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen. He takes her hand and lifts it and kisses her knuckles reverently. Suddenly, my throat feels tight and warm at the same time.

The officiant starts to speak, but I barely listen to the first line because my mind is busy. I look at Mom’s bouquet trembling just a little. I look at her profile, the way she is trying to be still and not cry. I look at Richard’s face, full of love and hope.

Maybe this time the story is about people who choose each other and then keep choosing, even when it’s hard. Family can be chosen. He said that last night, in the kitchen, when he thought I had headphones in. He told Mom, “What matters is that we choose this, every day.”

The words drift back to me while the real words, Mom’s vows, unfold in front of me. They’ve kept it simple, like they don’t want to trap their promises in too many lines. There are no grandiose speeches. Just the clear, steady sort. “I promise to try.” “I promise to listen.” “I will be your home.”

My eyes shift to the movement at the edge of the rows, a disturbance in the light. It catches my eye from the periphery. I’ve almost turned away from it when a tall figure pauses near the last grouping of chairs, standing like he doesn’t belong to chairs or ceremonies. He casts a shadow in his black suit, a stark contrast against the piercing white of his shirt. His watch face catches the sun and throws it back. He’s almost in the shade of the willow, where the leaves hang in green curtains.

Finn Wagner.

I only know him from pictures. He’s older than me by a decade and some change, mostly living in places featured in the Willowridge Gazette. In photographs, he is never smiling. He isn’t today, either. His face is carved without softness, but his gaze is wandering, discerning. It comes to a rest when it lands on the arch beneath which the happy couple stands. Yet, when it finds Mom’s hand in Richard’s, his tongue rolls around in his mouth, and he looks away.

A beautiful woman walks towards him and comes to stand beside him. She’s wearing a scandalously short dress, covered in sparkles, that barely contains her huge breasts. Without even bothering to look at her, he grabs her by the waist and yanks her toward him like a ragdoll. She falls against him with a peal of laughter.

He is almost my brother, I think—and then correct myself:stepbrother. I have a stepbrother now. Once I think the words, they feel so deeply strange to me. He’s twenty-five years old. There’s so many years between us, and it’s only one of the ways he is distant from me. Everything about him speaks of neon cities and boardrooms and red-eye flights. We probably won’t have to talk much, if ever. Our lives are parallel lines that won’t touch.

With a heavy sigh, I force myself to look away before he catches me staring.

Meanwhile, Richard’s voice is steady and confident, like he wants every person, even the ones in the last row, to hear the words and believe them. He promises to keep our house filled with peace. To be honest, even when it’s the most difficult thing. I think about the last three years, the way Mom learned to smile with her lips while her eyes were tired. I think about the nights when we ate cereal for dinner because talking would have been too much, and how she would braid my hair afterward and call it “our ritual,” like it was always meant to be just us.

When Richard says, “I know family is not the same word for everyone, but I want ours to mean safety,” the tightness in my throat turns into something bright. I blink fast. I can’t be the first person to cry.

Mom squeezes his fingers. Her voice is softer than his, but it doesn’t tremble. “I promise to try. I promise to listen. I promise to make a home with you.” She swallows and then smiles, the real one, the one that shows the dimple she gave me. “I promise to let happiness in when it knocks.”

There’s a ripple through the guests, like the lake catching a breeze.

I glimpse Penny in the third row— my best friend since we moved here, back when I was the new girl no one wanted to talk to, the one who’s stayed with me through every mood and complaint— her hair a small bonfire, her eyes wide and wet.

She mouths, “Oh,” like she forgot any other words.

And I think:this is good. This is right. My mother is marrying a wonderful man and the world, even if just for this moment right here, is quiet and whole and shining.

The officiant says a few more words, something about seasons, about choosing joy, and then it’s done, and everyone is clapping. When Richard kisses Mom, it’s not a movie kiss; it’s a swift and tender promise. The applause stretches and becomes laughter, like people are glad to have a reason to let the air out of their chests.

I stand when everyone stands. My knees wobble, but in a good way. The setting sun puts gold at the edges of everything—the chairs, the petals, the corners of the lake—and it feels like the day has leaned in to bless us.

I look around myself, soaking in the melee.

Everyone seems to be smiling.

Finn’s still lurking by the willow tree—except, this time, when I am looking his eyes find mine. He doesn’t hold my gaze for long. His expression doesn’t change. He remains cold, unsmiling. But I could swear I catch him shoot me the faintest nod, or maybe I’m just imagining it.

Before I can question it any further, he’s already pivoted, walking away from the scene with his bombshell ensnared in his arm.

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding and tell myself it’s just because I don’t like being watched. It has nothing to do with him. He is older, and we live in very different worlds, and his absence is a cause for relief.

When the music changes to brighter melody, the aisle spills into laughter and clinking glasses. People make a path for Mom and Richard. I step out from the front row to join them when Mom reaches for me, and when her fingers thread through mine, I feel the shape of our new life pressing into place.

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Hours pass and I spend them chatting with everyone. Making fun of guests with Penny as we rate people’s look on a scale of 1 to 10. But eventually, Mom finds me in the mess of guests, her cheeks pink for the first time in years, her eyes glistening as if someone finally handed her joy. She sweeps me forward, past the clinking glasses, and almost sweeps me right into a stranger.