PART 4
Benjamin and I married quietly fourteen months later at the Cook County courthouse on a rainy Friday morning. My best friend Nora came. So did Benjamin’s aunt Lillian, who wore a purple suit and cried into a tissue she had clearly packed for the purpose. My family was not invited. Not because I wanted revenge. Because I wanted one major life event where no one measured my worth against Madison’s reflection.
My mother found out two weeks later through a mutual acquaintance. She called and cried. Not because she missed the ceremony. Because “people will ask why we weren’t there.” That told me everything. Benjamin heard the call from the kitchen and said nothing until I hung up. Then he put a plate of toast beside me and said, “You don’t owe people an invitation to the parts of your life they only want to audit.” I loved him very much in that moment.
When Madison and Ethan announced their engagement, my mother called with her careful voice. “Emma, I know this may feel difficult.” “Then don’t ask me to come.” A pause. “It’s family.” “No. It’s Madison.” “She wants to extend peace.” “She wants an audience.” My mother sighed. “I wish you would stop making everything so sharp.” That was funny, considering I had spent most of my life being the one asked to dull myself.
The engagement gala was at the Grand Alcott. Of course it was. Madison loved old hotels. Or maybe she loved being photographed in them. The Grand Alcott had a restored ballroom with high ceilings, gold trim, carved plasterwork, and a balcony where string quartets looked expensive even before they played. It was one of those downtown Chicago hotels people described as timeless when they meant expensive enough to pretend the past had better manners.
May you like
Benjamin heard the venue name and simply said, “Interesting.” I looked at him. “Is that bad?” “No.” “Benjamin.” He leaned against the kitchen counter. “It means if we go, I’ll know where the exits are.” “You know the exits everywhere.” “That’s why I’m alive in hospitality.” I asked him if he wanted to skip it. He said, “Do you?” I thought about Madison in silver silk, Ethan in a tuxedo, my mother smiling that tiny smile she used when Madison occupied the center of a room. Then I thought about the years I had hidden from events because I did not want to be called bitter. “I want to go,” I said. “Then we go.”
He wore a charcoal suit that night. Not flashy. Perfectly tailored, though only someone who understood tailoring would know. I wore a deep blue dress, simple gold earrings, and the small diamond band Benjamin gave me at the courthouse.
