“Okay,” I said, a knot of anxiety forming in my stomach. “I hope she feels better. Are you leaving soon?”
“We booked the tickets this morning. We leave the week of your wedding. It’s a ten-day retreat. So, obviously, you need to change your date.”
I stared at the wall of my apartment, my brain struggling to process the sheer, unadulterated audacity of the request.
“Stop being so selfish, Chloe,” my mother continued, anticipating my silence. “Mia is in a dark place. This Bali retreat is crucial for her. Would it kill you to postpone your little party for a few months?”
I looked at the framed “Save the Date” sitting on my desk. “I can’t, Mom,” I tried to keep my voice steady, though my hands were shaking. “Everything is scheduled. The vendors are paid. If we cancel now, we lose thirty thousand dollars. Julian and I can’t afford to just—”
“Don’t bring Julian into this!” My father’s booming voice suddenly cut through the line. He must have snatched the phone. “He’s just a lowly accountant. He can crunch some numbers and figure it out. Your sister needs us. If you two don’t change the date, your mother and I won’t be coming to the wedding. End of story.”
Julian was sitting next to me on the couch, reading a financial prospectus. He had heard everything through the phone’s speaker. He didn’t look angry. He didn’t yell. He reached out and gently took my trembling hand in his. His eyes, usually warm brown, were suddenly as deep and cold as a frozen lake.
“We aren’t changing the date, Dad,” I whispered, tears pricking my eyes.
“Fine. Have a nice wedding,” my father snapped, and the line went dead.
They said they wouldn’t come. I cried for two days, and then, with Julian’s quiet strength supporting me, I accepted it. I accepted that I would walk down the aisle alone.
