The room smelled of expensive hairspray and stale champagne. Vanessa stood on a velvet-covered pedestal, her gold designer watch flashing as she waved her hand toward her six bridesmaids.
“The shoes are wrong,” Vanessa said, her voice rising to a rapid, high-pitched clip. “They are ecru. I specifically wrote cream on the itinerary.”
Nobody answered her. One of the girls immediately began unbuckling her straps, her face flushed.
I stood near the vanity, out of the direct line of fire. On the marble counter lay a pile of linen cocktail napkins, each embroidered with Vanessa’s initials in thick gold thread.
I reached out and quietly slipped one of the napkins into my coat pocket. It was a silly, small impulse, a tiny piece of her perfect day that I could hold in my hand.
“Emily, tell them,” Vanessa demanded, turning her sharp gaze toward me. “They look like they are wearing dirty bandages.”
“They look fine, Vanessa,” I said.
She adjusted her watch strap with a quick, nervous jerk of her wrist.
“Fine is not the standard for this family,” she said.
By four o’clock that afternoon, Caleb and I were sitting in my parents’ living room. The light outside had turned a dull, heavy gray, casting long shadows across the Persian rugs.
Arthur stood by the mahogany sideboard, pouring scotch into crystal tumblers. He smoothed his silk necktie, his chest puffed out under his tailored blazer.
“A man must protect his assets, Caleb,” my father said, his voice booming with false confidence. “I just moved another fifty thousand into the municipal bond portfolio.”
Caleb took the glass my father offered but did not drink. He tapped his knuckles against the arm of the leather chair.
“I believe in keeping things simple,” Caleb said.
Arthur laughed, a loud, barking sound that did not reach his eyes. He reached into a velvet-lined drawer and pulled out three gold watches, laying them side by side on the polished wood.
“This is history,” Arthur said, pointing to the center piece. “Vintage gold. A real investor knows that hard assets are the only things that survive a down turn.”
I watched him polish the watch glass with his thumb. My father had spent his entire life building the image of a successful patriarch in Oak Creek, a man whose word was as good as gold.
“We want both our daughters to feel loved, Emily,” Arthur said, turning to me with a wide, bright smile.
The words sounded like a rehearsed speech, but I wanted to believe them.
“We are going to cover the entire wedding,” my father continued, leaning back against the sideboard. “Every bill, every detail. The family reputation demands it.”
Caleb cleared his throat, his face perfectly still.
“We have our own savings, Arthur,” Caleb said. “We can manage a modest service.”
“Nonsense,” Arthur said, waving his hand as if dismissing a fly. “It is already decided.”
He picked up one of the gold watches and held it up to the light.
