I remember Sarah whispering in the car later, “Dad, I like her. She gets my jokes.”
It felt good, watching Sarah open up again.
I’d worried for years she’d fold into herself after Susan died. But with Nora around, she came back to life, baking cookies together, having movie marathons, and making inside jokes about waffles.
“Dad, I like her. She gets my jokes.”
I was terrified to propose. But Nora said yes before I’d finished kneeling, and for months we were swept up in plans.
Sarah helped Nora choose flowers and made endless lists, favorite songs, cake flavors, and how many dogs could theoretically be flower girls.
The three of us went dress shopping. Nora and Sarah spun before the mirrors, laughing at frilly sleeves.
“Dad, what about this one?” Sarah asked, striking a silly pose.
Nora said yes before I’d finished kneeling.
Nora winked at me. “She’s got style, Winston.”
That spring, our house buzzed with excitement and color-coded sticky notes.
***
One Saturday, Nora burst into the kitchen with a stack of shopping bags, cheeks flushed. “Guess what! Abigail’s coming to the wedding! My sister finally booked her tickets. Isn’t that great?”
Sarah was at the table, coloring flowers in the margins of her math homework.
She looked up, her whole face lighting up. “Really? Maybe we can both throw petals?”
“Abigail should be the flower girl. Just her.”
Nora paused, glancing at her bags. “Actually, Sarah… I was thinking Abigail should be the flower girl. Just her.”
Sarah’s pencil froze. “But… you said I could too.”
Nora crouched next to her, tone suddenly sweet but firm, like she was speaking to a toddler. “It’s Abigail’s first wedding, honey. She’ll remember it forever. You can help with the decorations, you’re so creative, after all.”
Sarah glanced at me, frowning.
“But… you said I could too.”
I started to say something, but Nora had already turned away, pulling out a pair of tiny white ballet flats for Abigail.
That night at dinner, Sarah pushed her peas around her plate in silence.
I watched her, trying to catch her eye.
“You alright, honey?”
She shrugged and stared at her fork. “Am I in trouble, Dad?”
“Of course not. What makes you say that?”
“Am I in trouble, Dad?”
“Nora seemed mad when I asked about the flower girl thing,” she mumbled. “Did I do something wrong?”
Leave a Comment