The ceremony should have distracted me.
For a little while, it almost did.
Grant stood beneath the flower-covered arch, handsome and nervous, and when Vanessa appeared at the end of the aisle, his entire expression changed.
I saw love there.
Real love.
That complicated everything.
Because controlling people aren't necessarily unloved.
Sometimes they're loved deeply.
Sometimes that's exactly why people tolerate things they shouldn't.
I watched my son say his vows.
I watched Vanessa say hers.
I applauded when they kissed.
And I tried desperately to forget the blue dresses.
Then came the photographs.
The photographer began calling combinations.
Bride and groom.
Bridal party.
Vanessa with her parents.
Vanessa with her mother.
Vanessa with her mother and aunts.
"The blue ladies!" someone joked.
Everybody laughed.
I didn't.
Finally, Grant came toward me.
"Mom, let's get one."
My heart softened instantly.
"Of course."
We had barely moved toward the photographer when Vanessa appeared.
"We don't have time."
Grant stopped.
"What?"
"We're behind schedule."
"It'll take ten seconds."
"Grant."
He glanced toward the photographer.
"Maybe just one."
"We have a schedule."
The words weren't loud.
They didn't need to be.
Grant went silent.
Vanessa turned toward the photographer.
"Next group."
And that was it.
No photograph.
I watched Grant walk away.
Something inside me began to shift.
At dinner, it happened again.
Grant was speaking with his uncle David about the honeymoon.
"We're heading to Maui on Tuesday," he said. "We're renting a Jeep, and I found this hiking trail—"
Vanessa interrupted.
"No, honey."
Grant blinked.
"What?"
"That's not what we're doing anymore. Remember?"
Several people chuckled.
Grant forced a laugh.
"Right."
His cheeks turned red.
Vanessa continued telling everyone about the resort itinerary she'd booked instead.
I watched my son stare at his plate.
Suddenly, the wedding didn't look romantic anymore.
It looked like a performance in which Grant had forgotten he was allowed to have lines.
Later, I found him alone outside.
"What is going on?"
He rubbed the back of his neck.
"Nothing."
"Forget the dress."
"Mom..."
"I'm talking about you."
He looked toward the reception hall.
"I don't know what you mean."
"I've watched her shut you down all day."
"She's stressed."
"You haven't been allowed to finish a sentence."
"You're exaggerating."
"Am I?"
He didn't answer.
I stepped closer.
"Grant, look at me."
Eventually, he did.
"Are you actually happy?"
Something happened in his face.
For one second, the groom disappeared.
I saw my little boy again.
Scared.
Cornered.
Wanting to tell his mother something.
His lips parted.
Then Vanessa's voice came from behind me.
"There you are!"
Grant immediately straightened.
Vanessa approached.
"Seriously? I've been looking everywhere. We have a schedule."
Then she looked at me and laughed.
"And Joan, could you please stop stealing my groom?"
A couple standing nearby laughed politely.
I didn't.
Grant didn't either.
Vanessa took his arm.
He followed her inside.
I remained outside.
Furious.
Part of me wanted to follow them.
Part of me wanted to grab Grant and demand the truth.
But he was thirty-two years old.
He wasn't a child.
And this was his wedding.
So I returned to my table.
For twenty minutes, I watched.
Vanessa laughed.
Her mother laughed.
The women in blue gathered for photographs.
Grant barely spoke.
Then—
Clink.
Clink.
Clink.
A spoon struck a champagne glass.
The room quieted.
Grant was standing.
Vanessa looked surprised.
"I'd like to make a toast," he said.
Then he looked directly at me.
His tie was loosened.
His face was red.
And his hand was wrapped around the champagne glass so tightly that I thought it might break.
I'd never seen my calm son look so furious.
Suddenly, I understood.
He wasn't about to give a toast.
He was about to detonate his own wedding reception.
I shot to my feet.
"No!"
Every head turned toward me.