Chapter 5 - CANCEL THE WEDDINGThe messages were short.
MARGARET: I received no invitation. Could you send the address?
SOPHIA: You know the wedding is in New York.
MARGARET: New York is a large city, sweetheart.
No response.
Three days later:
MARGARET: Is there a color or dress requirement?
SOPHIA: Wear whatever you have.
MARGARET: May I arrive early to help?
SOPHIA: Everything is handled.
The final message had been sent that morning.
MARGARET: I found the address through Mrs. Palmer. I hope it is all right that I come.
Sophia had read it.
She had not replied.
I handed the phone to my father.
He read the messages and passed it to Linda.
Sophia folded her arms.
“She knew I was overwhelmed.”
“You deliberately withheld the address,” I said.
“I was deciding how to handle her.”
“She is your mother, not a problem in a seating chart.”
“You don’t know what she was like when I was growing up.”
Margaret’s face changed.
Not guilt.
Fear.
I noticed it.
“What was she like?” I asked.
Sophia turned toward the guests.
“Can we please stop performing this for everyone?”
She was right about one thing.
Margaret’s pain should not become entertainment.
I asked the coordinator to direct guests into the adjoining reception lounge while the Carter and Bennett families remained.
Refreshments would continue.
Transportation would be arranged for anyone who wished to leave.
The ballroom slowly emptied.
Some guests tried not to stare.
Others stared openly.
No one applauded.
Real humiliation is rarely cinematic.
It is uncomfortable.
Quiet.
People avoid eye contact because they do not know where to place their curiosity.
When the doors closed, Sophia looked at me.
“You canceled our marriage over a dress.”
“No. I canceled it over how you treated the woman wearing it.”
“You never asked why I resent her.”
“I am asking now.”
Sophia’s expression shifted.
“My mother abandoned me.”
Margaret looked as if she had been struck.
“She left me alone constantly,” Sophia continued. “She cared more about work than she cared about me.”
“I worked because we needed food,” Margaret whispered.
“You were never at school events.”
“I attended when I could.”
“Not enough.”
“You told me your mother refused to work,” I said to Sophia.
She looked away.
“You said she depended on government assistance and relatives.”
“We did receive assistance.”
“For six months,” Margaret said. “After your father left.”
Sophia’s father had died when she was twelve.
At least, that was what Sophia told me.
I looked at Margaret.
“When did her father die?”
Margaret closed her eyes.
“He didn’t.”
Sophia’s face lost all color.
Margaret continued.
“He left when Sophia was eight. As far as I know, he is still alive.”
May you like
That was the first major lie Sophia had told me.
It would not be the last.
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