At first, I did not question it.
I thought grief was the reason.
Everyone grieved differently. That was what people said.
Maybe hearing my voice reminded Clementine too much of Andrew.
Maybe seeing me made her think of the wedding that would never happen.
So I left her alone.
I stopped calling after the third unanswered message.
I stopped checking whether she had viewed the photos I sent.
I told myself she would reach out when she was ready.
She never did.
Until Saturday.
My cousin Elowen was getting married at a hotel outside Boston.
I almost skipped the wedding.
For weeks, I had been dreading it.
I was happy for Elowen, but weddings had become landmines.
Every detail reminded me of something Andrew and I had planned.
The music.
The flowers.
The first dance.
Even []hearing someone say, “The groom is ready,” made my throat tighten.
Elowen understood.
She called me two days before the ceremony and told me I did not have to come.
“I’ll understand, Davina,” she said softly. “I mean that.”
“I know.”
“You don’t have to prove anything.”
“I’m not trying to prove anything.”
There was a pause.
“Then come only if you want to.”
I did.
Part of me wanted to know if I could survive being at someone else’s wedding.
So on Saturday afternoon, I put on a dark green dress Andrew had once told me made my eyes look brighter.
I almost changed when I remembered him saying that.
Instead, I stayed in it.
The ceremony was beautiful.
Elowen cried before she even finished her vows.
Her husband laughed through his own tears and squeezed her hands.
I cried too.
Not only because I was happy for her.
