“Amelia asked why you weren’t included in the family ceremony.”
I didn’t have an answer for that.
Apparently Ryan didn’t either.
Nora almost laughed.
“Then your mother stepped in and tried to fix everything.”
“Oh God.”
“She told Amelia that adults sometimes belong to different families.”
I already knew from Nora’s expression that it hadn’t worked.
“Amelia looked straight at your mother and said, ‘You keep telling Mom that family supports family.’”
I sank into a chair near the hallway.
Nora crouched beside me.
“Then Amelia asked why Aunt Lina didn’t have to support you.”
I stared at the floor.
My nine-year-old daughter had taken the exact argument my mother had used against me for months and turned it back on them.
Family supports family.
Apparently Amelia had simply wondered why that rule seemed to apply only to me.
But Nora wasn’t finished.
“Then Amelia picked up her candle instead of lighting it.”
I looked at her.
“What?”
“Ryan said they needed it to finish the ceremony. Amelia told him, ‘It belongs to me,’ and walked out.”
I stood immediately.
“Where is she?”
“The garden bench. Ryan went after her.”
—
I pushed through the doors leading outside.
Amelia sat alone on a bench holding the white candle in both hands.
Ryan was beside her.
He still wore his suit jacket.
The bright flower pinned to his lapel looked almost ridiculous considering the expression on his face.
Neither noticed me at first.
“You told me you understood the candle,” Ryan said softly.
Amelia stared down at it.
“No, Dad. You asked if I understood what it meant.”
Ryan frowned.
“That’s different.”
He fell silent.
Then he asked,
“Why didn’t you tell me you were feeling this way?”
Amelia continued staring at the candle.
“You never asked.”
Ryan looked hurt.
“I ask you things all the time.”
“You ask if school was good.”
Silence.
“You ask if I like Aunt Lina’s apartment.”
Another pause.
“You ask whether dinner tastes good.”
Ryan lowered his eyes.
Amelia’s voice became quieter.
“You never ask if I’m angry.”
I stopped several feet away.
For perhaps the first time, Ryan seemed to understand what our daughter was actually saying.
He took a breath.
“Are you angry with me?”
Amelia nodded.
Once.
Ryan stared at her for a long moment.
Then he slowly nodded too.
“Okay.”
That was it.
No excuse.
No lecture.
No telling her she would understand when she was older.
Just—
Okay.
Then Amelia noticed me.
“Mom!”
She dropped the candle onto the bench and ran straight toward me.
I crouched just before she threw herself into my arms.
“Mom, I ruined Dad’s wedding.”
“No, sweetheart.”
“I did.”
“You were upset.”
I pulled back so I could look into her face.
“Being upset is not the same thing as ruining something.”
Ryan stood a few feet away.
“Annie…”
I looked at him.
“Don’t.”
He stopped talking.
Amelia wiped her face with her sleeve.
Then she suddenly said,
“Everybody keeps saying there used to be seven people in our family.”
Ryan and I exchanged confused looks.
She started counting on her fingers.
“You. Dad. Me. And the other three kids.”
She paused.
“But there was supposed to be another one.”
Nobody spoke.
Amelia looked directly at Ryan.
“Does the baby still count as part of our family?”
Ryan looked away for a moment.
Then he looked back at her.
“Yes.”
Amelia nodded.
