I genuinely thought that was why they worked.
She pushed him out of his comfort zone. Got him on dance floors. Got him to try sushi and skydiving and a trip to Iceland.
He seemed to smooth out her sharp edges. Slowed her down. Made her listen.
I’d watch them at dinner. At my yellow kitchen table. Vanessa talking a mile a minute. Grant watching her with this small, amazed smile.
Opposites, I thought. That’s good. That’s healthy. He needs somebody who’ll make some noise.
I didn’t see it.
Or maybe I did.
Maybe I just didn’t want to.
The first thing I noticed was the phone calls.
Grant used to call me every Sunday. Since college. Every Sunday at five o’clock. Twenty minutes. About nothing. The weather. Work. The Browns.
About six months after he met Vanessa, the calls got shorter.
Ten minutes. Then five.
Mom, I can’t really talk. Vanessa and I are heading out.
Then they stopped.
I’d call him.
Voicemail.
I’d text.
Sometimes he’d answer two days later. Sometimes not at all.
Sorry, Mom. Crazy week.
I told myself it was normal.
He was in love. He was busy. He was building a life. Mothers aren’t supposed to be the center of their grown sons’ lives.
I told myself not to be needy.
I told myself not to make it difficult.
Not to make it difficult.
I’d spent twenty years with Richard not making it difficult.
I was very good at it.
They got engaged last Christmas.
Grant called me on Christmas Eve. The first time in six weeks.
“Mom,” he said. “I asked Vanessa to marry me.”
I started crying.
“Oh, honey. Oh, Grant. That’s wonderful.”
“She said yes.”
“Of course she did.”
He was quiet for a moment.
“I’m happy, Mom,” he said.
He said it like he was trying to convince somebody.
I didn’t hear that part.
Not then.
I didn’t hear much about the wedding planning.
Vanessa’s mother was handling most of it.
Margot Ellery. Vanessa’s mother. Sixty-two. A widow. She lived in Upper Arlington in a big Tudor house with a three-car garage. She’d been a paralegal for thirty years. She chaired the women’s auxiliary at her church. She ran things.
I’d met her twice. Once at the engagement dinner. Once at a bridal shower I was invited to as an afterthought, by email, four days before.
She was polite. Very polite. The kind of polite that makes you feel like a guest in your own life.
The wedding was set for June. At the Fairmont. Downtown. Two hundred guests.
I asked Grant if there was anything I could help with.
He said Margot and Vanessa had it handled.
I asked if I could help pay for anything. The rehearsal dinner. That’s traditionally the groom’s family.
He said Margot was handling that too.
I asked if I could at least host a dinner for his friends. The night before. At my house. Like I’d always imagined.
There was a long pause.
“Mom,” he said. “I’ll ask Vanessa.”
He never got back to me.
A week before the wedding, Vanessa called me.
I was at work. Between patients. A six-year-old named Bryce had just bitten my finger. I was wrapping it in gauze when my phone buzzed.
VANESSA.
She’d never called me before. Not once. In three years.
I answered.
“Joan! Hi!”
“Hi, Vanessa. Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s great. Totally great. I just have a tiny favor to ask.”
“Of course.”
“Could you please not wear blue to the wedding?”
I stood there in the hallway of the dental practice with gauze around my finger.
I was confused.
I’d already bought a dress. Two months before. At Nordstrom. Navy blue. Tea-length. With a little cap sleeve. Simple. Elegant.
It cost three hundred and ten dollars. More than I’d spent on a dress in ten years.
I’d tried it on four times in my bedroom mirror. I’d sent Grant a photo.
He’d texted back: You look beautiful, Mom.
“Why?” I asked. “Is there something wrong with it?”
“No, no!” Vanessa said. Fast. “It’s lovely. I’m sure it’s lovely. It’s just—blue is part of the wedding palette. And I don’t want it to look weird in the photos. You know. Clashing.”
“I didn’t know blue was part of the palette.”
“Oh, totally. Navy and gold. It’s all over everything. The flowers. The linens. The bridesmaids are in gold.”
“Then wouldn’t navy match?”
There was a short pause.
“It’s just better if you don’t,” Vanessa said. “Okay? For the photos. Mom thinks so too.”
“Okay,” I said.
“You’re the best, Joan! Thank you! See you Saturday!”
She hung up.
I didn’t want to make a fuss over a dress.
That’s what I told myself.
It’s her wedding. It’s her day. If she doesn’t want navy in the photos, she doesn’t want navy in the photos. Don’t be difficult.
So I went back to Nordstrom.
I returned the navy dress.
I bought another one. Dusty rose. A little more expensive. Three hundred and forty dollars. The saleswoman said it was very flattering.
I didn’t like it as much.
I didn’t say anything.
Then I showed up at the wedding.
The ceremony was at four o’clock. In the Fairmont’s garden courtyard. White chairs in rows. An arch covered in white roses and gold ribbon.
I arrived at three-fifteen. Early. I wanted to see Grant before.
I walked into the courtyard.
And I froze.
Margot Ellery was standing at the front. By the arch. Talking to the officiant.
She was in blue.
Floor-length. Silk. A deep, rich sapphire blue. Off the shoulder. With a little beaded jacket. Her silver hair swept up. Sapphire earrings.
She looked stunning.
She looked like the mother of the bride.
In blue. 