Chapter 22 - The Night Before the Wedding
Eleanor had not suffered a heart attack.
That was the first good news.
The second was that she was stable.
Stress-related cardiac symptoms, the doctor believed.
More tests were needed.
Grant called again from the hospital.
“You don’t need to come.”
I was standing in the Charleston garden.
“I know.”
“I shouldn’t have called.”
“Probably not.”
“I panicked.”
There was the truth.
For years, Grant’s panic had become somebody else’s responsibility.
Mine.
Assistants’.
Employees’.
Now he recognized what he had done almost immediately.
Progress could be inconvenient.
“Is she alone?” I asked.
“I’m here.”
“Then she isn’t alone.”
He exhaled.
“I’m sorry.”
“You already said that.”
“Go get married.”
I laughed softly.
“Planning to.”
We hung up.
Noah had heard enough to understand.
“Do you want to go back?”
“No.”
The answer came instantly.
That surprised me.
Not because I did not care whether Eleanor lived.
I did.
But caring did not require abandoning my own life.
The distinction felt enormous.
I sent Grant one message.
Keep me updated only if her condition seriously changes.
Then I put my phone in Olivia’s hands.
She tucked it into her purse.
“You are now medically incapable of receiving billionaire emergencies.”
“Excellent.”
At rehearsal dinner, Hannah gave a speech.
I threatened her beforehand.
“No miscarriage jokes.”
“I’m not a monster.”
“No Grant jokes.”
She looked offended.
“You’re limiting my best material.”
“No Conrad jokes.”
“What am I supposed to talk about?”
“Me.”
“That sounds self-centered.”
I nearly threw bread at her.
Her actual speech was beautiful.
She talked about childhood.
About our mother.
About the time I redesigned my bedroom at thirteen and accidentally removed part of a closet wall because I misunderstood what “non-load-bearing” meant.
Noah looked delighted.
“You never told me that.”
“It was classified.”
Hannah ended by raising her glass.
“To the woman who finally learned that starting over isn’t the opposite of success.”
I cried.
Everyone did.
Even Olivia, who claimed it was allergies.
Later, when guests left, I sat alone in the garden.
Not sad.
Just remembering.
The night before my first wedding had been held in a hotel suite filled with stylists, relatives, champagne, schedules, and Eleanor correcting place cards.
My mother had already been gone.
I remembered wishing desperately that she were there.
Tonight, I felt her differently.
Not as absence.
As instruction.
Choose.
The word seemed woven through everything.
I heard footsteps.
Noah.
“You’re supposed to be somewhere else,” I said.
“So are you.”
“You’ll ruin tradition.”
He sat beside me.
“I’m deeply committed to ruining any tradition that creates unnecessary stress.”
We looked up at the branches.
“I’m scared,” I admitted.
He nodded.
“So am I.”
“I already failed at marriage.”
“No.”
I turned.
“My marriage failed.”
“That’s different.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
He took my hand.
“A relationship ending doesn’t automatically mean every year inside it was your personal failure.”
I stared at our hands.
“What if we change?”
“We will.”
“What if something terrible happens?”
“Something will.”
“That’s not comforting.”
“I’m trying not to lie in my vows before we even make them.”
I laughed.
He continued.
“We can’t promise nothing bad happens. We can promise what we do when it does.”
That settled somewhere deep.
Not permanence as guarantee.
Commitment as practice.
Before he left, Noah kissed my forehead.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“You better.”
“I paid a deposit.”
“Romantic.”
“Nonrefundable.”
After he left, Olivia returned my phone.
One message from Grant.
Mom’s stable. No change. She told me to tell you not to postpone anything because of her.
I read it twice.
Then another message appeared.
From Eleanor herself.
It contained six words.
Go live the life you chose.
I sat beneath the trees for a long time.
Then I wrote back.
I intend to.
At midnight, rain began.
Not a storm.
A soft Charleston rain.
Olivia appeared in my doorway ten minutes later holding three weather apps.
“The forecast changed.”
I smiled.
“Of course it did.”
“We can move the ceremony inside.”
“No.”
“Claire.”
“I spent eight years trying to control every disaster before it happened.”
“This is water.”
“I know.”
“You’ll ruin your hair.”
I looked at her.
May you like
“Then I’ll get married with ruined hair.”
And for once, a woman planning my future laughed instead of correcting me.
