Chapter 4 - The Confession On The Veranda
My mother didn't go after Brianna. Instead, she spun around and marched straight toward my table, her eyes flashing with decades of rehearsed maternal guilt.
""How could you do this?"" she hissed under her breath, leaning down so only the surrounding guests could hear. ""You knew what that name meant! You could have deflected! You could have told a silly story about boot camp! Why did you have to say that specific word?""
""Because she asked for the truth, Mom,"" I said, looking her dead in the eye without blinking. ""For twenty years, you've asked me to swallow every insult, every lie, and every piece of disrespect Brianna dished out, just so you wouldn't have to deal with her tantrums. You taught her that my boundaries meant nothing. You created that monster out there on the patio.""
""I protected this family!"" she choked out.
""No,"" Frank said, stepping up beside me like an iron sentinel. ""You protected your comfort, Mrs. Vance. You sacrificed the honorable daughter to appease the selfish one, because the selfish one screams louder. That's not parenting. That's cowardice.""
My mother recoiled as if slapped. She looked around the room, hoping to find sympathy among Derek's relatives, but found only cold, stony stares. With a muffled sob, she clutched her purse to her chest and fled toward the women's restroom.
I felt a sudden, desperate need for fresh air. I excused myself from Frank with a respectful nod and walked out through the side corridor leading to the opposite end of the veranda, away from where Derek and Brianna were arguing.
The night air was cool and crisp, carrying the scent of damp grass and pine needles from the golf course below. I leaned against the stone balustrade, closing my eyes and taking long, measured breaths. Tactical breathing: four seconds in, hold for four, four seconds out, hold for four. It was what I had done in the pitch-black waters of the Pacific when the waves threatened to swamp our engine. It was what kept my heart from beating through my ribs now.
Down the long terrace, behind a row of potted ficus trees, I could hear the sharp, hushed cadence of their voices.
""You're blowing this completely out of proportion!"" Brianna was crying, her voice raw. ""It was a toast! People toast with roasts all the time at rehearsals! It's an American tradition, Derek!""
""It wasn't a roast, Brianna,"" Derek replied, his tone chillingly sober. ""A roast is funny. A roast is affectionate. You were trying to mark your territory. You wanted to prove to my parents that your family had a designated loser, and you wanted to make sure nobody paid attention to her instead of you.""
""That is a lie!""
""Is it?"" Derek asked. ""What about the rehearsal this afternoon? When you screamed at the seventeen-year-old florist until she cried because the hydrangeas were slightly off-white? What about yesterday, when you told my mother her heirloom pearl necklace looked like costume jewelry? I made excuses for you. I told myself you were just stressed about the wedding. But Uncle Frank's face tonight... he looked at you with disgust, Brianna. And for the first time, I saw what he saw.""
May you like
""Derek, please,"" she begged, the arrogant edge evaporating, replaced by genuine terror. ""We've spent eighty thousand dollars on this wedding. The guests are arriving tomorrow at noon. The caterers, the band, the venue... you can't do this over a stupid argument!""
""I'm not doing this over an argument,"" Derek said quietly. ""I'm doing this because I just realized I don't know who you are. And worse, I don't like the person I just met.""
