How he told everyone his oldest daughter was the artist in the family.
But I understood that hearing those stories from me wouldn’t replace the evenings he’d missed.
“Vanessa, I didn’t decide where Dad spent his time.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you angry with me?”
She closed her eyes.
“Because you remind me of everything I didn’t have.”
I looked at her wedding gown.
The carefully arranged pearls.
The embroidered sleeves.
The small white roses woven into her hair.
“You asked me to help you remember him today.”
She nodded.
“You asked me to choose photographs of us together.”
“Yes.”
“But you couldn’t bear to sit beside me.”
Her mouth trembled.
“I wanted you there. I just didn’t want to feel like the second daughter at my own wedding.”
I took a slow breath.
“Vanessa, I’m not responsible for making you feel like the first daughter.”
She started crying.
Quietly at first.
Then harder.
I waited until she could speak again.
“I thought if you sat away from the family table, I could have one night where everything wasn’t about Dad’s second family.”
I looked toward the restaurant.
“Grandma is your grandmother too. Aunt Patricia is your aunt too. They didn’t become my relatives when I was born.”
She nodded.
“I know.”
“You didn’t just move me away from you. You moved me away from them.”
