Chapter 1

Where we come from, when a family marries off a daughter, they tuck a stack of cash under the red chest.

It's not about the amount. It's a message to the groom's family: this girl isn't walking in empty-handed.

But when I opened my dowry chest, what lay inside, neat and flat, was a stack of fake funeral money.

My mother stood in the doorway, not a flicker of panic on her face.

"I already used the real money. Your brother can't lock down his house, and if he doesn't, the Weiss family will call off the engagement."

I stared at that stack of funeral money, my fingers shaking.

"Mom, today is my wedding."

She frowned.

"So what if it's your wedding? You marry over there and you've got a house to live in. Your brother has no house—he'll be a bachelor his whole life!"

My soon-to-be sister-in-law Stella Weiss sat on the couch, admiring her freshly done nails.

"Pearl Henson, your husband's family is so well-off. You wouldn't really nickel-and-dime over a little money like this, would you?"

My father slapped his cigarette pack down on the table.

"You should be grateful your family's letting you walk out the door at all. Don't throw the kindness back in our faces."

My cousin Brian Henson blocked the doorway, keeping me from going after the bank card they'd swapped out.

"You make a scene today, and that wedding car isn't getting out this door."

Outside, the firecrackers went off.

The groom's cars had already arrived.

Everyone was waiting to watch me bow my head and swallow it down.

In front of the whole houseful of relatives, I dialed the phone.

"The cars don't need to come down the alley."

"Turn around and go to the hotel."

"The table at my family's house—we're not doing it."

...

The line went quiet for a second.

Francis Newton, the wedding planner, lowered his voice.

"Pearl, are you sure?"

I looked at the string of red lanterns outside the door, then at the bank card clenched tight in my mother's hand, and my voice came out calmer than I'd expected.

"I'm sure."

"Have all the cars come around from the west end. Don't come to my family's house."

That was when my mother snapped out of it and lunged to grab my phone.

"Have you lost your mind? What bride doesn't leave from her own family's home? You want the whole town laughing at us?"

I stepped back, dodging her hand.

"I'd like to ask too—what kind of mother stuffs fake funeral money into her daughter's dowry chest on her wedding day?"

The room went dead silent.

A few of the aunts had been cracking sunflower seeds a moment ago; now they didn't dare even spit out the shells.

My brother Michael Henson came running out of the bedroom, still in his pajamas.

His eyes went to the bottom of the chest first, a flash of guilt on his face, then his chin came right back up.

"Come on, Pearl, don't make it sound so ugly. That money wasn't wasted—it's for the wedding house."

"Your husband's family has a house, a car, and Brandon Sawyer loves you. You won't go without a thing once you're married. Why nickel-and-dime me over this?"

I gave a short laugh.

"My hundred and sixty thousand in dowry cash got taken to cover your down payment."

"The gold jewelry the Sawyers sent over last night, you said you'd hold on to it for me."

"Even today's wedding gift envelopes—Mom opened them ahead of time, said it was to buy you furniture."

I looked at my mother.

"And you call that me being petty?"

Her face was ugly, but she still had to put on that wronged look.

"Pearl, search your conscience when you talk. Your brother is the root of our Henson family. If he can't lock down his house and the match falls through, where are we supposed to put our old faces?"

My father sat at the head of the table, his face dark.

He'd put on a new suit today, with the red "Father of the Bride" flower pinned to his chest.

But from this morning until now, he hadn't said one word of concern to me.

The only thing he'd asked me was whether the card's PIN was Brandon's birthday.

"Enough."

He spoke, the anger pressed down under his voice.

"It's a joyous day. Don't blow this up."

"Your mom shouldn't have taken the money, but she did it for this family. Throw out the funeral money, slip a few sheets of red paper under there instead, and the cars can still come get you."

"But if you dare walk out any door but this one today, then don't ever call me your father again."

He said that line easily. He'd had the practice.

When I was little and running a fever and wanted a bowl of chicken noodle soup, he said no picky eating.

When I wanted to go to school in the city for high school placement, he said girls shouldn't leave home too far.

After I started working and wanted to keep a little of my pay for myself, he said family can't afford divided loyalties.

Every time, the moment I wouldn't bow my head, he threatened me with cutting me off.

But today, all at once, those words didn't scare me anymore.

Because they'd stopped treating me as family a long time ago.

Outside, the horns had stopped.

Someone was shouting at the mouth of the alley.

"Why did the groom's cars turn around?"

Brian's face changed, and he reached out to drag me.

"You go out there and explain, now! Tell them you were just messing around, don't shame this family."

His grip left my wrist aching.

Brandon's call came through.

I answered and put it on speaker.

It was loud on his end, but not a single word rushing me.

"Pearl, I'm waiting for you at the hotel entrance."

"You don't have to explain anything. I'll wait for you."

My nose stung, sharp and sudden.

But my mother shouted into the phone.

"Brandon! Don't you spoil her! If she dares to leave today, then she'd better never come back to this house!"

The line paused for a moment.

Brandon's voice went cold.

"Ma'am, you're the ones who tore her family apart first."