Chapter 4

Afterward, I took a cab home by myself.

The driver saw how pale my face was and asked if I wanted to go to the hospital.

I shook my head.

Because back then, I still thought Bianca had just started at the company, with no one to look after her.

It was only right for Miles to show her a little extra care.

Now, thinking about it.

His thoughtfulness had never been in short supply.

It just never came around to me, and never to my family.

The moment I walked up, Miles lifted his head to look at me.

"Are your parents ready?"

When he finished, his gaze dropped to something behind me, and his brow creased slightly.

"Why hasn't she changed yet?"

My mother stood there in that black skirt suit, stiff and small.

My father held her steady, his palm wrapped clumsily in a wad of tissues.

The tissues were already soaking through red.

Miles acted as if he saw none of it, only turning to instruct the staff.

"Move Mr. and Mrs. Coleman's seats farther back."

"It's not really appropriate for them to be at the head table now."

My mother's face went white.

But my father nodded first.

"Fine, fine."

"We can sit anywhere."

A staff member came over with a new seating chart.

My parents had been placed in the farthest corner.

Beside them sat a pile of spare chairs and tangled speaker cables.

Guests passing by frowned and stepped wide around them.

As if they weren't the parents who'd come to their daughter's wedding.

Just dead weight shoved into a corner at the last minute.

I looked at that seating chart, my voice very quiet.

"Why the change?"

Miles frowned.

"Your parents' clothes are a mess. Sitting at the head table, they'd get photographed easily."

"The press is here today."

"I'm thinking of everyone."

Thinking of everyone.

Everyone except my parents.

My father quickly caught my arm.

"Sweetheart, the corner's fine."

"It's quiet."

My mother forced a smile too.

"That's right."

"This way no one photographs us and embarrasses you."

Something clamped down hard on my chest.

She hadn't done a single thing wrong.

And yet she'd already learned to hide herself away.

It made me think of last winter.

My mother was in the hospital for a minor surgery, and I'd called Miles to ask if he could come with me to the hospital.

That day he said he had a meeting at the company and couldn't get away.

I ran up and down those halls alone, paying the bills, picking up medication, signing the forms.

By the time I got home that night, two blood blisters had rubbed raw on the soles of my feet.

But the next day, I saw a photo on Bianca's feed.

There in a hospital corridor, Miles sat beside her.

A cup of warm soy milk in his hand.

The caption read: "Someone was afraid my tooth extraction would hurt and insisted on staying to the very end."

I went and asked him about it.

He only explained mildly:

"Bianca has no family in this city."

"Your mother has you to take care of her."

Back then I stayed silent for a long time.

In the end I still talked myself into it.

He was just too soft-hearted.

But only now do I understand.

He wasn't soft-hearted.

He simply held Bianca's tears as more important than me and my family combined.

The emcee came over with the program sheet to confirm it with Miles.

My father saw his own name on it, and as if something had just come back to him, he hurriedly pulled a sheet of paper from the inside pocket of his suit.

He'd folded that paper perfectly flat.

But one corner had bled into a stain from the wine earlier.

"I prepared a speech."

He said it a little awkwardly.

"If it's still needed, I could say just a few simple words."

His voice grew softer and softer.

As if he too knew that he no longer belonged up at the front.

Bianca suddenly reached out and took the paper from him.