Instead, we didn’t get it.
At dinner, things became even stranger.
Grant had started telling his uncle about their honeymoon when Vanessa interrupted him.
“No, honey. That’s not what we’re doing anymore. Remember?”
A few people laughed.
Grant laughed, too.
But I saw his face turn red.
I knew that laugh.
It wasn’t the laugh of someone who found something funny.
It was the laugh people give when they want everyone else to believe they’re in on the joke.
I knew my son well enough to recognize the difference.
Later, I pulled him aside.
We were standing in a quieter hallway while music from the reception drifted through the doors.
“What is going on?”
“Nothing.”
“Forget the blue dress. I’m talking about you.”
“Mom—”
“I’ve watched her shut you down all day, and you haven’t said a word.”
“She’s stressed. It’s our wedding day.”
“Grant, look at me.”
He finally did.
There was something in his expression that I couldn’t quite identify.
Frustration.
Embarrassment.
Maybe something worse.
“Are you actually happy?”
For a moment, he looked like he wanted to tell me something.
Then Vanessa appeared.
“There you are!”
She sounded annoyed.
“Grant, seriously? I’ve been looking everywhere. We have a schedule.”
Her eyes moved to me.
Then she laughed.
“And Joan, could you please stop stealing my groom?”
A couple of people nearby laughed.
Grant didn’t.
He simply followed Vanessa back inside.
I stood there for a moment, furious.
Part of me wanted to grab my son, take him outside, and ask him again what the hell was going on.
But this was his wedding.
Maybe I was being too protective.
Maybe I was reading too much into one stressful day.
So I returned to my table and kept my mouth shut.
For the next twenty minutes, I watched Vanessa laugh with her family as though nothing had happened.
Her mother sat nearby in that blue gown, talking happily with the other women wearing the same color.
Grant barely said a word.
He sat beside his new wife and answered people when they spoke directly to him.
But something about him had changed.
His shoulders were tense.
His smile disappeared whenever he thought nobody was watching.
I kept catching myself looking at him.
Every instinct I had as his mother was telling me something was wrong.
Then I heard it.
The sharp clink of a spoon against a champagne glass.
The room gradually quieted.
I looked up.
Grant was standing.
My heart skipped.
Vanessa looked up at him, clearly surprised.
“I’d like to make a toast,” Grant said.
Then he looked directly at me.
And that’s when I saw it.
Grant was furious.
His tie was loosened.
His face was red.
And he was gripping the champagne glass so tightly that I thought it might crack.
I’d never seen my calm, quiet son look like that.
Not once.
Around us, people smiled and waited for the sweet speech they expected from a groom on his wedding day.
Vanessa was watching him, too.
I knew that look on my son’s face.
All the silence from the day hadn’t disappeared.
It had built into something.
Something that was finally about to come out.
I shot to my feet.
“NO!”
The word came out louder than I intended.
Every face in the room turned toward me.
Grant froze, the champagne glass still in his hand.
Vanessa stared at me.
“What?” she asked.
I looked at my son.
“Don’t do something you’ll regret because you’re angry.”
For several seconds, neither of us moved.
Then Grant slowly placed the glass down.
“I’m not angry because of one thing, Mom.”
His voice was quiet.
Somehow, that frightened me more than shouting would have.
Vanessa stood beside him.
“Grant, what are you doing?”
He looked at her.
“I’m finally talking.”
Her expression changed.
“Then maybe we should talk privately.”
“No.”
The room went completely still.
Grant glanced toward me.
“I’ve been doing everything privately for two years.”
My stomach tightened.
Vanessa reached for his arm.
He stepped away.
“Grant,” she warned.
He ignored her.
“I knew about the blue dresses.”
I blinked.
Vanessa’s mother stopped smiling.
Grant continued.
“I found out three days ago.”
I stared at him.
“Then why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because Vanessa promised me she’d fix it.”
Vanessa shook her head.
“That is not what happened.”
Grant gave a short laugh.
There was no humor in it.
“You told my mom blue was part of the wedding palette. You made her buy another dress. Then your mother and your aunts showed up in blue because you decided blue meant family.”
Vanessa’s mother folded her arms.
“It was a tradition.”
“No,” Grant said.
“It became a tradition last month.”
A wave of discomfort moved through the room.
People shifted in their chairs.
Vanessa looked around.
“This is ridiculous.”
Grant’s jaw tightened.
“I saw the group messages.”
Vanessa went pale.
Her mother turned toward her.
“What messages?”
Grant pulled his phone from his pocket.
Suddenly, I understood why he had looked so strange all day.
This wasn’t a spontaneous outburst.
He had been carrying this around.
“I wasn’t supposed to see them,” he said. “Vanessa left her tablet open at home.”
“Grant, don’t,” Vanessa whispered.
He looked at her.
“You called my mom ‘the other mother.’”
My chest went cold.
Vanessa closed her eyes.
Grant continued.
“You said you didn’t want her matching the people who would be in the ‘real family pictures.’”
Nobody laughed anymore.
I looked at Vanessa.
She wouldn’t meet my eyes.
Her mother spoke first.
“That was taken out of context.”
I almost laughed.
