She laughed. “Oh, don’t be so sensitive, honey.” She patted my cheek. “It’s just a dress. Nobody is going to confuse us.”
“How could you start without me?”
She walked away before I could reply. Marching up the aisle ahead of me, it was almost impossible to tell that she wasn’t the bride.
“The nerve of her!” One of my bridesmaids snapped.
I took a long breath and chose to let it go. I could survive one day.
I walked down the aisle. Brandon had tears in his eyes when he took my hands in his.
When we reached the vows, Beverly struck again.
It was almost impossible to tell that she wasn’t the bride.
“I, Brandon, take you, Sylvia, to be my wife, to have and to hold…” Brandon hesitated, frowning, as Beverly appeared at his side.
“Don’t mind me,” she said. “This is just such a big moment.”
The officiant looked at her, then at us. “Let’s give the couple some space, shall we?”
Beverly laughed. She acted like she was just a doting mother who couldn’t bear to be an inch away from her boy. It was “adorable” to everyone else. To me, it was an invasion.
And she didn’t stop there.
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