Rupert was still standing off to the side, head bowed.
Wallis lowered her voice to soothe him.
"It's fine. I'll handle it."
All at once I felt exhausted.
If her way of handling it meant making my parents swallow the humiliation and finish the ceremony,
if it meant making me choke this down,
then this wedding ended here.
The next second, the emcee spoke up with a smile. "And now, please welcome the couple to serve tea to both sets of parents."
The moment the applause broke out,
my parents were already being half-nudged, half-ushered onto the stage by the staff.
The red stamps on their faces still weren't fully wiped away.
The foundation had smeared into a mess, sweat at their temples cutting the color into streaks, and it only made them look worse.
Onstage, Wallis's parents sat dead center.
The lights were bright, the chair backs draped in festive red silk.
My parents were placed off to the side.
Two low stools carried over at the last minute, without even a red cushion.
When my father sat down, his knees nearly hit the corner of the table.
He shrank his legs back, uneasy.
Somewhere along the way, Rupert had come up again.
He held a tray, smiling gently.
"Carter, let me help you pass the tea."
I looked at him coldly. "No need."
He didn't take offense, just said in a low voice,
"I only want to help."
Wallis frowned.
"Carter."
"Don't embarrass anyone up here."
I looked at her.
And suddenly I thought of half a year ago, when Wallis took me to try on the wedding suit.
Rupert came along too.
One line from him, "This one's too old-fashioned, it doesn't suit Ms. Fox's standing," and Wallis had the clerk take away the suit I liked.
I said that was the one I'd spent months choosing.
Wallis only smiled.
"Rupert has good taste. You can't go wrong listening to him."
It was the same later with the wedding flowers.
I wanted white lisianthus.
Rupert said red roses were livelier.
So Wallis had them switched to red roses.
She said, "Rupert's always running events with clients. He has an eye for these things."
But I was the one getting married.
So it turned out that from that point on,
my wedding had already stopped being my wedding.
And now, even my parents' dignity wasn't allowed to be dignity.
Rupert held out the teacup.
It was poured too full.
The steam rose hot enough to sting the eyes.
Just as I reached to take it, his hand tipped.
The scalding tea splashed onto the back of my father's hand.
My father flinched hard, shoulder jerking up, scrambling to steady the cup.
"It's fine, it's fine."
"Don't spill it, don't hold up the kids' tea."
My chest went tight.
Rupert raised an eyebrow, faking an apology.
"Sir, I'm sorry."
"I thought you'd have a steady grip."
"Are you maybe a little too nervous?"
A few low laughs came from the crowd right away.
Someone said under their breath,
"First time the groom's family's seen anything like this, probably."
"So far below the occasion, isn't it."
My mother heard it.
Her face paled, but she still reached over to wipe the water off the back of my father's hand.
"You didn't get burned, did you?"
My father shook his head. "It's fine."
But the back of his hand had already gone red across a wide patch.
Those hands, I'd watched them my whole life.
Rough, broad, covered in fine cracks.
When I was in college, money at home was tight.
He was afraid I'd feel small in front of my classmates.
Every month he wired me an extra five hundred.
While he himself ate the cheapest boxed lunch on the construction site.
Once I came home and caught him crouched at the roadside, gnawing on a dinner roll.
When he saw me, he hurried to hide the roll behind his back.
Smiling, he said, "Dad already ate."
Hands like those, that had held up half my life for me.
