"I was afraid I'd look too shabby and embarrass you."
One corner of the shawl was soaked through with red wine.
Still, she kept dabbing at it, inch by inch, with a tissue.
When it wouldn't come clean, she folded the stained part inward.
My father pulled a gift envelope out of his coat too.
It had gone soft and wrinkled where the wine had soaked in, the corners already limp.
He kept his head down, wiping at it for a long time, and his voice was very quiet.
"This is the money your mother and I put in for the toast."
"We wanted to give it to our son-in-law properly."
"And now it's come to this."
When he finished, he gave a small, sheepish smile.
"Don't be ashamed of us, sweetheart."
The tears hit me all at once.
They had spent so long getting ready for this wedding.
Afraid they wouldn't be dressed well enough.
Afraid they'd miss some point of etiquette.
Afraid I'd have to hang my head in the Weiss family.
And what Donald had given them was red wine and cream all over their clothes, the guests' laughter, and a corner stacked with junk.
Then my phone buzzed.
A message from Donald.
"Come out once you've cleaned up."
"Sophia was just having a little joke with your parents. Don't blow it out of proportion. It's nothing."
I looked at that line, and suddenly I laughed.
And just like that, it was supposed to be over.
So in his eyes, my parents' humiliation, the blood on my father's hand, the gown my mother had ruined, were all just small things to be brushed lightly aside.
I wiped my eyes and eased my parents into a seat.
"Dad. Mom."
"Wait here for me a minute."
Then I turned and walked out of the storage room.
At the end of the corridor, the wedding planner was waiting for me, anxious.
"Bride, are we still going ahead with the ceremony?"
I looked toward that harsh flood of light in the hall.
Donald stood at the end of the aisle, head bent, soothing Sophia.
I drew my eyes back and spoke calmly.
"Go ahead."
The planner let out a breath.
But I kept going:
"Just change the program a little."
"Skip the toast."
"After this, we're calling off the wedding."
When I got back to the storage room, my father was sitting beside a cardboard box, the blood on his knee still not stopped.
Seeing me come in, his first instinct was to stand up.
"Sweetheart, are they rushing us out there?"
"Your mom and I will be ready in a second."
I pressed him back down.
"Don't move."
My mother looked up at me, her eyes red, and still she was smiling.
"Don't worry."
"I can wipe this gown down and still wear it."
She glanced at the hem where the red wine had bled through, then quickly tucked the stained part behind her.
"When we go up, I'll stand off to the side."
"The cameras won't catch it."
My throat closed up.
Even now they were still thinking about how not to embarrass me.
Footsteps came from the doorway.
Donald stood outside, frowning at the mess in the storage room.
"Still not cleaned up?"
"The ceremony's almost due to start."
"If it's really too much trouble for your parents, maybe they shouldn't come up onstage."
He paused, his tone as if he were suggesting it reasonably.
"Your mother, looking like that, won't photograph well anyway."
The smile froze on my mother's face.
In that instant, she instinctively looked down at her own gown.
As if she'd finally realized just how wretched she looked right now.
My father spoke up quickly.
"Yes, yes, of course."
"We don't have to go onstage."
"As long as your wedding goes off smoothly."
I looked at Donald, and suddenly this man in front of me felt like a total stranger.
He used to say he would treat my parents as his own and honor them like a son.
But now my parents were hurt and humiliated, and all he minded was that they wouldn't photograph well.
Sophia showed up soon after.
