"All right. Take care of yourself."
Later I took a cab home alone.
The driver saw how pale I was and asked if I needed to go to a hospital.
I shook my head.
Because back then I still thought Colin had only just joined the company, and she'd stepped in to take a few drinks meant for him.
It was only right she'd look after him a little.
Thinking about it now.
Her thoughtfulness had never been in short supply.
It just never reached me. Or my family.
The moment I walked up, May raised her head to look at me.
"Are your parents ready?"
Then her gaze slid past me, to the two people behind me, and her brow creased.
"Why haven't they changed yet?"
My mother stood there stiffly, that black dress draped over her.
My father supported her, one palm clumsily wrapped in tissue.
The tissue was already soaking through red.
May acted as if she didn't see it, turning instead to instruct a staff member.
"Move Mr. and Mrs. James back a little."
"It doesn't really suit them to sit at the head table now."
My mother's face went white.
But my father nodded first.
"That's fine, fine."
"We can sit anywhere."
The staff member came over with a new seating chart.
My parents had been placed in the farthest corner.
Spare chairs and speaker cables were stacked right beside them.
Guests passing by frowned and steered around them.
As if they weren't the parents here for their son's wedding.
Just clutter shoved into a corner at the last minute.
I looked at that seating chart. My voice came out very soft.
"Why the change?"
May frowned.
"Your parents' clothes are a mess. Sitting at the head table, they'd get photographed too easily."
"The press is here today."
"I'm just thinking of everyone."
Thinking of everyone.
Everyone except my parents.
My father quickly caught my arm.
"Homer, the corner's fine."
"Nice and quiet."
My mother forced a smile too.
"That's right."
"Better than getting photographed and embarrassing you."
She hadn't done a single thing wrong.
Yet she'd already learned to make herself small.
It made me think of last winter.
My mother was in the hospital for a minor procedure, and I called May to ask if she could come to the hospital with me.
She said she had a meeting at the company that day and couldn't get away.
So I ran up and down alone, paying fees, picking up medicine, signing papers.
By the time I got home that night, two blisters had rubbed raw and bled on the soles of my feet.
But the next day, I saw a photo in Colin's social feed.
In a hospital corridor, May sitting beside him.
A cup of hot coffee in her hand.
The caption read:
"Someone cancelled her meetings to sit with me while I got a tooth pulled. Ms. Henson works better than anesthetic."
I went and asked her about it.
She just explained lightly:
"Colin's out here building a life in this city all on his own. It isn't easy."
"Your mother has you to look after her."
I stayed silent for a long time back then.
In the end I talked myself into it.
She was just too soft-hearted.
But only now do I understand.
It wasn't soft-heartedness.
She simply placed Colin's discomfort above me and above my family.
The emcee came over with the program sheet to confirm details with May.
My father saw his own name on it, and as if something had suddenly come back to him, he hurriedly pulled a sheet of paper from the inside pocket of his suit.
He'd folded that paper very neatly.
Except one corner had bled into a stain from the red wine earlier.
"I prepared a few words."
He said it a little awkwardly.
"If it's still needed, I could say something brief."
His voice grew lower and lower.
As if he already knew he was no longer fit to stand up front.
Colin suddenly reached out and took the paper from him.
