I knew my son well enough to recognize the difference.
Later, I pulled him aside.
We were standing near 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 I could not place. Frustration, maybe. Embarrassment.
Or something worse.
“Are you actually happy?”
For a second, he looked like he wanted to tell me something.
Then Vanessa appeared.
“There you are! Grant, seriously? I’ve been looking everywhere. We have a schedule.”
Her eyes moved to me.
Then she looked at me and laughed.
“And Joan, could you please stop stealing my groom?”
A couple of people nearby laughed.
