Blackbird by Abigail Graham Page A

steps, and into the hallway without looking. Thankfully, I was alone. I almost went to my room, but headed for the kitchen instead. It was dark, but oddly well lit from the gleam on all the stainless steel. I poured myself a glass of water, choked it down in quick gulps, and went back to bed.
    The wedding was scheduled for that Saturday. The next three days were the most tense of my life. I would be in the wedding party. Victor was giving his mother away, standing in for the father of the bride. A huge, far-flung extended family would be there. My mother’s family would be there, people I hadn’t seen in years.
    Father came to me the day before. He sat beside me on my bed.
    “Tomorrow,” he said, “I expect you to socialize with the guests. Keep it to a minimum. You will also be expected to dance with Victor.” His mouth twisted with distaste. “You understand why I am telling you this.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “He’s promiscuous. You matter too much to be a notch on his bedpost.”
    “Good. Get some sleep.”
    I woke the next day at five in the morning, and spent an hour pacing my bedroom. The wedding was at ten, not in the city but a little town nearby. The house was full of guests, mostly Victor’s extended family. By the time I bathed and dressed and put my hair in a simple braid, Karen was already gone to get ready away from the house. Victor went with her. Father’s best man was a friend from the firm. My dress was demure and not particularly flattering but he kept eyeing me, as did another of Father’s guests, a Russian man that introduced himself as Vitali and held my gloved hand too long. I rode in another car, with one of Mrs. Amsel’s relatives.
    The church was old, and packed, every seat taken. I sat up front near the altar. Victor walked his mother down the aisle, a forced smile on his face, heat in his eyes when he looked at my father, waiting in a morning coat with swallow tails. He hated this, I realized. He didn’t want my father marrying his mother. He didn’t want any of this. He glanced at me as he stepped away from my mother. The priest talked, but it was all buzzing to me. I rose when everyone else did, sat when they did, watched my father slip a ring on his mother’s finger and watched him kiss her, passionately. I clapped when the others clapped, but my hands when still when I saw Victor standing stock still during the applause. A little girl I didn’t know carried his mother’s train and another sprinkled flowers. Rice was thrown, and Victor stiffly took my arm and led me to the limousine for the wedding party.
    He didn’t say a word to me on the drive to the reception. He offered me his arm again without looking at my father as we went into the fire hall. I glanced at Father and he gave me a tiny nod, and I stiffly took Victor’s arm and walked to the table with him. It took twenty minutes for the guests to file in.
    Victor sat next to his mother. I sat next to Father. Three courses were served, after the toast. I didn’t hear any of it. The world buzzed in my ears, like the insistent rushing of a stream. I just wanted to go home. I sat there pawing the folds of my skirts and barely touched my food.
    Soon I would be free, I realized. I would be going to college, living on campus.
    Except I’d never be free. Father would always know if I did something I shouldn’t. If I was bad.
    People started standing. I missed the announcement. It was time for the cake, and the dancing.
    Oh, and the bouquet.
    Before I realized it I was lined up with twenty other unmarried girls, all strangers. I wanted to run and hide. Victor’s mother turned around, faced away from all of us. She pitched the bouquet back over her head. I watched it sail through the air towards us and held my ground as the other girls moved forward. I held my hands out limply, pretending that I wanted to catch it. Father would be furious if it came at me and I let it hit the floor. He didn’t believe in inane superstitions