Four in the Attic, One in the Kitchen

Albus Nuptialem

It was summer of 1959, and Momma was getting married. The second anniversary of our father's death was just a week before the ceremony, though the actual marriage license was signed a bit before. It was just the glitz, glamour, attention, whatever you want to call it, that's what Momma and Bart wanted. I wasn't a bridesmaid at least, Momma had chosen some of her friends and I didn't mind a bit. I was elated when she revealed the list and I wasn't on it. I was seething on the inside and she knew it, so she knew not to press. I could just be a spectator. I wasn't involved. I only had a year until I could move away anyway.

The wedding was set in July, but it had to be postponed when Grandfather suddenly had a heart attack. A part of me wanted him to die, but he didn't. No, he had to still keep on living, no matter what. I remembered the first few weeks of staying in Foxworth Hall, thinking he'd be dead by Christmas and I could have a little taste of freedom. We were promised a few months, and it was two years now. We could be long gone, I could be going to a normal high school, even if I was under a different name, I could still go back to the suburban lifestyle, flirting with boys, going to prom, wearing a pair of pants every once and awhile! But no, Grandfather's weakening heart still had enough muscle to keep him alive and keep me in private school and itchy, ancient dresses. The ceremony was pushed to August.

Like I expected, the wedding was over the top, wild, and expensive. Nothing but the best for a lawyer and an heiress. Momma's dress looked like it could fill a room with how much material it had, and I hadn't an idea how she could get by wearing it in the heat. Ladies were fanning themselves, men pulled at their collars, and I was dying in my knee length dress. Grandmother refused to let me wear anything shorter, and the collar hugged my neck in a vice grip. I watched them go through the vows, barely listening, but I knew for a fact that they weren't original. They were dry, overly rehearsed, probably pulled from some cheesy romance novel that my mother had picked out. I was absolutely bored, and I only then noticed I was the youngest one there. Nicholas was supposed to come, but from snooping around I did, his family had a falling out with ours about issues with loans.

I shifted in the pew. For a family with money, I'd thought we'd have more comfortable seats than this. Grandmother sat with an arrow-straight back, Grandfather given the luxury of a wheelchair and footrest. My mind wandered to years before, remembering faintly of Carrie and Cory's baptisms. They were tiny little things, more amused at all the attention, not understanding what was happening. We didn't exactly go to church often, but we were all baptized. Momma packed our certificates away before we came, in crisp envelopes, now hidden away. Part of me thought she might have destroyed them. Our birth certificates were likely destroyed too. We didn't exist. This minor crisis hit at a strange time, as at that moment, Momma and Bart were told to kiss. I stood to applaud like everyone else. Best to blend in, even if I were pondering my own identity for the billionth time in the last few years.

We were led to the reception hall.

I was sat at the main table, right next to my grandparents. Every fiber of my being had to focus on the etiquette I'd learned. Work with cutlery from the outside, napkin on lap, never used to wipe, only dab. Soup is to be sipped with a spoon, never eaten. As a lady, eat tiny portions, no matter how hungry you are. Those were just the basics, and they made my head spin. Of course I'd been practicing them for years now, with occasional slip-ups, but this was the finest dining I'd ever had, even compared to Foxworth. Everyone here had been taught this from birth. My mother had the utmost grace, the rest were the same brand of polite. I couldn't make a fool of myself. I had to blend in. I was one of them. I was one of them.