Motive

Unimaginable

~Mary Jay~

When I was a little girl, I always dreamed of being someone's flower girl. There were days when my dad and I would sit in front of the t.v for hours, watching shows like 'Say Yes to the Dress.' He would lean over and whisper things like,

"You see that dress, sunny? That's like the dress your mama wore at our wedding. She looked absolutely beautiful. Wanna see the video, kid?"

Those were some of the best memories of my life. They're moments you live through, and at the time they seem so small. But it's only when you get further away, that you'll get to see the full picture.

Since my dad has disappeared into memory, I can no longer dream of the day I get to see him and my mother renew their vows. My dad never told me what his vows were. He always said a true magician never reveals his secrets, and the day they would renew them, would be the day I'd hear them.

But I never got to hear them.

I never got to see my sober and happy parents walk down a gorgeously decorated pathway. Or see little raindrops form in the corners of my dad's eyes when he saw how stunning my mom looked. I never got to hear him dedicate his forever love to my mother. I never got the chance that most kids get when they see their parents kiss and shield their eyes like it was the worst thing in the world.

I never got to be his flower girl. And I never will be.

And God knows I'd rather amputate all my limbs before seeing my mom get married to Josh. Anyone, and anything other than him.

So today, seeing little girls and boys who seem to have some relation to Mrs. Rivera or her husband, I can't help but feel a small ping of jealousy in my chest. They get to have memories of their aunt and uncle falling in love again. But I get to have memories of my dead dad and drugged out mom.

It's not fair.

But I'm happy for them.

I'm happy to see their adorable little smiles and hear their sweet, youthful giggles. I'm happy to see the amount of people Mrs. Rivera has supporting her, even if some of them only came for the food. I'm happy to hear the fulfilling music which is soulful enough to make a grown man cry.

I'm happy someone got to be her flower girl.

She walked down the aisle gracefully, a man who I assume is her grandfather holding her hand. He looks too old to be her dad; He held a cane but he looked happy as ever to be carrying the honor.

As I imagined, Mrs. Rivera wore a beautiful white dress. She had the same warm smile she does every time I see her, but more exaggerated. She spotted Easton and I sitting together, and I think it shocked her a bit honestly.

I leaned slightly toward Easton and whispered, "Is this the part where we cry?"

He leaned in as well, "No, why? Are you tearing up, Mary Jay?"

I refused eye contact, "Hell no. But this feels sentimental."

"Shut up."

"You shut up."

A person behind us "shushed" our bickering. Easton turned whipped around and stared at the man who did so dead-on. I nudged him with my knee, silently telling him to stop as a mother would with her kid.