The groom's grandfather described my dear friend to a stranger. She shakes her head and insists that it's because she doesn't wear flashy jewelry or red lipstick.
There's always a warm one waiting somewhere.
Ten minutes before the ceremony, and with a toothy grin, his brother hints that Jason's freedom isn't entirely sold.
I withheld judgement. I supported. I bought the amethyst dress. I flew to Texas and assured myself that foreboding could be dismissed. I curled her hair and I stood beside her. I smiled and laughed. I carried her flowers. I brought her red wine and bustled her dress. I twirled the little girls who told me I looked like Barbie. I danced with her new husband.
Deflating in coach on the way home, hushed criticisms resonate. My eyes are tired and, instead of working, I stare out the window at the snow covered acres below.
Lord knows I am jaded, but I have never left a wedding feeling quite like this.
My sweet, brown eyed friend,
Please know that you are golden. You are strong.
You deserve the best life has to offer.
P.S. If he hurts you, I will kill him.