Somewhere a bride was probably worrying about table settings while her family argued about something that felt enormous.

I hoped she would have people around her who listened.

I hoped she would know that an aisle was simply a path between two places, and that nobody should have to earn the right to walk it with someone kind.

That evening we gathered at Frank and Helen’s house for dinner.

Dad came too, carrying a dessert he’d baked himself.

It was lopsided and covered in far too much frosting.