Max's question followed me outside.
Not because I wanted to answer it.
Because I understood why he'd asked.
He still wanted to know whether Edward wanted me.
I had spent years letting Max decide what my appearance meant, and even after our marriage ended, he was trying to keep that power.
I wasn't going to give him an answer.
The evening air felt cooler than the reception room.
Edward came out behind me carrying the cardboard box.
He didn't make a joke this time.
Neither did I.
My older daughter was waiting near the car, holding the skirt of her dress between her fingers.
Her little sister had managed to get frosting on one sleeve.
I stopped beside them and checked that we had everything.
My older daughter looked toward the venue.
Then she glanced down at herself.
"Mom?"
I turned.
"What's up?"
She smoothed the front of her dress.
"Do I look strange in this?"
The question was quiet enough that I almost missed it.
I knew what she wanted me to say.
I could have answered immediately.
I could have told her she looked beautiful and sent her into the car smiling.
But something stopped me.
I remembered the way I'd stood in front of my mirror earlier that week.
I'd liked my dress.
Then I'd imagined Max looking at me.
Suddenly, the dress had become a problem.
I'd started pulling at the fabric and checking my body from different angles.
My daughter was standing in front of me doing something similar.
She wasn't asking about the fit of her dress.
She was asking whether there was something wrong with the way she looked.
I crouched beside her.
"Do you like wearing it?"
She looked down again.
Then she turned slightly, watching the skirt move around her knees.
"I do."
I smiled.
"Then that's what matters."
She studied me for a moment.
I could see her considering the answer.
Then she smiled, too, and climbed into the car.
It was such a small exchange.
No speech.
No promise that nobody would ever judge her.
No claim that appearances didn't matter to people.
Just a question that brought her attention back to her own feelings.
I stood beside the open car door for a moment after she got in.
I wished someone had asked me that question years earlier.
Not whether I looked good.
Not whether Max would like what he saw.
Whether I liked what I was wearing.
Whether I felt comfortable.
Whether I wanted to be there.
I had spent so much time trying to anticipate other people's judgments that I'd forgotten I was allowed to have an opinion of my own.
My youngest called from the back seat.
"Mommy, I'm messy!"
I leaned inside.
She held up the arm with the frosting stain.
Her face was solemn, as if she'd discovered a serious problem.
"You certainly are."
She giggled.
I helped her settle into her seat and fastened the buckle.
Then I closed the door.
Edward was standing near the back of the car with the box.
He looked at me but didn't ask what had happened.
I was grateful.
I wasn't ready to explain why a question about a dress had made me feel as if I'd been given something I'd lost.
He placed the box in the car.
The old trousers shifted inside it.
I heard the fabric brush against the cardboard.
For some reason, that ordinary sound stayed with me.
The trousers had once belonged to a man who thought he needed to look different before he could enjoy his life.
I'd spent years believing something similar about myself.
And I'd brought Edward to the wedding because I wanted another man to prove that belief wrong.
The irony wasn't lost on me.
I had asked Edward to play the part of someone who wanted me.
He had agreed, partly because he hoped I'd learn that I didn't need the performance.
But he hadn't trusted me enough to tell me that beforehand.
Both things could be true.
I could understand his intention and still be hurt by the way he'd handled it.
I could appreciate what he'd said about Max and still be angry that he'd made a decision on my behalf.
I didn't need to pretend one feeling erased the other.
Edward closed the back door.
"Are you all right?"
I looked through the window at the girls.
My youngest was already trying to show her sister the frosting on her sleeve.
My older daughter was laughing.
"Not completely."
He nodded.
"Fair enough."
I appreciated that he didn't ask me to make him feel better.
We stood there for another moment.
Then I told him I was glad he'd come.
He seemed surprised.
I explained that I was still upset about the way he'd handled things, but I was glad he'd been there when Max started insulting me.
Edward looked down at the box.
"I should have told you the truth before we left."
"Yes."
"I thought you'd understand once you saw what happened."
I shook my head.
"That doesn't make it your decision."
He took that in.
"No. It doesn't."
I didn't forgive him right there.
I didn't need to.
We could talk about it another day, when I wasn't standing outside my ex-husband's wedding with two tired children waiting in the car.
For that evening, it was enough to leave the conversation unfinished.
I walked around to the driver's side.
The dark window reflected my face.
I saw myself before I had time to prepare for the sight.
My hair wasn't quite as neat as it had been when I'd left home.
The dress had creased where I'd sat.
I looked tired.
I also looked like myself.
Max's old question came back to me.
When had I last looked at myself properly?
I had asked myself that question so many times that it had become almost meaningless.
But now I understood what I'd been doing wrong.
I'd been looking for evidence against myself.
Every reflection had become an inspection.
Every photograph had become a list of things I might need to change.
I had never simply looked.
So I stood there for a few seconds and did exactly that.
I didn't turn sideways.
I didn't pull at my dress.
I didn't try to imagine what Edward might think.
I didn't picture Max's face.
I let my reflection be ordinary.
Then my youngest called from the back seat.
"Mommy! Let's go!"
I smiled.
I opened the door and got in.
For the first time that evening, I wasn't thinking about who might be watching.
Click here to continue reading: PART 6: The Old Trousers Went Back Into a Donation Box, but the Conversation They Started Stayed With Me Long After the Wedding
My Ex Invited Me to Watch Him Marry the Woman He Chose Over Me, and I Made One Decision I Would Soon Regret
Part 5 of 8
