Part 2
David’s voice on the phone sounded bright, almost nervous, like he was afraid I’d say no and break something fragile.
“Amelia and I talked,” he said. “I know the invite said child-free, but… I can’t do it without Katie there. I want her to be our flower girl.”
I sat on my couch with Katie sprawled beside me watching cartoons, her laughter rising and falling in the background. “Are you sure?” I asked, because I didn’t want him to regret it later.
“I’m sure,” David said. “Katie’s my girl. And she loves weddings. She’s been talking about my ‘fancy day’ for months.”
I glanced at Katie. She was holding her stuffed bunny like it was the ring bearer.
Roger, standing in the kitchen, mouthed, What’s wrong?
I covered the phone and whispered, “David wants Katie at the wedding. Flower girl.”
Roger’s face softened immediately. He nodded like the world had just offered our kid a gift.
David added quickly, “And Amelia’s okay with it. She said it’s fine.”
That part gave me pause. Not because I wanted to distrust Amelia, but because I’d met her enough times to sense her priorities. Amelia was polished. Picture-perfect. The type of person who said words like aesthetic out loud without irony. She had a talent for turning ordinary choices into moral judgments.
At family dinners, she’d comment on napkins. She’d criticize restaurant lighting. She once told my cousin her engagement ring was “cute” in a voice that made cute sound like a diagnosis.
But David loved her. He looked at her like she was the answer to a question he’d been carrying for years. I wanted that for him. I wanted him happy.
So I swallowed my hesitation and said yes.
Katie squealed when I told her. “I get to be the flower girl?” she shrieked, slapping her hands together. “Do I get a dress? Do I get flowers? Do I get to throw them?”
“You get to throw them,” I laughed. “That’s the whole job.”
She wheeled in excited circles until she bumped the couch and giggled like it was part of the plan.
A few days later, Amelia called me directly.
Her voice was crisp, careful. “Lauren, hi. So… I’m glad Katie can come. David is really excited.”
“I am too,” I said, and meant it.
“Great,” Amelia replied. “There are just a few things we need for the visuals.”
My stomach tightened slightly. “Okay.”
“First,” she said, “Katie’s dress needs to be beige. Flowing. Nothing that draws attention.”
I blinked. “Beige.”
“Yes,” Amelia said. “We’re doing a neutral palette. It’s important.”
“Okay,” I said, even though my instinct was to ask why my daughter needed to blend into the walls.
“And her hair,” Amelia continued, “needs to be neat. No flyaways. Nothing… messy. We’re paying a lot for photography.”
I swallowed the irritation that rose like acid. “I can do her hair.”
“Perfect,” Amelia said. “And can you send me a photo of the dress before the wedding? Just so we’re aligned.”
Aligned. Like we were negotiating a business deal, not dressing a six-year-old.
When I hung up, Roger gave me a look. “What?”
“Beige,” I said. “Our child must be… beige.”
Roger frowned. “She’s a kid, not a curtain.”
“I know,” I sighed. “But it’s David’s wedding.”
So I did it. I went shopping. I bought a simple beige dress—pretty, soft fabric, small sash. Katie twirled her upper body in the mirror, smiling so big it made my annoyance feel smaller.
I took a photo and sent it to Amelia.
Her reply came fast: Too beige. It looks lifeless.
I stared at my phone like it had insulted me personally. Too beige? You asked for beige.
Instead of arguing, I asked her to pick from options. I sent three dresses. Amelia chose one.
When I saw the choice, I laughed out loud.
It was almost identical to the dress I’d already bought, just with the faintest hint of pink undertone you’d only notice if you were holding it under a microscope.
That’s when it hit me: this wasn’t about the dress.
It was about control.
Amelia didn’t want Katie to stand out. She wanted Katie to disappear politely into the background so Amelia could claim she’d been inclusive without having to see the reality of a wheelchair in her perfect photos.
Still, I didn’t push. I bought the second dress. I had Katie try it on. She didn’t care if it was beige or slightly pink-beige. She just cared that she got to be part of Uncle David’s big day.
The day before the wedding, Katie and I practiced in our living room. I taped fake petals to a tray and had her “toss” them with her hands while rolling forward. She took it seriously, tongue poked out in concentration.
“Am I doing good?” she asked.
“You’re doing amazing,” I told her, and it was true.
David came over that night to drop off the flower basket. When he saw Katie in her dress, he crouched beside her chair and smiled like his whole heart had softened.
“You’re going to steal the show,” he whispered to her.
Katie grinned. “I’m going to do my job,” she said solemnly.
David laughed and looked up at me. “Thank you,” he said quietly.
I wanted to tell him he didn’t need to thank me for letting my daughter exist in his life. But I also understood. For David, choosing Katie wasn’t a small gesture. It was a line in the sand.
He hugged me tightly, then stepped back. “Tomorrow’s going to be perfect,” he said.
I nodded, even though something in me wasn’t convinced.
Because I’d heard Amelia’s voice on the phone.
And I’d seen how her “conditions” kept shifting like she was testing how much we’d swallow.
But for Katie, for David, I told myself the same thing I’d been telling myself for years.
Keep the peace. Don’t make waves. Just get through it.
I didn’t know yet that the peace I was keeping was about to break anyway.
