There’s still this guilt in my stomach as I get dressed in my suit. Wyatt hasn’t responded—they haven’t called back or sent a text. And walking around the venue, getting ready to be a groomsman, of course I’m going to run into Mom.

She’s racing around, making sure every last detail is perfect, that the flowers are arranged just right, that all the lights in the tent for the reception are lit, that the orchestra has its music cues.

I keep avoiding her gaze, trying to work up the courage to go and talk to her, to apologize for the things that I said. But I can’t bring myself to do it. I shouldn’t feel guilty for what I did, because it was all honest. It’s been years of feeling neglected, like I was second best, like I didn’t deserve a spot at the table where my own family was sitting.

I still feel awful, though. I don’t regret the things I said.

But I do regret how I said them.

I can’t bring myself to talk to her when I see her. Because I’m a coward.

I stay where I am, out of the way, out of her line of sight.

“Hey, Neil.” Michael pops in from behind the curtain.

There’s actually a bridal shop that shares a nicely landscaped alleyway with the hotel that Mother rented the space from. The owner cleared out their entire back of the store so that everyone could get ready here, and even set it up nicely for us. Vanities lit up in this orange glow, lots of couch space to relax on, some bottled water and snack packs that won’t cause any bad breath.

“What’s up?” I finish buttoning up my dress shirt.

“Can you help with this?” Michael walks in, his bow tie hanging loosely around his neck. “No one else knows how to tie this, and Mom is busy.”

“Yeah, sure.”

I pop Michael’s collar, readjusting the bow tie so I can tie it properly. Perks of always having to dress myself for Mother’s galas. It’s easy for my hands to wrap around the knots naturally.

“How’s that?”

“Good.” Michael adjusts it a touch. “You’ll have to teach me how to do that.”

“It’s easy.” I go back to putting on my own suit, slipping into my blazer, tying my own bow tie around my neck.

“So, uh …”

Here we go.

“I heard that Wyatt left.”

“Yeah.” God, on the list of people I don’t want to talk to about all of this, Michael is near the top.

“I ran into him in the lobby last night. He said he wouldn’t be able to perform at the reception,” Michael says. “Did you two break up?”

I look at his reflection in the mirror. “I don’t actually know.”