I didn’t need a veil to feel wed. Ben and I said our “I dos” at the courthouse—no frills, just rings and a deli sandwich after. We cracked up over pickles, and he smiled, “We’ll throw a shindig if we want, Kate—but this is us, real and true.” It fit—new jobs, house goals, no cash for a blowout. We were happy, until his family dubbed it fake and flipped everything upside down.
His mom, Ruth, texted the clan that night: “Guess it’s settled—let us know the real wedding date!” I froze, words stuck. At a taco night, his sister Sue leaned in, “So, Kate, when do you officially join the family?” “I’m in,” I said. She giggled, “No, like, with a big day!” Ben just ate, mute. At a reunion, his grandma told a cousin, “Meet Kate, Ben’s sweetie—wedding soon, right?” I stirred chili, lips tight, heat climbing my neck.
“Why don’t they count us?” I pressed Ben later. “They’re old-school—don’t worry,” he brushed off. But it festered—Sue’s guy was family royalty, I was a ghost. I kept at it—helped his uncle with a picnic, rolled dough with Sue’s kids. “Love you, Aunt Kate!” they sang, my only cheerleaders. I hosted Ruth’s tea party, but the blow landed at her supper. Fetching cola from the garage, I caught her: “Kate’s a stand-in—no real wife skips the pomp. She snagged Ben on a budget.”
Sue snorted, “Just wanted the band, not us.” My chest locked, cola slippery in my shaky hand. I didn’t barge back—I sank into the car, can beside me, light dim, and schemed. They’d get their party, my style. I dodged Ben’s “You good?” over oatmeal with a flat “Yeah,” but our rhythm slipped—late returns, blank stares, “Any grub?” drowning me out. I quit nudging, and he didn’t blink.
I tracked down a chic printer, choosing gold-stamped invites on rich paper: “A private toast to new paths.” No fuss, just time and place. I mailed them to Ruth, Sue, the kin, and Ben, grinning as they hit the box. Replies flew back—they couldn’t wait. The day gleamed—sky bright, air crisp. Guests arrived at a grand manor, valets guiding them to a deck with soft tunes and glowing pools, scent of mint in the breeze.
Ruth gasped, “This is fancy,” Sue mused, “Kate’s got pull?” I waited inside, in a crisp white dress—sleek, not sweet. I stepped out, silence crashing, and spoke. “You’ve called me no wife—no ceremony, no claim,” I said, firm. Ben stiffened, Ruth scowled. “Here’s your event.” Servers delivered envelopes—divorce filings, blunt and true. “No wife, no husband,” I finished. Breaths hitched, a fork fell.
“This house? My roots,” I told Ben. “Two years before our day, and you never asked.” Ruth paled, Sue sat stunned, Ben moved, “Kate—” “You chose their snubs over me,” I cut in. He stood, bare. I raised my glass, “To starting over.” No one echoed. I walked off, leaving the lights and their shock. They begged for a wedding—I gave them a farewell they’d carry forever.
