Chapter 4 - The Line of Symmetry
The sun climbed higher, baking the Savannah estate in a thick, humid heat.
The cocktail hour bled into the reception setup. The DJ was doing sound checks, heavy bass thumping through the speakers, shaking the crystal chandeliers hanging from the tree branches.
Then came the announcement over the microphone.
“Alright, everyone! Immediate family members, please gather by the grand staircase for the official family portraits! Bride and groom request parents and siblings!”
For one stupid, irrational second, a warm flicker of hope bloomed in my chest. Maybe, I thought. Maybe Mom talked to Sloan. Maybe they realized how bad it looked to leave me out completely.
I unlocked my brakes, gripped my push rims, and rolled forward out from beneath the oak tree toward the grand staircase where the photographer was setting up his lighting umbrellas.
I reached the edge of the paved stone patio just as my mother turned around.
Her expression froze as if she had just stepped on a rattlesnake. She abandoned her conversation with an uncle and sprinted across the pavement, intercepting me three feet from the family group.
“Mave! Stop right there,” she whispered urgently, her hands flying out to grab my armrests and halt my momentum.
I stopped, my heart sinking into my stomach. “They called immediate family, Mom. I’m a sibling.”
“I know, honey, but look at the setup,” she stammered, gesturing frantically toward the stone steps. “The photographer arranged risers. There are no ramps. It’s a safety hazard.”
I looked past her. The stone steps had a single, shallow rise of about four inches—easily manageable for my front casters, or easily circumvented by rolling onto the grass right beside the stairs.
“The grass is flat right there, Mom. I can just pull up beside you guys.”
“No, no, the composition!” she hissed, her voice rising in panic as several relatives started looking our way. “The photographer spent an hour lighting this specific symmetrical shot. You sitting on the ground next to the steps will throw off the entire visual balance. It’ll look like an afterthought.”
An afterthought.
The word hung in the humid air between us like a physical blow.
“An afterthought is exactly what I am,” I said quietly, the numbness in my chest giving way to a sharp, burning fury.
“Don’t be melodramatic!” my mother snapped, her patience completely evaporating. “We’ll take a special picture with you later. Just you and Sloan. Tomorrow morning, before you leave!”
Before I could answer, Sloan’s voice cut through the air, sharp and crystal-clear.
“Mom? What’s taking so long? Who’s holding up the shot?”
Sloan marched over, her veil trailing behind her like a shroud of white silk. Her eyes swept over me with undisguised disgust.
“Mave. What are you doing?”
“They called siblings, Sloan.”
Her smile remained fixed for the benefit of the watching guests, but her eyes turned glacial. She leaned down so only I could hear.
“You know the photo will look ridiculous. You sitting in the middle of everyone in that clunky machine will ruin the symmetry. The magazine asked for our official look, not a medical drama.”
Magazine.
Of course. Sloan had sold her wedding photos to a regional bridal lifestyle blog. My wheelchair didn’t fit their aesthetic.
“Don’t make this difficult,” she whispered, her fingernails digging into her own bouquet stems. “Just go back under your tree. Stop trying to ruin my day.”
I stared at my sister—the girl I used to share a bedroom with, the girl I had protected when we were kids, the sister whose wedding I had flown across the country to attend despite my shattered spine.
I didn't say a word. I just slowly pulled my chair backward, putting distance between us.
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Sloan turned back to the photographer with a radiant, teeth-baring smile. “All set! Let’s get these shots!”
I rolled back to my isolated patch of shade, my hands shaking so badly I could barely grip the wheels.
