My Sister and I Got Married on the Same Day,No One Came to Bless Me

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In our town, Willow Creek, marrying off a daughter comes with a custom we call the wedding-blessing toast.

The night before the wedding, the closest family gathers around one table, and each of them adds a treasure to the bride's dowry chest.

My cousin and I were being married off on the same day.

The night before, my uncle's house next door blazed with light, three full tables packed with relatives.

My mother took the jade bracelet she'd saved her whole life and set it into my cousin's dowry chest, her eyes red as she said, "Our girl is going to leave this house in style."

I waited next door until eleven at night.

A pot of tea had gone cold on the table, four empty chairs around it, and not a single person came.

My mother called. In the background I could hear the laughter from over there.

"Your cousin's isn't finished yet. Get some sleep first. You've got an early start tomorrow."

I looked at the empty dowry chest, and suddenly I laughed.

The next morning, I didn't get into the wedding sedan.

Instead I folded up the bridal dress and left it on the table, a note tucked beneath it:

"No one came to bless my dowry, so I won't be getting married."

...

Five in the morning, the sky still dark.

I carried my suitcase out the front door, my steps light.

Next door, my uncle's house was lit up, laughter spilling out through the cracks in the windows.

My mother was sitting at my cousin's dressing table, a peachwood comb in her hand, stroke by stroke combing out my cousin's hair for the wedding.

I stood in the doorway for three seconds. I didn't go in.

Last night was still fresh in my mind.

By Willow Creek custom, the night before a wedding you hold the wedding-blessing toast: the closest family sits around one table and each adds a treasure to the bride's dowry chest.

I waited until nine. No one came.

Ten. No one came.

Eleven, the teapot cold through, the four chairs empty.

My mother called, the noise and laughter of the other house behind her voice.

"Your cousin's isn't finished yet. Get some sleep first. You've got an early start tomorrow."

I said all right.

I hung up, looked at the empty dowry chest, and gave a small laugh.

It was only later that I found out my mother hadn't just skipped my side. She had cut a corner off my bridal dress.

She said it was an old Willow Creek rule: when two daughters marry on the same day, one of them is bound to suffer, and a blessing pouch made from the elder daughter's dress could keep the younger one safe.

So she had sewn that scrap of cloth into the sachet Wallis Henson would carry on her.

At the bottom of my dowry chest there was only a note. "Maud Henson is the sensible one. I'll make it up to you later."

Twenty-eight years.

She was always saying later. But how many more twenty-eight years did I have.

The sky brightened. The wedding car procession was already parked at the edge of the village.

The wedding sedan stood at my uncle's door, the horns blaring loud enough to shake the sky.

As I dragged my suitcase past the village entrance, my cousin was sitting in that car draped in red silk, and she rolled down the window.

Her eyes were rimmed red. "Maud, I'm sorry. Aunt insisted on keeping me here. I told her to go to your side, and she wouldn't."

I'd heard that line more times than I could count.

All my life, every time my mother handed her something that was rightfully mine, she'd worn that exact expression.

My mother came chasing after me.

She didn't curse me, didn't try to stop me. She came running with a bowl of dark, murky water.

"Maud, drink this charm-water before you go."

She was out of breath. "Reginald Dickerson in the village says so. If you don't marry, you carry a curse with you. This water can take the curse off you, and it'll keep your cousin safe on her way too."

I stopped and turned to look at her.

Her face was all tenderness, tears brimming in her eyes.

"I know I've wronged you. But you're her real older cousin. Ward off the bad luck for her just this once, and I'll remember your kindness for the rest of my life."

I looked down at that bowl of cloudy charm-water.

There was ash from the paper money she'd burned in it, bits of some herb I couldn't name.

She wanted me to drink it.

To ward off bad luck for a cousin who shared not one drop of blood with me.

I looked into those tear-filled eyes of hers, and all at once it made me sick.

I drank it down, then turned and walked away.

A bus to the county town was parked at the village entrance. I got on, and I didn't look back the whole way.

When I reached town, my fiancé Brad Delgado came to meet me.

He stood at the station exit, frowning at me.

"You didn't even wear red?"

"Can't you think about the bigger picture for once? Do you have any idea what a scene your mother's making over there?"

I opened my mouth, and before I could get a word out, his phone rang.

It was my mother calling.

"Brad, it's my fault, I let you down, I didn't raise her right..."

"Maud's been jealous of her cousin since she was little. I've hit her, I've scolded her, and none of it did any good..."

Brad listened to the whole call, and the way he looked at me changed.

There was more scrutiny in it now, a little disappointment, and a trace of weariness.

He shoved the phone into his pocket, turned, and got in the car.

He didn't open the door for me.

"Get yourself a cab home. I've got things to do."

The engine started, and his car pulled away right in front of me.

I stood on that unfamiliar street, the sun beating down, my head pounding.