Lauren married a man named Trent at twenty-five. Mom walked her. Lauren divorced him at twenty-eight. Married a real estate guy named Colby at thirty. Mom walked her again.
Four weddings. Four times Mom stood up at the reception and gave a speech about how her daughters were “the light of her life.” She never mentioned me in any of those speeches. Not once.
At Lauren’s second wedding, I was standing by the bar when I heard Mom talking to one of her friends from the foundation board.
“Three daughters?” the woman said. “How lovely. Where’s the third one?”
Mom glanced across the room at me. I was holding a club soda. I’d just come from work.
“Oh,” Mom said. “Emma. She’s… well, every family has one, don’t they?” And she laughed, and the woman laughed, and they turned back to watch Lauren dance.
Every family has one.
