Page 77 of 4 Weddings and a Feud

Going to Mass always made her feel better, though the sacrament had a lot to overcome today after she’d been humiliated and heartbroken. Still, when the organist played a flawless run, Mary’s heart fluttered weakly in her chest like a butterfly with an injured wing. She crossed herself and eased off the kneeler onto the seat.

Someone had taken the spot next to her on the pew. Michael looked pained in a collared shirt that strained across his broad chest and a pair of chinos with a knife-sharp crease over his shin. On his other side was Rafe. His shirt was new. Fashionable. The right size. Was this even her brother? She’d have gotten some holy water to sprinkle on him, but then she noticed his cuffs were rolled up over his hairy forearms. That was her Rafe.

“What are you two doing here?” Mary whispered. “It’s not even Christmas.”

Rafe leaned around Michael. “Hey, I come when it’s not Christmas. I came with you last month at Pentecost.”

Mary tightened her lips and raised her eyebrows, waiting.

“We wanted to check on you after last night.” Michael ran his palms down his thighs where the fabric stretched tight across them. How long had it been since he’d worn anything but jeans and his coveralls? “Mary. Stop thinking about taking me shopping. Tell us whatyouneed.”

She blinked up at her brother. “What I need?” She kept her voice low. “I need to focus on the shop. After yesterday’s fiasco—fiascoes—no one else will hire me for wedding planning.”

“No. That’s not what we’re asking. What can we do to help you? We know you’re hurting.”

Rafe leaned around again, a wicked gleam in his eye. “Need us to go rough up that dickhead?”

Mary glanced around. The woman in the pew in front had turned to stare at them.

“We’re in church!” Mary hissed.

Rafe shrugged. “Jesus flipped tables in front of the temple. I think he’d support a little violence when someone hurts our sister.”

“No,” she whispered. Then, more loudly, “No.” Someone shushed her, but the nosy lady in front had to hear that her brothers weren’t going to beat anyone up. Especially when it wasn’t Alex’s fault things had gone completely to shit yesterday. The wedding was her responsibility, and she’d blown it.

“Okay, then.” Michael’s big hand landed on her shoulder and awkwardly petted it. “What can we do? Want us to put up a flyer on the bulletin board outside the Fellowship Hall? Or at the gym?”

“A flyer? For what?” Around them, people surged to their feet as the priest and the lector walked up the aisle toward the altar. Mary and her brothers stood.

Michael leaned to whisper in her ear over the organist’s crescendo. “For your wedding planning business.”

“I’m done—” But the priest was talking. She muttered the response and crossed herself. As the congregation took their seats, Mary whispered to Michael, “I’m done with all that.”

“What’s she saying?” Rafe poked his head around Michael’s bulk.

“Shh,” someone behind them said.

Michael whispered to his brother. Rafe scowled. But it was time to remember their sins, and all three Forzas bowed their heads in silence.

The priest didn’t give her enough time to recite them all. From not having a fire blanket on standby to not insisting the seamstress put extra give in Rochelle’s gown to allowing Twyla and Teagan to plan an outdoor wedding in July, all the way to sleeping with Alex. She should’ve kept it friendly and professional and not let herself hope?—

Mary joined in the penitential rite. She hadn’t spared a thought for the risk to the family business. When every minute of her time was precious, every moment she’d spent on Alex was wasted. And all her hopes for the wedding business had been futile. Splitting her attention with her side hustle, what if she’d forgotten to do something important, like pay their taxes? Was Rafe still interested in modeling? Should she have supported his dreams? What about Michael? She had no idea what was going on with him.

At last, it was time to sit quietly for the readings. The words, “Give to your servant a teachable heart,” struck her chest like an airbag. Unlike Solomon, she hadn’t been given a teachable heart. She’d learned nothing. She’d let Alex break her heart a second time. How foolish was she to let him back in after he’d confessed that he didn’t trust her enough to tell her about his father’s crimes? She’d jumped in to help him, eyes closed, hoping that if she did, he’d trust her. She swallowed. Love her.

She shouldn’t have been surprised when he’d pushed her away after she’d made a mistake. Many mistakes. She’d failed him. Forgiveness came with love, but none of the help she’d given him, none of the things she’d done for him, had made him love her.

Mary stood for the reading from the Gospel, but her mind was too busy to comprehend it. She’d always taken care of her family. Her mother’s death had made her a caretaker. She loved taking care of others. Every time she helped someone, her heart glowed in her chest. She remembered all the little things she’d done to make Teagan and Twyla’s wedding perfect, or as perfect as it could be, considering the bees and the asthma-inducing citronella. She remembered how Rochelle’s eyelids fluttered closed in delight when she’d taken that first bite of cake at the tasting.

But love shouldn’t come from what someone did for someone else. She loved her brothers because they were her brothers. Because they supported her no matter what. Because they were willing to beat someone up who’d broken her heart. As much as she appreciated their appearance at Mass this morning, she didn’t love them because of anything they’d done.

Didn’t she deserve the same?

Why had she thought anything she could do would make Alex love her?

Fuck him if he didn’t love her, failures and all.

She crossed herself and silently recited an extra Act of Contrition for thinking a swear in church and tried her best to listen and pray during the rest of the service.

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