CHAPTER 8: NEVER BE REAL

She hasn't said a word about it since I told her. "Mom? Are you okay?"

"What on earth is going on here?" She raises her voice and immediately stands up. "So, this Mark fellow is your boyfriend, huh?"

"Well, you could say something did happen to me," I tell my mother, maintaining my composure. "Yes, Mark is the man I plan to marry." Despite her rudeness, I remain polite. Somehow, I feel more grown-up and self-assured.

"You can't be serious! You're only 17!" Her comment is so absurd that it makes me burst into laughter.

"No! You have no right to say such things to me! You've been absent from my life for most of the last 15 years, and it's getting hard not to cry," I respond firmly. I love Mark, and he loves me. Dad is supportive, and we all share the same belief – Mark's role is to ensure my happiness, and he genuinely cares about it. "Why can't you be happy for me?" I wonder aloud.

I can almost hear her crying in her sighs. Her eyes well up. "I'll do my best to accept it... So, how did you two meet?" Her tone shifts as she begins to ask questions.

"Okay, so we agreed to meet at a coffee shop. I forgot my wallet, but she offered to pay, so I guess we'll just have to do this," Mark says, keeping our story consistent. I offer him a grateful smile.

"Alright. How long have you two been together?" She continues with her inquiries.

I inform her that we've been dating for the past three years.

"Favorite color," she inquires.

I smile and glance at Mark, who remains silent. "Purple is her favorite," I answer, "and his is green."

"I still don't approve, but I'm starting to understand, somewhat," she admits, taking a few deep breaths before continuing. "So, I assume you want to see the dress, right?"

"Yes, that's one reason we're here. Additionally, I'd like to invite you to join us. The wedding will be an intimate, small gathering, with family and close friends. We would love to have you there," I explain.

She's about to respond when a younger girl enters the room, appearing to be no more than seven years old. "Mommy, here's a picture I made just for you," the girl says.

My mother comments, "I still don't understand why you didn't make one for me." Then, an older man enters and warmly greets my mother with a hug and a kiss on the head. He gives equal attention to both Mark and me, introducing himself as "Hello, I'm Will, Liz's husband."

I feel overwhelmed and can't speak. "Um, my name is Mark. Nice to meet you," Mark says, still a bit stunned.

"Nice to meet you too. What's your name?" He extends his hand toward me.

"Excuse me, but my name is Alyanna," I respond, finally getting up and firmly shaking his hand.

"I've heard something like that before," he remarks, only to be interrupted by either my mom or Lizzie.

"Hannah, why don't you go check on your sister and see what she's up to?" The girl nods and leaves.

Lizzie's husband returns to our conversation. "So, is Alyanna really your name?" he asks.

"Yes, she just told me that's who she is," my mom responds. He doesn't seem to get it, appearing somewhat absent-minded. In the brief ten seconds I've known him, I've already formed my own opinion about him. It seems I don't share the central idea of Beauty and the Beast.

The mother corrected the man, saying, "No, Will, this is my daughter Alyanna." He glanced at her briefly, then back at me. I offered a small smile and greeted, "Hi."

He returned the smile. "I've been eager to meet you. Liz has told me a lot about you, so I know quite a bit." His behavior went from initially foolish to confused, then back to foolish.

"Hello. Mark, who you can see in this picture, and I are getting married. We're here to shop for a dress, and I wanted to use this opportunity to reconnect with my mom," I explained.

"Mom?" Now the older girl emerged. Where is she gesturing? Her gaze darted between Liz and me, and she appeared on the verge of tears.

Liz tried to address her, saying, "Sweetie, I... I..." She let out a sigh. "I'm not sure." Her voice quivered as she began to cry.

The young girl intervened, "Should I talk to her?" His demeanor shifted once again, from being foolish to confused, and then he turned kind.

"I apologize. Perhaps we shouldn't have come," I started to gather my things, preparing to leave.

"No, I'm glad you did. I've neglected to reach out for far too long, and I won't make that mistake again," Liz said, taking a step closer to me. "I'd be thrilled to attend your wedding. Count on me to be there for you. If you're open to it, I'd like to take you to a bridal shop to find a dress that fits perfectly."

I embraced her warmly, smiling. "Absolutely. That sounds like a wonderful plan. Please let me know if you think your other daughters would like to come. I haven't disclosed to anyone yet that they're my sisters."

"I think they would, but I need to talk to Sophie first before making any arrangements," Liz replied. When she mentioned that her other daughter had "stormed off," I must have appeared quite puzzled.

"Alright. I understand. When would be a good time to go?" I looked at Mark for his input. He seemed to convey, "I don't mind," and nodded.

"If it works for you, how about tomorrow? Sophie could use some time alone to calm down."

"That sounds reasonable. So, let's head back to the hotel and get some rest." I completed the turn and reached out for Mark's hand.

"I'd love to have you stay with us, but we don't have any extra space, and I think Sophie might be a bit apprehensive," my mom mentioned. It was clear she wanted to address the situation with her daughter.

Despite the discomfort in my chest, I couldn't quite pinpoint the reason for it. Why couldn't my mom just stay? But then again, if she had stayed, I might not have crossed paths with Mark. Would I still find myself in the same room as the man I'm becoming attracted to?

I knew deep down that such a scenario would never unfold. It's merely a fleeting thought, a tiny scrap of paper in the vast landscape of possibilities.