My mother’s eyes went straight to his boots. They were worn, and that settled it for her, so she gestured at a small table outside near the catering entrance, close enough to the bins that you could smell them, with rain turning the grass to mud. She said there had been no seat planned for extra guests. When I said he was my husband, she offered to bring us leftovers. Elias only asked what I wanted to do. I stayed, out of stubbornness, and I have thought about that choice many times since.

At the reception Aubrey came over in her designer gown and told me it was embarrassing having to explain us to her friends, looked at his boots, called him a farmhand, and tipped her glass so the red wine ran down the front of my dress. People laughed. My mother stood close enough to hear all of it and smiled. Elias handed me a napkin and said it was fine, and I understood he was not talking about the dress.