Humiliate My Parents, Lose Your Bride

During the wedding tea ceremony, my parents had just lifted their glasses when the cups suddenly burst.

Red wine mixed with cream and chili water exploded across their faces and clothes.

My mother's brand-new formal gown was soaked through in an instant, sticky cream clinging to her hair.

My father instinctively reached to shield her, only to step on a shard of shattered glass and crash hard to the floor.

Miles Weiss's secretary, Bianca Joyner, was laughing so hard she could barely stand up.

"Wow! They look like two ridiculous water buffalo!"

"That was a little touch I designed for your wedding. I never imagined the trick cup would be so sensitive."

I was shaking with rage, and she only fanned the flames.

"No getting angry, bride! They say online that a calm attitude is what makes everything go smoothly!"

Miles clamped a hand over mine too, frowning as he murmured,

"Bianca was just trying to warm up the crowd for you."

"Can't you see everyone's laughing and having a good time? Don't be so ungrateful and petty."

My mother wiped the cream off her face, looking wretched, her eyes rimmed red, yet she still forced a smile at me.

"Sweetheart, we're fine."

"A wedding is a joyous day. Don't start a fight over us."

In that moment, I looked at my parents, both a mess, still desperately keeping up appearances for Miles.

And it struck me all at once how sickeningly absurd this whole wedding was.

They couldn't bear to see me embarrassed.

But Miles could.

In that case.

This marriage, I wasn't going through with it.

...

My father braced himself against the floor, trying to stand, the blood on his palm smearing across the red carpet.

Beside him, Bianca frowned at once.

"Sir, please don't get blood on the carpet."

Hearing that, my mother scrambled down and used her sleeve to wipe away that little bit of blood.

"Sorry, we're so sorry."

"We didn't mean to."

Bianca stood over my parents, looking down at them, her tone all helpless patience.

"I did warn everyone earlier that the cups had a mechanism. Maybe the two of you were too nervous and didn't catch it."

The murmuring around us instantly dropped low.

Someone snickered.

"So she did warn them."

"First time these country bumpkins have been to the city, probably. No wonder they couldn't keep up."

My fingertips trembled with fury.

"Bianca Joyner, you"

Before I could finish, Miles had already stepped in front of her.

"Bianca apologized."

"And your parents said it's fine."

He frowned down at me, his voice dropping very low.

"There are this many people here today. Do you really have to make a scene until no one can save face?"

I stared at him, dazed.

My father's hand was still bleeding.

My mother's shoulders were shaking from the cold.

And all he cared about was Bianca saving face.

My father, as if afraid I would really blow up, hurriedly tugged at my sleeve.

"Sweetheart, let it go."

"Your mom and I will go clean up. You go on with the wedding."

Bianca cut in at once.

"The lounge is full of the Weiss family's relatives right now."

"Why don't the two of you go deal with it in the storage room in the back?"

"There's a mop and rags over there."

"And be quick about itcream is a real pain to clean once it drips onto the floor."

My mother's face went pale for an instant, and she lowered her head at once.

"Excuse us."

"We'll wipe it all up."

She was the one who'd been humiliated.

Yet she bowed the whole way, apologizing as if she'd done something wrong.

I followed them toward the back.

The storage room was cramped, and as my mother went in, her hem caught on a metal shelf and tore open in a long gash.

She pressed a hand over it in a panic.

"It's fine."

"The wedding lights are dim anyway. No one will notice."

She opened her bag. Inside was a new shawl, folded up neat and tidy.

"I was going to put it on when I went up on stage."

"I was afraid I'd look too shabby and embarrass you."

One corner of the shawl was soaked through with wine.

Still, she kept dabbing at it, bit by bit, with a napkin.

When it wouldn't come clean, she folded the stained part inward.

My father pulled a red envelope out of his coat too.

The envelope was warped and soggy from the wine, its corners already going soft.

He kept his head down, wiping at it for a long time, his voice barely above a whisper.

"This is the cash gift from your mother and me."

"We wanted to hand it to our son-in-law with a little dignity."

"And now it's come to this."

He finished, then gave a sheepish little smile.

"Sweetheart, don't hold it against us."

The tears came crashing down all at once.

They'd spent so long preparing for this wedding.

Afraid they wouldn't be dressed well enough.

Afraid they'd fall short on etiquette.

Afraid I'd have to hang my head in the Weiss family.

But what Miles had given them was wine and cream all over their clothes, the guests' jeering laughter, a corner piled high with junk.

Then my phone buzzed.

A message from Miles.

"Come out once you've cleaned up."

"Bianca was only joking with your parents. Don't blow it out of proportion. It's a small thing."

I stared at that line and, all at once, I laughed.

So this was just something to be brushed aside.

So in his eyes, my parents' humiliation, the blood on my father's hand, the formal gown my mother had ruined all of it was just a small thing to be lightly waved away.

I wiped my eyes and helped my parents sit down.

"Dad. Mom."

"Wait here for me a moment."

Then I turned and walked out of the storage room.

At the end of the hallway, the wedding planner was waiting for me anxiously.

"Ma'am, are we still going ahead with the program?"

I looked toward that glaring pool of light in the hall.

Miles stood at the end of the red carpet, head bent, coaxing Bianca.

I pulled my gaze back and spoke calmly.

"Go ahead."

The planner let out a breath of relief.

But then I went on:

"Just change one thing in the program."

"Skip the tea ceremony."

"From here, make it a called-off wedding instead."

When I came back to the storage room, my father was sitting beside a cardboard box, the cut on his knee still bleeding.

Yet the moment he saw me come in, his first instinct was to stand up.

"Sweetheart, are they rushing you out there?"

"Your mom and I will be ready in a second."

I pressed him back down.

"Don't move."

My mother looked up at me, her eyes red, and still she was smiling.

"Don't you worry."

"A wipe or two and I can still wear this gown."

She glanced down at the hem where the wine had bled through, then hurriedly hid the stained part behind her.

"When we go up, I'll just stand off to the side."

"The camera won't catch it."

My throat tightened.

Even now they were still worrying about how not to embarrass me.

Footsteps came suddenly from the doorway.

Miles stood outside, brows drawn as he took in the mess of the storage room.

"Still not ready?"

"The ceremony time is almost here."

"If it's really too much trouble for your parents, maybe they should just skip going up."

He paused, his tone as if he were being reasonable.

"Your mother, looking like that, won't come across well on camera anyway."

The smile froze on my mother's face.

In that instant, she instinctively looked down at her gown.

As if she'd finally realized just how wretched she looked right now.

My father quickly spoke up.

"Yes, yes, of course."

"We don't have to go up, that's fine."

"As long as your wedding goes off smoothly."

I looked at Miles, and all of a sudden this man in front of me felt like a complete stranger.

He used to say he'd treat my parents as his own, honor them like a devoted son.

But now that my parents were hurt and humiliated, all he cared about was that they wouldn't look good on camera.

Bianca showed up soon after.

She came holding a set of clothes, her eyes still red.

"Ma'am, I found you something clean to wear."

"Why don't you change into this first?"

She said it so considerately.

But when the clothes unfolded, the color drained from my mother's face.

It was a spare black skirt-suit from the hotel.

The fabric was stiff, the hem still creased.

At the chest, there was even a staff name tag that hadn't been unpinned.

Bianca acted as though she hadn't noticed, her voice soft.

"Just make do for now, ma'am."

"They'll mostly be filming the couple anyway."

"They won't get you too clearly."

My mother held that garment, her fingers slowly tightening around it.

The formal gown she'd worn today, she'd bought two months in advance.

To save money, she'd gone a whole month without buying anything new for the table.

Every evening she tried it on in front of the mirror.

Trying it on, she'd ask me,

"Sweetheart, is this too flashy for me?"

"Will I not look as respectable as your city in-laws?"

I'd laughed at her back then.

"Mom, you look the best."

She'd been so happy the corners of her eyes crinkled up.

But now, holding an old hotel uniform, she said quietly,

"It's fine."

"As long as I can wear it."

My eyes suddenly burned.

Miles, though, seemed to finally breathe easier.

"Bianca's so thoughtful."

He finished, then looked at me.

"And you, drop the cold face."

"Bianca was scared to tears by you just now."

"When we go out later, you apologize to her in front of everyone first."

Bianca pressed her lips together and said softly,

"Miles, don't push Ebony."

"She doesn't like me. I know that."

"I just wanted to help you two pull off the wedding, that's all."

Miles's voice went gentle at once.

"I know. Don't let it upset you."

Standing off to the side, I suddenly felt too tired even to sneer.

My mother lowered her head and said nothing.

But I saw her tears drop onto that black skirt-suit.

Quickly soaked up by the stiff fabric.

Not a single trace left behind.

A calm came over me all at once.

So from the very beginning, my parents had never been taken seriously at this wedding.

I took out my phone and sent the wedding planner a message.

"No need to wait for the program."

"During the wedding later, play the thing I gave you."

The reply came quickly,

"Are you sure?"

I looked at the back of Miles, head bent, coaxing Bianca.

Then I looked at my parents' eyes, rimmed red from holding it in.

Slowly I typed two words.

"I'm sure."

When I got back to the hall, Bianca was sitting in the bridal lounge.

Her eyes were red, a cup of warm water in her hands.

Miles stood in front of her, bending slightly, dabbing her tears away with a tissue.

"Bianca, stop crying."

"What happened today isn't your fault."

On the table beside them sat a first-aid kit.

My father still had shards of porcelain in his palm.

The blood on his knee hadn't stopped either.

Yet that first-aid kit had never once been carried over to him.

Bianca had only cried.

And Miles was aching for her as if she'd suffered some terrible wrong.

Standing not far off, I suddenly thought back to years ago.

The night of the company gala, I was burning with fever, waiting outside the hotel for Miles to come pick me up.

He'd said he would come once the meeting ended.

But I waited until the small hours, and all I got was a line from him,

"Bianca had too much to drink."

"She just started at the company. It's not safe for a young woman alone, so I'm taking her home first."

Back then I was feverish enough that I could barely stand.

Yet I still answered him,

"Okay. Stay safe."

Afterward, I took a cab home by myself.

The driver saw how pale my face was and asked if I wanted to go to the hospital.

I shook my head.

Because back then, I still thought Bianca had just started at the company, with no one to look after her.

It was only right for Miles to show her a little extra care.

Now, thinking about it.

His thoughtfulness had never been in short supply.

It just never came around to me, and never to my family.

The moment I walked up, Miles lifted his head to look at me.

"Are your parents ready?"

When he finished, his gaze dropped to something behind me, and his brow creased slightly.

"Why hasn't she changed yet?"

My mother stood there in that black skirt suit, stiff and small.

My father held her steady, his palm wrapped clumsily in a wad of tissues.

The tissues were already soaking through red.

Miles acted as if he saw none of it, only turning to instruct the staff.

"Move Mr. and Mrs. Coleman's seats farther back."

"It's not really appropriate for them to be at the head table now."

My mother's face went white.

But my father nodded first.

"Fine, fine."

"We can sit anywhere."

A staff member came over with a new seating chart.

My parents had been placed in the farthest corner.

Beside them sat a pile of spare chairs and tangled speaker cables.

Guests passing by frowned and stepped wide around them.

As if they weren't the parents who'd come to their daughter's wedding.

Just dead weight shoved into a corner at the last minute.

I looked at that seating chart, my voice very quiet.

"Why the change?"

Miles frowned.

"Your parents' clothes are a mess. Sitting at the head table, they'd get photographed easily."

"The press is here today."

"I'm thinking of everyone."

Thinking of everyone.

Everyone except my parents.

My father quickly caught my arm.

"Sweetheart, the corner's fine."

"It's quiet."

My mother forced a smile too.

"That's right."

"This way no one photographs us and embarrasses you."

Something clamped down hard on my chest.

She hadn't done a single thing wrong.

And yet she'd already learned to hide herself away.

It made me think of last winter.

My mother was in the hospital for a minor surgery, and I'd called Miles to ask if he could come with me to the hospital.

That day he said he had a meeting at the company and couldn't get away.

I ran up and down those halls alone, paying the bills, picking up medication, signing the forms.

By the time I got home that night, two blood blisters had rubbed raw on the soles of my feet.

But the next day, I saw a photo on Bianca's feed.

There in a hospital corridor, Miles sat beside her.

A cup of warm soy milk in his hand.

The caption read: "Someone was afraid my tooth extraction would hurt and insisted on staying to the very end."

I went and asked him about it.

He only explained mildly:

"Bianca has no family in this city."

"Your mother has you to take care of her."

Back then I stayed silent for a long time.

In the end I still talked myself into it.

He was just too soft-hearted.

But only now do I understand.

He wasn't soft-hearted.

He simply held Bianca's tears as more important than me and my family combined.

The emcee came over with the program sheet to confirm it with Miles.

My father saw his own name on it, and as if something had just come back to him, he hurriedly pulled a sheet of paper from the inside pocket of his suit.

He'd folded that paper perfectly flat.

But one corner had bled into a stain from the wine earlier.

"I prepared a speech."

He said it a little awkwardly.

"If it's still needed, I could say just a few simple words."

His voice grew softer and softer.

As if he too knew that he no longer belonged up at the front.

Bianca suddenly reached out and took the paper from him.

"Oh, the uncle prepared something too?"

She unfolded it with a smile, read only the first line, and couldn't hold back a laugh.

"Today, I give my most precious daughter to Miles"

She looked up at Miles.

"Isn't this a little too old-fashioned?"

"Who says things like this at a wedding anymore?"

A few of the staff nearby laughed along.

My father's face flushed red at once.

He reached out to take the paper back.

"My English isn't good."

"And I didn't write it well either."

"So let's just skip it."

But Bianca acted as if she hadn't noticed his embarrassment, and flipped through it again.

She read the spots where my father had written out the phonetic spelling, and suddenly burst out laughing.

"The uncle was even afraid he'd mispronounce it?"

"Really, there's no need to be this nervous. Nobody actually wants to hear this stuff."

The few staff members nearby laughed along.

My father's face burned crimson.

Miles finally spoke.

But not to save my father.

Instead, he said:

"Bianca has a point too."

"This part really doesn't fit the style of today's wedding."

"Sir, let's just cancel the speech for now."

My father clutched the paper, his lips moving.

In the end all he said was: "All right. Whatever you decide."

I watched him fold that speech back up and tuck it into the already-wrinkled pocket of his suit.

His movements were slow.

As if he were tucking away the last shred of his dignity along with it.

That speech, he'd prepared for a full two weeks.

Once, when I came home, I saw him sitting in the living room, recording himself into his phone.

Whenever he stumbled over a line, he'd delete it and start over.

He said:

"Sweetheart, your dad isn't an educated man."

"But when you get married, I have to do it right."

"I can't let anyone think my girl's family has no one standing behind her."

Back then I only laughed at how nervous he was.

I said: "Dad, just standing up there is enough."

But today.

He didn't even get the chance to stand up there.

Bianca handed the program back to the emcee.

"I'll go up and speak in a bit."

"I know Miles well, and I know the flow of the event too."

She looked over at my parents with a smile.

"The uncle and aunt aren't good with words, so it's all the same if I speak for you."

My mother lowered her head.

My father didn't argue either.

They were probably already used to it.

As long as it was for my sake, they could endure anything.

Just then the emcee came over with a reminder.

"Miss Joyner, please get ready."

"Your toast is the next segment."

Bianca smoothed out her skirt and passed by me.

She paused for a moment, her voice pressed very low.

"Sis, tell the uncle and aunt not to be upset."

"It's not convenient for them to go up, so I'll say a few words of blessing for them. Consider it me smoothing things over for you."

As she finished, a flicker of smugness crossed her eyes.

I didn't look at her.

I only lowered my head and glanced at my phone.

The wedding planner had sent a message:

"Everything's ready."

"Are you sure you want to play it now?"

I looked up.

At the end of the aisle, Bianca had already taken the microphone.

Miles stood below the stage, watching her with a gaze that was tender and indulgent.

And my parents sat in the darkest corner.

One clutching the canceled speech.

The other clutching that ill-fitting black skirt suit.

I slowly typed out a single word.

"Play."

The next second, what appeared on the big screen made every guest below gasp in unison.