As I stood in front of the full length mirror of the honeymoon suite of the Fairmont Copley Plaza, I had never felt more alone in my life. I could see the church just one street over and my hand instinctively reached out for Maura. Not Casey, to whom I’d never really turned in time of need, but Maura who had stood by my side without wavering, for almost six years.

In the adjoining room, I could hear my mother composing herself.

“Janie?” She stepped into the doorway and smiled. It was the first time in a long time that the smile actually reached her eyes. She looked beautiful then, really beautiful. As I stared at her, I felt a tear slip down my cheek as I remembered the day we’d shopped for her outfit. It was the only bit of wedding shopping Maura had participated in. And she was uncharacteristically late.

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The bridal shop was bright and full of people both joyous and crying at the same time. It echoed with the a never ending chorus of ’you look so beautiful’ and ’I wish your “departed loved one” could see you now.’ I hated it and made it clear.

“Why can’t I just get this one?” I ran my hand over the first dress I saw before pulling it from the rack and holding it against myself. It was hideous. My mother, in horror, recoiled from the garment as one might from a venomous snake that might strike at any second.

“Because Janie,” I rolled my eyes at the nickname and she laughed. “We’re not here to get your dress today and,” she pulled the dress from my hand and replaced it on the rack. “That is revolting.”

I smiled and settled into a large chair. Almost immediately a woman appeared next to me and offered me a glass of champagne which I took and sipped as delicately as I could.

A tall woman with a bun pulled so tight it looked as though her eyes might pop out of her head, appeared from behind some ivory curtains and beamed at my mother.

“Mrs Rizzoli.” She air kissed in her general area and moved stiffly away. “How nice to see you.” She glanced at me quickly. “Jane!” she was curt in her dealings with me, as if somehow I didn’t belong in her world of thousand dollar dresses and the delicate nuances between white, ivory and cream. ’Who cares, they’re all the same’ I’d said on the first visit to her ’boutique’. She was right, I didn’t belong there.