Amanda Fahy To the Woman Who Hugged Me The music was blasting through the DJ’s speakers as I dug into my second helping of prime rib. “I’ve never seen them come out with the carving station for seconds before!” my Dad said, “Get it while you can.” Prime rib wasn’t something my family was accustomed to. Having a household of six mouths to feed, chicken was on the dinner menu almost daily. Sitting at a rounded, white-clothed table with my whole family dressed to the nines also wasn’t something that happened very often. The Aqua Turf Club of Southington, Connecticut was a dream location for any couple to have their wedding. The club’s botanical gardens paired with the wooded barn-like chapel made for an enchanted atmosphere. Our table was located on the corner of the dancefloor which gave us the perfect view of the couple’s first dance. At each place setting under the delicately folded white cloth napkins, the wedding favors hid. In the dim light, I could hardly read the small text. “Fabiano + Lilah” was on one side of the customized M&Ms, while the other read, “Forever & Always.” I devoured the tiny package within seconds. My mom had known Fabiano his whole life. Being her best friend’s son she was there the day he was born, until now. My mom felt like she was watching one of her own kids say, “I do.” “Which fork am I supposed to use?” whined my younger brother after rummaging through the utensils. You thought this was funny. Watching my mom show my brother how to use eating utensils properly made you and your husband chuckle. “We left our kids at home tonight,” you yelled over the music. You sat directly across the table from me in a brown dress that shimmered in the lights reflecting from the chandeliers and disco ball. You probably introduced yourself, and I feel guilty now for not remembering your name. After swapping tidbits on parenting with my mom you complimented my siblings and me. “You have such good-looking children, they’re all so beautiful” you exclaimed after glancing at each of us. My two older sisters were able to thank you for the compliment with ease, but I looked down at my hands in my lap. My heart started to beat faster. Beginning my teenage years, lacking self-confidence was a struggle for me. Even though it took my mom over an hour to curl my hair, and everyone seemed to love the ruffled knee-length blue dress I was wearing. I still did not feel pretty. While trying to conceal the tremble in my voice I replied, thanks, in a soft, timid tone.
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