This is absolutely and wholly fiction.
When you introduce Elle [Eleanor] to us I can see the way you watch her and fawn over her. Mom dotes on the ring and the engagement and Daddy pokes fun of you, asking how you could have possibly tricked such a pretty girl into marrying you.
She is pretty, and sweet. Mom obviously adores her, and you can't keep your hands off of her. You hand is always cradled in the small of her back, or touching her hair gently, or grasping her hands. The two of you sit very close, and she beams at you with every stall in conversation. Mom comments on the chemistry and Daddy congratulates you.
The funny thing is your unusual behavior towards me. You hardly look over at me, and you haven't said anything more than "Hey, Claire," since the two of you arrived.
At dinner time Mom asks that I set the table while she and Elle linger in the kitchen discussing finances for the wedding. Daddy – per Mom's request – is up in the attic digging out the old photo albums of you as a baby, a toddler, and a teenager. By the time I've set the five spots at the table, Mom and Elle are just now talking about venues and the reception, totally lost in the conversation.