Page 12 of Sister of the Bride

Like what?I want to say, but that seems rude, so instead I go with, “That makes one of us.” Which I guess soundsmorerude? I’m doing that thing where I let my mouth run without engaging the filter first. I try to follow it with a laugh, like,Hey, it was just a joke! But it clearly doesn’t translate, because Polly mutters a low scolding, “Pippin.”

Mackenzie’s shoulders rise another half an inch, and a little muscle jumps in her jaw. I try to tamp down my satisfaction that she seems intimidated. Again, she should be.

“Of course, I know this all must be a tremendous shock,” Mackenzie says.

Tremendous?I nod, but both Nonna and Mom are shaking their heads as if they get news like this every day.

Mackenzie barrels on as if she prepared this speech before she walked through the door. Like maybe there’s a PowerPoint presentation to go along with it or notecards in the pocket of her blazer. Are we about to get a TED Talk on why Mackenzie needs to make my sister a child bride? “I mean, it’s the twenty-first century. Who meets, falls in love, and gets engaged in six months?” she says.

“Exactly!” I cry with what, okay, I can admit is probably asmidgetoo much volume. Especially considering the look Polly is shooting me. Our twin-speak is definitely rusty, but I’m pretty sure this one means,I’ll drown you in the Charles River if you don’t start acting right.

“It did happen fast, but Polly is so easy to love,” Mackenzie says, and if it’s possible, Polly seems to glow even brighter. (Not like Mackenzie has actually articulated anything specific about my sister that she loves.) Mackenzie seems to feed off the energy of her fiancée’s grin, because she visibly relaxes into the couch. “And when you meet the person you want to spend the rest of your life with, you want to start right away.”

“When Harry Met Sally!” Mom exclaims. And that’s the moment I know there will be no skepticism from our mother. Because there she goes, tearing up. The Marino womenlovea good rom-com.

“Excuse me?” Mackenzie shifts in her seat, adjusting her black-framed glasses and cocking her head slightly. She looks like she could pull out a file folder at any moment and start trying to sell us 401(k)s.

“The movie. It’s a line from the movie,” I say. I wait for this to jog Mackenzie’s memory, but it appears to be lingering at the starting line.

“I’ve never seen it,” Mackenzie says. “I’m more of a documentary person.”

What?!I glance over at Polly to see if this information is new to her. It must be, because we’ve watched the Nora Ephron collection so many times we wore out Mom’s old DVDs. How could Polly marry someone who hasn’t seenWhen Harry Met Sallyand—what’s worse—doesn’t seem towantto?

“That’s actually how we met!” Polly jumps in, because I’m just sitting here blinking in confusion. Even Mom seems a bit befuddled. “We were the only two people at a matinee ofToo Big to Fail. Five minutes into the movie, I picked up my popcorn and sat down next to her and said, ‘Might as well watch together!’” They’re now gazing into each other’s eyes, transported back to this magical moment when it all began over talking heads discussing the largest financial collapse since the Depression.

“Too Big to Fail?” I ask Polly. “I’m sorry, butwhy?”

“I was homesick and wanted to hear some American accents. It was playing at the little theater near my flat.” Polly shrugs and turns back to Mackenzie. “Who knew I’d meet the love of my life hunting for some hardr’s?”

“Certainly not me,” I say, letting the filter drop again. This time it’s Nonna who clears her throat and shoots me the narrow-eyed look she used to give us when we got chatty in church. Shit, if I’m losing Nonna, I have no hope of talking sense into Polly. So I decide to try and throw a conversational bone to smooth things over. “Polly says you work for an investment bank?”

Mackenzie nods, and I realize I’ve never met anyone to whom I could apply the wordprimuntil now. “I do cybersecurity assessments for international financial firms,” she replies.

“That sounds like a good job,” I say. “Do you live in London full-time?”

I notice Polly stiffen slightly and file that away for a later conversation. Before Mackenzie can reply, Polly squeezes her hand and jumps in. “Mackenzie is usually based in Boston, but she spent the last eight months in the London office. It was fate,” she says in the gooey, in-love voice I remember from when she dated Lorelei Davis senior year. They broke up when Lorelei told Polly that majoring in art history was “a one-way ticket to living in a cardboard box.” Loreleialsogot an MBA.

It seems my sister has a type.

“I’m a consultant, so I just finished up a contract with a London firm. But yes, I’m based here,” Mackenzie says. “I keep an office in Kendall Square.”

“So Mackenzie, who are your people?” Nonna cuts in. Mom sighs and Polly gasps.

“Nonna, that’s—” I start to gently admonish her, but Nonna blows me off with a wave of her arthritic hand.

“Please, Pippin,” she says before turning back to Mackenzie. “They’re Red Sox fans, yes?”

Mackenzie laughs, which a) I didn’t know she could do and b) is good, because it looks like Polly is still recovering from her heart attack over our little old Italian grandmother’s method of proving respectability.

“My dad’s actually more of a Celtics guy, but he would definitely never root against the Red Sox,” she says. “He’s lived in Boston most of his life.”

“Celtics are fine,” Nonna says with a firm, approving nod. “I’m not trying to say I couldn’t learn to love you if you came from Yankees fans, but it would certainly take effort.” Then she mimes spitting in the dirt. My grandmother, ladies and gentleman. A real dame.

“Forgive my grandmother—she takes her baseball very seriously,” Polly says.

“What’s the point of watching the game if you don’t?” Nonna replies.

“Nonna, it’s called a pastime, not a blood sport,” Mom says, but Nonna brushes her off with a wave and apshaw.

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