Page 13 of Sister of the Bride

“Speaking of my parents, they are very much looking forward to meeting all of you and wanted me to extend an invitation for dinner next Saturday,” Mackenzie says. I suppress an eye roll atextend an invitation, because who the hell talks like that? Mackenzie sounds like the voice that lives inside your home security system, not a person who should be marrying my sister. Polly must bereallyhigh on romance, because it’s obscuring the fact that she and this woman have nothing in common.

“Oh, well, that’s not going to work,” I say, the words just exploding out once again, blowing right past the suggestion of a filter.

“Pippin!” Polly shoots me the classic twin-speak look forwhat the hell is wrong with you?

“What? Saturday night in the restaurant business? You know how it goes,” I say, even though at the moment I’m starting to wonder if Polly still remembers. Turns out a lot can happen when you leave the country for six months. Maybe your entire childhood just plumb falls out of your memory.

“Fernando can handle it,” Mom says, shooting me the look that is clearly the one Polly’s descended from. “And Evie can handle front of house.”

She mutters, “Honestly, Pippin,” under her breath the same way she did when I was little and used to ask loud questions in the middle of mass.

“Sunday brunch, then,” Mackenzie says, and now I have nothing to say, because I eliminated Sunday brunch at Marino’s three years ago when I realized it was losing us money because no one goes to an Italian restaurant for waffles and eggs.

Mackenzie’s thoughtful accommodation seals the deal for Mom, who turns to her, smiling warmly, and says, “We’d love to. Please tell your parents we look forward to getting to know them.”

Mom and Nonna walk Polly and Mackenzie to the door. Polly wants to give Mackenzie a Beacon Hill tour and then go for drinks, and I have to bite my tongue to keep from reminding her that she saw Mackenzie a week ago but hasn’t seen her family in six months, and also Mackenzie has lived in Boston her entire life, so why does she need a damn tour? But the filter is powered back up, thank god.

My mind is whirring. Surely this can’t last. Can it? No, truly, it can’t. They’re just engaged. It isn’t like they’re already married. It takes, like, a solid year to plan a wedding, and surely the relationship will reach its inevitable conclusion before then. There’s nowaymy art history–loving, romantic comedy–watching, free-spirit sister is going to spend the rest of her life with an uptight computer nerd who works in international finance and looks like she was born in a three-piece suit.

If this were a Nora Ephron movie, I’d already be hatching a plan to break them up. But this isn’t a movie, and I don’t think I have to do a damn thing here. Mackenzie and Polly were meant to date, maybe fall in love for a bit, but they definitely won’t end up together.

I give it three months tops. My only job is to be there to hug my sister and feed her Oreo frappes when it all goes to shit.

“I guess we’ll see you next Sunday for brunch, then,” I say as Mackenzie and Polly head for the door, hand in hand. I feel much calmer now that I’ve figured this shit out. I don’t have to work as hard not to be a total idiot asshole when I open my mouth. I just have to wait this out, and then things will go back to normal. Hopefully soon, so we can still get down to the Cape and hit a Red Sox game. “It was nice to meet you.”

Polly turns and gives me a smile, then mouths a silent “Thank you.” I almost feel bad that in my head, I’m already stocking up on Kleenex and planning a Nora Ephron film festival to comfort Polly when this whole thing ends.

Chapter6

Pippin

What is the worst thing someone could bring home from study abroad?

Toby

I don’t know this one!

Pippin

It’s not a joke, you ding-dong! This is a best friend SOS! My sister brought home a fiancée!

Toby is already on our bench, the one beneath the willow tree at the edge of the swan boat pond in the Public Garden. It’s the bench we used to meet up on after school, him coming from his fancy private school in Cambridge and me from public school in the South End. We took Halloween photos on that bench, and prom photos, and surly teen selfies where we stuck out our tongues and flipped off the camera. It’s the bench where he told me he was going away to USC. The bench where he held me after my dad died while I cried for so long I thought I’d never stop.

It’s almost nine, and the sun is long gone, the garden nearly empty save for a few people passing through after a late night at the office and a few couples enjoying the quiet oasis in the middle of the city. Toby’s got his head back, his eyes closed, his face bathed in the golden light of the streetlamps. His long legs are splayed out in front of him, and for the first time I look at my friend and realize that he really is all grown up. Gone are all traces of the coltish, gawky boy I grew up with. If I weren’t so excited to have him back, I might be a little sad. I know it’s been eight years, but I sort of didn’t realize that was actual time passing, you know?

“Nice pj’s,” I say as I slide in next to him and pluck at the soft flannel printed with the Dunkin’ Donuts logo.

“Pips, bring it in.” Toby lets out a yawn that sounds like a migrating goose, then throws his arm around me, tugging me into his warm shoulder. I rest my head and sigh.

“I’m guessing you haven’t gotten much sleep since I last saw you?” I ask.

“I got a solid hour of a power nap, then three hours of a five-course meal, each course accompanied by my parents grilling me about my future. I was a good thirty minutes into my much-needed evening slumber when you issued your SOS.”

“Sorry about that. But what’s going on with your parents? You’d think they’d be pleased to have a doctor in the family.”

Toby shrugs, sending my head bobbing up and down.

“My parents are not big on change. They’re a bit like you that way,” he says, poking me in the ribs. I swat his hand away in protest. “Speaking of, I hear congratulations are in order?”

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