Page 23 of Sister of the Bride

“What are you talking about?”

“Come on, Pippin. Checklists? Calendars? Budgets? Bossing people around and making things bend to your will? That’s your love language.”

“My love language is acts of service and you know it.”

“Same thing! You love Polly, and doing this for her is how you’re going to show her your love. I don’t think the planning is the problem. Or even the four months part,” he says, and then he pokes me in the shoulder with his fork, leaving a little tine prints of dressing on my sleeve. “You’re skeptical.”

“Iamskeptical!” I cry, happy that I can finally talk to someone about this. Polly’s certainly off limits, and Nonna and Mom just give me the evil eye every time I try to real talk with them about my reservations over Polly’s impending (veryimpending) nuptials. Apparently everyone is fully on board the wedding train while I’m still dangling off the caboose. “They’ve known each other forsix monthsand they’re gettingmarried. And I just don’t understand why. What’s the rush?”

Toby turns his gaze to a little girl tossing popcorn at some ducks in the pond while her mother clutches the back of her dress to keep her from going in after them. “To quote the late, great Nora Ephron by way of Harry Burns, ‘When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with someone, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.’”

“At least you’ve seen the movie,” I mutter. “How dare you use Ephron against me!”

“You’re the one who made me watchWhen Harry Met Sallyeleventy billion times.”

I open my wedding planning app and add a check box for “Make Mackenzie watchWHMS,” because if I’m going to learn to love my future sister-in-law, that’s definitely a requirement.

“Do you need help?” Toby asks.

“From you? You want to help me plan a wedding? Just how comprehensive was medical school?”

“Hey, I got dragged to every appointment when each of my four sisters got married, so I know some things. Turner’s wedding was just last year, so it’s fresh. Plus, I did a psych rotation—surely that could be helpful.”

As much as I would love to have Toby along for this ride, I shake my head. “Toby, you barely have enough time to feed yourself. You’ve been a resident for all of two weeks, and I’ve already seen you nod off into a bread basket. In what universe do you have time to help plan a wedding?”

He shrugs. “The beginning is called boot camp, but it’ll calm down. It’s not really like it is on television. You watch way too many medical shows, by the way.”

“There’s no such thing.”

I wake my phone up, and the endless to-do list taunts me. It would be nice to do this with him. I may be the captain in a group project situation, but Toby is an invaluable cheerleader. And if I’m going to make it through this experience with my good humor intact, I probably need him.

“Okay, you can help,” I say. “But you have to promise to tell me if you need sleep or just want to sit on your couch and veg instead of, I don’t know, sourcing peonies or whatever.”

Toby raises three fingers and solemnly nods. “Scout’s honor.”

“That doesn’t mean much, since I know your fear of snakes kept you from earning basically any of the outdoor merit badges, but luckily I believe you anyway.”

“Good. Because I’m always here for you, Pippin. For peonies or cake tastings or auditioning wedding bands orcake tastings. Did I mention cake tastings? I’m definitely here for cake tastings.”

I arch an eyebrow at him. “Yes, I believe you mentioned that.”

“I can also look uptonsof wedding-related jokes.”

“Thank you, I appreciate that. Not the jokes part, but the sentiment.” I reach up and flick the end of his stethoscope, which is hanging around his neck. “Aren’t they missing you at the hospital?”

“I’ve got just enough time to ask you if you want to be my plus-one to this fancy hospital gala. I won tickets by knowing all symptoms of rabies!”

I grimace. “You want me to go to a rabies banquet?”

“No, I just knew the answer to the question. The banquet is for…an anniversary of something? Or a dedication of a new wing? I don’t really know. All I care about is that it’s at the Fairmont Copley Plaza, there’s an open bar, there’s going to be a five-course meal that’s supposed to be out of this world, and it’s a whole night when no bodily fluids will be launched at me.”

“You know I work weekend nights,” I tell him, turning my attention back to my app.

He reaches over and swipes my phone from my grasp, forcing me to look at his big, stupid, puppy-dog grin. “That’s the best part! It’s on a Tuesday! Come on, come eat fancy food with me, it’ll be fun. I don’t have anyone else to go with. Everyone I’m friends with at work is on shift that night.”

I think about the other night, when Evie asked me if Toby was available and I said no. I was talking completely out of my ass for reasons that pass all understanding, and now I feel guilty about it. Toby is single! I don’t know what happened with him and Jen, but that was a very long relationship that’s over now, and he deserves to take a real, actual date to fancy shit like this. And I am a terrible friend for standing in the way of that. Luckily, I can try to rectify it right now.

“Hey, you know Evie, the server with the blond pixie cut and all the tattoos?”

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