Page 4 of Sister of the Bride

“If you must know, he ordered for me at dinner last Friday,” I say. And I’m gratified when Fernando lets out a low whistle. He knows this reason isn’t frivolous. That’s a major foodie faux pas. But Mom just sighs.

“Pippin, why must you be so picky?”

“I didn’t realize having standards was a problem.”

Still never looking up as she smoothes out a layer of pasta sheets, Mom shakes her head. “I just want you to be happy.”

“Being with a man who doesn’t presume he can make decisions for me when we’ve been dating all of five minuteswillmake me happy.”

“Or one who doesn’t chew with his mouth open like Julian, or pronounces Subaru as ‘Soo-boo-roo’ like Ben, or owns too many pairs of khaki pants like that guy, what was his name?” Fernando asks.

“His name was Holston, and the problem with him was primarily that his name was Holston,” I say. The khaki pants didn’t help, though. People were always asking him for help every time we shopped at Target, and he had the gall to be annoyed despite the fact that in the three months we dated, the man wouldn’t put the damn red polo shirt away. That alone probably meant he was a serial killer.

“I don’t blame you on that one,” Evie chimes in. “I’m sorry, butyes, Holston, don’t stop, Holston, just like that, Holstonisn’t exactly the stuff of fantasies.”

Toby attempts to cover his laugh with a hiccup, which I follow up with an elbow to his midsection.

This is another reason why I need Polly back.Shenever razzes me about my breakups. Of which, okay, there have been many, but come on. I have so little free time; why waste it when the signs are all there that a relationship isn’t going anywhere? That’s just good time management. Why spend your evenings with someone who annoys you—or worse, orders for you at a restaurant and picks thechicken? I’d rather curl up in my jammies and watch old episodes ofGrey’s Anatomywith Nonna. Honestly, I have never spent a minute with a guy that was all that much better than being on my own. I’m an excellent cook, and I own a really good vibrator. Dudes had better be coming correct if they want to beat that, and in my experience they’re just all kinds of wrong.

And now that PollyandToby are back, what the hell do I need a relationship for? All that getting to know someone, rehashing your flaws, telling your stories, training them how to find your clit? No thank you. I’m much better off on my own.

“You want to help me out here?” I ask Toby, gesturing to the peanut gallery, who are attempting to roast me. “You owe me after forcing ‘impasta’ into my life.”

“I would, but I got off a red-eye this morning, and the man next to me snored like a longshoreman for the entirety of the flight. I haven’t slept in something like thirty-six hours, and at this point I barely know my own name. You’re on your own, kid.”

“Traitor,” I say, poking a finger into his chest.

“Tired,” he says, grabbing it in his fist. He turns back to the back door and holds it open for me. I duck under his arm and out into the alley. “Tell Polly I said welcome back.”

“Will do,” I say, grateful to have an excuse to walk away from everyone’s favorite topic—why Pippin runs through guys like a movie theater rotating through new releases. As if being twenty-six, busy as hell running a family business, and picky is enough to qualify me for spinsterhood. It’s a conversation that always makes me want to walk into the Atlantic.

And besides, Polly has landed.

Chapter2

Toby

If April showers bring May flowers, what do May flowers bring?

Pilgrims

Pippin

You’re better than this Toby

Toby

Oh I’m definitely not

I’ve always loved Boston in the summertime. It’s as beautiful as the winter is bleak, our reward for enduring months of cold and damp and snow that sometimes stretches all the way into April (and more than once into May). Spring is a day that you might blink and miss, but summer? Summer is aseason, and today is the kind of late-June day that makes you wonder why anyone would live anywhere else. The sun is warm. The breeze off the water feels like nature’s air conditioning. And sure, the sidewalks are crowded with tourists pointing their iPhones at everything instead of watching where they’re going, stumbling around looking for Cheers and lining up for photos on Acorn Street. But when the sun is shining and I’m not sweating, I can overlook it all.

Hell, I can overlook anything today, because not only is Polly finally coming home, Toby is back.

As we walk side-by-side down the cobblestones of Charles Street, I give my best friend a little hip check. He looks over and gives me his megawatt smile, the one I know he pulls out only for his absolute greatest triumphs (and absolute worst Dad jokes).

“It’s good, right?” he asks, throwing an arm over my shoulder.

“The best,” I say, so happy I can barely stand to look at him. “So did Jen come with you? Or are you guys doing the long-distance thing?”

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