Page 43 of Sister of the Bride

And then it hits me: I did the one thing you’re not supposed to do in a friendship. I crossed a line, and I don’t totally know where I’ve ended up. It’s like I walked up to the Massachusetts border and stepped across, only to find myself in Canada. Are people speaking French? Is it snowing?What is happening?

Everything everythingeverythingis changing. Polly. Our little attic bedroom. Marino’s. My whole life. Toby, my one constant, is standing there looking at me, his cheeks fiery red, and I’ve gone and rocked that boat too.

What was I thinking? I don’t do relationships. My string of ex-boyfriends and the hours worth of jokes at my expense in the kitchen have proven that. What makes me think it would be any different with Toby? And if I do the thing Iwantto do right now, if I go home with him, if I follow that kiss where it felt like it was going, what then? In five or six weeks, will I wake up and discover the flaw about him that drives me crazy? Will I wake up and realize that he was a great friend but we’re not meant to be? Will I wake up and realize I have tobreak up with my best friend?

No. That can’t happen. Not with everything else that’s going on. I only got through the horror of my father’s death because Toby picked me up and put me back together. The thought of going through what’s coming without him by my side makes me want to pull open the Earth with my bare hands and dive into the gaping hole. I can’t—Icannot—lose him.

What do I do?

Immediately I start to panic, and then immediately after that I try to hide the fact that I’m panicking. All I can think is that I need to get out of here. Before I ruin things more, break them beyond repair. I need to retreat so I can figure out what to do and how to fix this.

And so I start backing away slowly.

“Oh, it’s just Polly. Mom asked me to pick something up at the drugstore. So, um, I should probably go do that,” I say, trying to quell every instinct in my body to take off running. I shake my phone like a visual aid, as if it’s proof that my escape right now is no big deal. I’m not running, see? It’s just a text message! On my phone! I look like a flight attendant demonstrating in-flight emergencies! And anyway, everyone knows that when faced with a problem, the worst thing you can do is to run away from it. So I’m backing away from it slowly, which is way better, right? It’s totally different. This isfine.

“Do you want me to walk with you?” Toby’s brows knit together. There’s a whole host of emotions in his eyes, but I can’t bring myself to look at them long enough to figure out what they are. I’m not ready to find out what I’ve done. I’m not ready for the consequences yet.

“No, no, it’s fine. You just, you know, you head on home, and I’ll catch up with you later,” I say. “I had a lot of fun tonight! Thanks so much for the invitation!”

And those are my parting words before I turn on my flip-flops and walk away as fast as I can with my legs encased in this skintight dress. I manage to keep myself from breaking into a full sprint as I leave the bridge and start down the winding path through the garden that will take me to Beacon Street, then to Charles to get Windex, then home. I can practically feel the heat of his gaze as I go.

But I don’t look back.

Chapter18

Toby

Why did the cookie go to the doctor?

It was feeling crummy.

Are you okay?

I was hoping a morning spent Windexing, vacuuming, and polishing the restaurant would distract me from last night’s kiss.

It doesn’t.

All it does is make my hands work as hard as my brain, which is consumed by an ever-rising sense of panic. That I kissed Toby. That I ran away after I kissed Toby.

That I haven’t texted him back because I have no idea what to say.

Instead I’m scrubbing fingerprints off the back banquette for maybe one of the last times ever because a real estate agent is arriving any minute and then my entire life as I know it will be gone.

“Oh, Penny, it’s just lovely. It’ll be gone like that.”

I turn to see a woman with blond hair and even blonder highlights snap her fingers, flashing her red-polished nails. My mom is standing next to her, smiling nervously.

“Pippin, this is Wanda Barnes. She’s going to be listing the building,” she says, a smile on her face but a look in her eyes that saysPlease act in the manner in which I raised you. “My other daughter, Polly, has a meeting, so she can’t be here.”

“It’s so nice to meet you, Pippin,” Wanda says. “Your mother tells me we’re standing in your inheritance. You’re about to be a very rich young lady!”

I can give her only the tightest of smiles. The mention of the money does little to calm my anxiety. I’d rather have my home.

“Do you think there’s anything we need to do to get it ready to list?” Mom asks Wanda.

“Oh, I wouldn’t touch it. A buyer for a property like this will want to make their own changes. The only thing they care about is that the bones are good and the location is prime.”

The bones. My life, my family’s history, reduced to a withered skeleton. How apropos. I glance over at the smear of red paint on the doorframe outside the kitchen, and my heart grows heavy. I know this is what Nonna and Mom want. It’s what theyneed. I’ve seen the way Nonna limps up the stairs, the way Mom looks tired by lunch.

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