Page 44 of Sister of the Bride

But that doesn’t mean I have to stay here and watch it happen.

“I need to go run some errands,” I say. “For the wedding.”

“Oh, okay,” Mom says. I can tell she was hoping I’d stay, but I think she understands why I can’t. I try to conjure up a warm smile to let her know that what she’s doing is okay, even though every single part of my life is upside down.

“Wanda, it was nice to meet you,” I say. And then I step out the door, trying to get used to the idea of leaving my whole life behind.

* * *

Of course, I don’t actually have any wedding errands to run. Which means I have to come up with something, because otherwise I’ll be forced to wander around with only my thoughts for company, and frankly I’d rather lay down on the Green Line tracks.

I need a task.

I pull out my phone and scan through I-To-Do until I find the perfect thing. Then I open a text window and fire one off to Polly. She had an early-morning meeting with her dissertation advisor, which is why she wasn’t at the clean-a-palooza at the restaurant, but she should be done by now.

Pepperoni

We need to get measurements at the Bryan house for the tent and table rental. Want to meet me over there?

Pizza

Can’t. Meeting is going long, but you can head over. I’ll text Nora to let her know you’re coming

Fine. I’ll do it myself.

Which is how I wind up standing alone on the stone stoop of the Bryan family mansion, being welcomed in by Dr. Nora herself. Today she’s got a pair of cobalt-blue reading glasses tucked in her sleek black bob, and she’s wearing a flowy pair of matching blue linen pants and a floral kimono. How does she look chic even in loungewear?

“Pippin! Good to see you again. Come in, come in.” She flings the door wide and ushers me into the main hall. She picks up a heavy tape measure from the hall table and hands it to me. “I was just about to hop on a Zoom with my editor, otherwise I’d help you. If you need anything, just holler. Oh, and don’t use the downstairs bathroom. Something’s wrong with the toilet. I’ve called the plumber, but he can’t come until next week. There’s one right at the top of the stairs on your left.”

And then she’s hustling down the hall to her meeting, leaving me alone holding my phone and a tape measure in an otherwise empty house.

I let myself out the French doors and set about my task, measuring the space in the backyard where the tent will go and calculating the square footage of each of the three patios—one for the ceremony, one for the cocktail hour, and one that will be a quiet space with chairs where people can relax away from the reception. This distracts me better than the cleaning did, mostly because it requires me to do math. I never thought I’d be so grateful for basic geometry.

An hour later, I’ve got a neat little drawing of each space on my phone with dimensions and estimates of how many tables it can fit. I’m about to go wave goodbye to Nora in her office and head out when I remember the long walk to the Green Line and the shaky train ride ahead of me and decide I might as well make a quick pit stop first. I turn and head for the upstairs bathroom. Only when I get to the top of the stairs, I can’t remember—did she say right or left? Not willing to interrupt a discussion of Dr. Nora’s next bestselling book, I shrug and turn right. Either I’ll find a bathroom or the skeletons in the Bryan family’s closets.

I find neither.

What lies behind the heavy wooden door with its antique brass knob is Mackenzie’s bedroom, apparently unchanged since she left for college. At least I assume it’s unchanged—I doubt Mackenzie recently hung a One Direction poster over the head of her brass bed using unicorn washi tape. It’s frankly hard to believe thatanyiteration of Mackenzie did that, and yet here lies proof that my future sister-in-law once had a personality.

And a lot of it too. The walls of her room are covered with posters, photos, stickers, prints, and greeting cards, all stuck to the wall with brightly colored, sometimes glittery tape and thumbtacks. I count two more One Direction posters, plus a vintage Lilith Fair poster. There are some printed-out memes fromThe Office, both the American and British versions. There’s aleslie knope for presidentposter and a front-pageBoston Globearticle, yellowed and curling but still triumphantly announcing Obama’s first win. I have to step closer to see the photos, one of which shows a grinning Mackenzie on the back of an auburn horse, holding two blue ribbons next to her smiling face. There’s Mackenzie in a group of girls at what appears to be summer camp, arms thrown around each other, all in blue face paint and clothes. There are several of that group, actually, photos that follow the girls through years of summers and multiple growth spurts. There’s a snap of Mackenzie at a protest, making a peace sign with one hand while the other hoists a handmadeblack lives mattersign. There’s a rainbow flag over her dresser and a whole collection of photos from various Pride parades. In one, Mackenzie is wearing gold sequined hot pants and hot-pink roller skates.

Apparently I have seriously misjudged my future sister-in-law.

But the photo that really gets me, that knocks the breath clear out of my lungs, is one in a silver frame. It’s new, and it sits on the bedside table. It’s of Mackenzie and Polly. They’re leaning out of one of those red phone booths they have in London. Mackenzie has her arms around Polly. Polly is grinning at the camera, but Mackenzie is grinning at her. They both look so happy, love oozing out of the frame at such a high intensity that it warms evenmycynical heart. This isn’t Polly being infatuated. This isn’t some passing feeling. These are two people who love each other. Two people who want to stand up in front of their friends and family and the federal government and say, “I pick her. Forever.”

It’s both a comforting and terrifying realization. It means that my sister really has found love.

And it means that I really am losing her.

Chapter19

“The bathroom’s across the hall.”

I whirl around, barely keeping the silver frame from tumbling to the floor, and find Nora leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and a kind smile on her face.

“Yeah, I opened the wrong door, and then I just kind of…” I trail off, gesturing to the walls of Mackenzie’s room. It’s a visual explosion, one that would have been hard to walk away from even if Mackenzie weren’t marrying my sister.

“There are layers underneath too,” Nora says, striding into the room to peer at a photo of Mackenzie with a gold medal around her neck, a banner for high school math bowl behind her. “She’s being doing this since she was a kid. I’m pretty sure there are third-grade art projects under here somewhere. And probably a few spelling tests. My strong girl always did need a soft place to land.”

---