Page 46 of Sister of the Bride

“You need to tell him how you feel. Why you ran away. If you truly don’t want anything to come of that kiss, you need to tell him that. Otherwise your friendship is broken no matter what happens.”

Ugh. I was afraid of that. “Do I have any other options?”

“You could ask him howhefeels first and use that information to inform your decision.”

No. Nope. No. Because if Toby tells me he doesn’t want me, I don’t know if I’ll ever recover from that. I have to be the one to say it first. Not that I don’t want him, because—since Nora is forcing me to be honest with myself, fuck it, let’s go—Idowant him. Toby is amazing, and that kiss was incredible. I bet whatever could’ve come after it would have been too, at least in the short term.

But that doesn’t mean wanting him is the right thing.

The right thing is for us to go back to how we were. And in order to do that, I have to tell him that I want my friendship with him more than I want…anythingelsewith him. Even if I might want that other thing a whole goddamn lot.

Now, finally, I do feel a little lighter. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m absolutely dreading this conversation. And also a little bit disappointed that Dr. Nora’s advice wasn’t more along the lines of “Take some space, let things settle, it’ll all work out.” You know, thejust ignore it and it’ll all go awaystrategy that’s apparently not at all popular amongst therapists. But I sure as hell would prefer it.

“Thank you,” I tell her, and despite how much I don’t like what she said, I mean it.

“But I also think you need to interrogate this idea that because everything in your life is changing, you need to cling harder to the things you feel you can control,” Nora says, rising from her chair. “Because your feelings are not something you can control, and the more you try to, the more volatile they’ll get.”

Chapter20

For a week I take the coward’s way out.

I wait for Toby to just show up. But he doesn’t. I tell myself it’s because his program at the hospital is so demanding that he doesn’t have a spare moment. But that doesn’t account for the lack of calls or texts, either. By Friday, I’ve taken to lurking around outside the Mass General ER like a fucking creep, but even then I can’t seem to manufacture a chance encounter with him, and I can tell the security guard stationed out front is starting to think I’m up to no good.

Toby is either pissed that I ran or, worse, pissed that I kissed him in the first place. Or he’s trying to figure out how to let me down easy. Or maybe he’s ignoring the whole thing and hoping it just goes away, which is an option I would’ve beenveryon board with had I not talked to Dr. Nora. Damn her and her thoughtful, mature advice! Who needs a guru anyway?

When another weekend has come and gone with no sign of Toby, I realize I’m going to have to hike up my big-girl panties and reach out. Every day that passes is just another step away from our friendship, which is exactly what I’m trying to preserve.

So I guess it’s time to go ahead and preserve it.

It’s also time for the one wedding task I’ve actually been looking forward to ever since I downloaded I-To-Do. And I think I might be able to kill two birds with one stone here.

Polly, who has very strong opinions about the cake (no shade, baked goods are important), has selected a baker known for beautiful, avant-garde creations at a price that makes her dress seem reasonable. But because I vowed not to detract from my sister’s happiness, I am choosing to focus on the fact that when I googled the Merilee McDonald Cakery, the top review called her creations “sinfully delicious.”

After I apologized for my shit fit at the bridal salon, Polly decided to move back into the attic with me. She stays here most nights, and while I’m insanely grateful to have her company this one last time, I also know that part of the reason she’s back is because she saw a mouse at Mackenzie’s and the exterminator can’t come seal the place for another two weeks.

“Hey, Polly, would you mind if I invited Toby to the cake tasting?” I ask.

“Huh?” Polly is on her bed, her knees tucked up and her laptop balanced on top. As the wedding approaches, so too does her dissertation defense, and just as she did in high school whenever a big exam or paper was coming up, she’s beginning to slip into full-on study-hermit mode. Soon she’ll abandon her collection of sundresses, opting instead for only leggings and this one oversized beige wool sweater I like to call Gladys. Polly found it at a vintage store and paid three bucks for it, which was $2.50 too much.

Despite my direct question, she continues typing, squinting through her glasses.

“Toby. Cake tasting. Please?” In my experience, when Polly is fully down the nerd rabbit hole, it’s best to keep things as simple as possible.

“Yeah, sure,” she says, finally tearing her eyes away from the screen to blink at me.

Excellent. I can reach out under the guise of inviting him to go cake tasting, which, who wouldn’t want to do that? And on the way there, I can do the whole telling-him-the-truth-about-my-feelings thing that Dr. Nora suggested. It’s a perfect plan. But I need the perfect opening, and after just a moment, I have it. I pull out my phone and tap out a text.

Pippin

What concert costs just 45 cents?

I wait an absolutely torturous four and a half minutes before the three dots appear, followed by Toby’s reply.

Toby

Are you attempting a joke?

Pippin

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