Page 77 of Sister of the Bride

I take Polly’s phone and pull up Frantz’s number. “You know what, you’re right,” I say as the phone rings. “Let’s get you fuckingmarried.”

* * *

Five hours and ten thousand photos later, I’m standing in the Bryans’ sunroom, waiting to be cued to open the French doors and start my trek down the aisle. My dress is gorgeous and impeccably fitted, thanks to Birgit. My normally frizzy hair has been tamed into soft waves and swept up on one side, clipped behind my ear with a fresh ranunculus. I look and feel all kinds of amazing.

Polly was right. I didn’t need my app, partly because I had today’s checklist memorized and partly because everything went off without a hitch even without my intervention. And I was so swept up in enjoying it that I didn’t spend a minute missing the weight of my phone in my hand.

I did miss hearing from Toby, though, and I’ve spent the entire day imagining this moment, getting to see him in the Bryans’ garden while I stand at the front near the makeshift altar. I feel a tug low in my belly at the thought of him seeing me in this dress again; the next time we’re alone, none of our touches need to be tentative.

This time he canunzip this dress.

But before we open the doors so I can finally see Toby, I turn to Polly, who is standing behind me with Mackenzie on her arm. With Dad gone and no desire to cling to any kind of tradition, Mackenzie and Polly decided to walk down the aisle together. So Frantz escorted Nora, and Mom and Nonna walked arm in arm. Mackenize’s college roommate, Natasha, who is acting as her maid of honor, will go ahead of me.

I catch Polly’s eye as she’s taking a deep, centering breath.

“You look gorgeous,” I tell her, and she does. Even more lovely than I imagined when she first walked out in that dress. Her curls are loose, and a crown of eucalyptus rests atop her head. Mackenzie’s dress is more structured, less detailed, with thin straps and square neckline, the A-line skirt falling in crisp folds down to the floor. Her hair is pulled back in a low, sleek bun, and she has a thin bronze ribbon tied like a headband. They couldn’t look more different, and yet they are undeniably a pair.

“Thank you,” she says. “For everything. You did this. All of it, Pepperoni.”

“Only for you, Pizza,” I say. Then I reach into my pocket and pull out my gift for her. Even though her dress is something new, I feel like that’s cheating. I pull the back off the little metal pin and fasten it to her bouquet. When she sees the tiny pizza attached to the ribbon, her eyes well.

“I love you,” she whispers, fanning her eyes to keep the tears from falling.

“I love you too,” I say, then turn to Mackenzie, pulling another pin out of my pocket. “And you too, Manicotti.”

Mackenzie’s eyes light up as she looks down at the metal pin I custom ordered from Etsy of a little pasta sleeve stuffed with ricotta and covered with marinara. I fasten it to her bouquet, and from the way her eyes are shining, I can tell the nickname is gonna stick.

I open the French doors and nudge Natasha down the aisle, turning one last time before I head out.

“Love you both,” I say, gripping my bouquet tight to keep from tearing up. “See you out there!”

One of Polly’s friends from undergrad is playing “Here, There, and Everywhere” on a classical guitar as I make my way down the aisle. The ceremony is taking place on the main patio, where chairs have been set up for the guests, and the end of the aisle features a wooden arch of warm autumnal blooms and eucalyptus over a vintage navy Persian rug Nora had in her office. It’s beautiful, but I can barely take in any of it, because I’m searching the sea of faces for Toby. I spot him almost immediately, sitting taller than everyone around him. He’s wearing a navy suit, and his hair is styled the same way it was the night I kissed him on the bridge in the Public Garden. The sight of him fills me with warmth, and I flash a grin at him.

But his smile back is tentative. Something about it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. And as much as I want to stop right there in the aisle, climb over the four people sitting next to him and ask him why he looksnervous, this is Polly’s wedding.

So I make my way to the front and take my place.

Polly and Mackenzie come next, and Toby turns to watch them, so I can’t search his face for clues. My mind immediately goes to the most catastrophic option, which is, of course, Jen, but I try shake that off. It takes actual effort this time, but I won’t ruin what’s between us. I promised him I was sure, that I wouldn’t run. And I trust Toby. With my heart. With everything.

Polly and Mackenzie approach the end of the aisle, where Judge Terrell Coleman, Frantz’s best friend from law school, waits to officiate the ceremony.

I glance back at Toby and see that he’s looking right at me again. And with a searching expression, he mouths, “Are you okay?”

Oh, so he’s worried aboutme. I don’t know why, but that’s an easy enough fix. I give him a smile and little nod, because there’s really no way for me to communicateI had to run off to take care of a situation with a sick DJ and left my phone in your bed, sorrywithout attracting an awful lot of attention.

Still, Toby looks nervous for the rest of the ceremony, and while I try to pay attention to the vows and the joy on my sister’s face, I can’t help but steal glances at the manIlove. I hope that the minute the ceremony ends I can find him, kiss him, and clear up whatever has him concerned.

Because I still haven’t told him I love him, and I’m going to do that as soon as humanly possible.

Chapter32

As soon as I make it back up the aisle and into the sunroom, I’m strategizing how I can get to Toby. But when I turn to look back, everyone has flooded the aisle, heading toward us for the cocktail hour that’ll be held on the first floor of the Bryan family home. Trying to get to Toby through this door would be like trying to swim upstream salmon-style.

I turn and start to make my way toward the library, where cocktails are set up. Hopefully I’ll be able to rendezvous with Toby there. But then Polly appears at my side.

“Pip, Frantz got waylaid by some guys from the firm—can you run ahead and make sure the playlist is going?” she asks.

“Of course,” I reply, then turn and double-time it through the house. Frantz’s elaborate stereo system is set up in the corner with Mackenzie’s laptop plugged into it. I wake it up, type in the password she gave me, and fire up the playlist called “Cocktail Hour.” Then I turn to stake out the door so I’ll spot Toby as soon as he passes through, but a sea of humanity has appeared behind me, everyone pushing toward the bar at once. I rise up on my tiptoes, looking for his tall frame and his curls, but I’m boxed in. I decide to duck out the nearby patio door and circle around from the outside, and when I make my way through the garden and back into the house, I see Toby in the library immediately.

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