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PROLOGUE
I am so nota wedding kind of girl.
That’s right. I’m about to walk down the aisle of the church the Stackhouse family has gone to for however many generations they’ve been in San Francisco and take my fiancé Andy as ‘my lawfully wedded husband,’ or whatever our vows say—and I’m thinking this is justnot my jam.
I don’t have anything against marriage. Obviously. If I did, I wouldn’t have said yes to Andy’s popping-the-question at a Giants baseball game, where he paid someone to let him propose on the stadium’s jumbotron so I could answer in front of forty thousand some-odd baseball fans waiting with bated breath to see if I’d say yes or no.
Andy wasn’t wondering what I’d say, though. He knew he’d get the answer he wanted.
He’s confident that way.
That’s how he made it to the San Francisco City Council, and why he’s being talked about as a future mayor.
And I do honestly want to marry him. He’s good-looking, from a long-time San Francisco family like me, is smart and ambitious, and isn’t after me for my money.
Within days of Andy’s proposal, where, by the way, the Giants lost the game, the wedding industrial complex descended on me, ramping from zero to sixty so fast I never had time to think through the gravity of what I was about to do. Emotionally buried in lace, ten different kinds of silk, tasting menus, gift registries, invitations, and parties, I was swept along in an alternate universe in preparation for the ‘happiest day of my life.’
WTF? I’m twenty-seven years old. If my wedding day is indeed the ‘happiest day of my life,’ does that mean all the years ahead of me are going to be rank with disappointment?
If this is the pinnacle, the best it gets, I am screwed.
But screwed or not, today is the big day. The priest just popped his head into the bride’s room—which is really not much more than a closet—to say a couple nice things. My besties, Lucy and Gilly, are buzzing around me like a thousand other brides haven’t stood exactly where I am right now, ready to walk down the aisle and become a state-sanctioned couple who mostly just want health insurance and a tax break.
I’m cynical that way.
“You do look really nice, Petal,” my third bridesmaid says.
Andy’s twin sister, Aliz, smooths her hand down the billowing sleeve of my boho wedding dress, shaking her head and clicking her tongue.
Almost like she’s… sad?
I get it. She’s symbolically saying goodbye to her twin brother. But hey, I’m not selfish. She can still hang out with him whenever she wants and do their twin thing. Whatever that might be.
“All good, Aliz?” Gilly asks, adjusting her boobs in the dress I mistakenly let her choose.
I gave all three of them free rein in picking their own bridesmaid dresses because, like I said, I couldn’t give a crapabout how weddings are supposed to work. I figured they’d band together and choose something that worked on each of their figures, but also show some sort of theme, like similar style and color for the sake of aesthetics.
Only it didn’t turn out that way. They each chose something completely different and by the time they had, it was too late for me to offer any suggestions.
Whatever.
I had enough other shit on my mind, like how to be ‘bridal’ without looking like the Barbie ‘Wedding Fantasy’ doll I inherited from an older cousin when I was about ten, which looked like Dolly Parton going to a hoedown.
“I… I have to tell you something, Petal,” Aliz says. She’s pale under all the makeup I paid a lot of money for someone to put on all our faces this morning.
“What, Aliz? You feeling okay?” I ask.
Music starts playing from somewhere deep inside the church. Time for us to queue up for our walk down the aisle.
Lucy moves for the door. “C’mon guys. That’s our signal.”
We start to follow, but Aliz is rooted in place. She sighs, looks around the room, then down at her dress and her perfect manicure. “I’m okay, Petal. But you… might not be.” She swallows with a grimace, like she just tasted something bad.
I freeze. Lucy and Gilly freeze.
The church music keeps playing. Our cue to begin the procession passes. I don’t really care though, because it’s not like they can start the wedding without me.
Lucy grips my arm, I’m not sure whether to pull me out of the room and put me into position, or to help me brace for something. “What do you mean, Aliz? What do you mean that Petal might not be okay?” Her voice gets higher with every word.
