“Anywhere else. Literally anywhere. You have eight hundred thousand followers who would probably watch you open mail.”
“Yes, I guess they would. But you know, unboxing content does surprisingly well.”
“See? You could be doing that.”
“I can do both. You want in on the action?”
“I’m not sure I’m ready for a pic—”
“Let your little sis teach you a thing or two about taking a selfie,” I pull her in and lift the camera above us.
“Shouldn’t a selfie be one person, otherwise—”
I cut her off. “Too smart for your own good. But you’re still taking it yourself, so selfie works. Anyway, always hold the camera up higher to get that angle that hides what we don’t want shown, like that section under our chin, and showcases our best assets.”
She looks down.
“Yes, Vi, those babies. Look at the camera at the top of the phone, and smile.”
We do our own mini-photoshoot, and I show her the photos.
“Wow, Pops, those look amazing!”
“Now pick your favorite one,” I say as I scroll through the photos.
“That one!” She points at the one where we pursed our lips while whipping our heads toward the camera, doing our best “Blue Steel” impression fromZoolander.
I write a caption:Better watch out Derek, Vi and I are coming for you!
Then I hit post, and Violet throws her arms around me.
“Thank you, Poppy, I needed that so bad.” Her gaze drifts over my shoulder. “Is that Julian? Just standing there like a very attractive gargoyle?”
I turn. Sure enough, Julian hasn’t moved from his spot near the back. He’s doing his evaluating thing—where he’s making sure there is no threat and figuring out routes of attack—all while tracking everyone’s movements.
“He’s being vigilant,” I say.
“Vigilant about what? The rose-to-blush ratio?”
“He’s protective. It’s his thing.”
“He’s kind of intense, isn’t he?” Violet studies him. “Hot, but intense.”
I don’t tell her that he kind of is.
Tammy claps her hands. “Alright, everyone! Let’s run through the processional. Bridesmaids, you’re with me. Groomsmen, with Thomas. And someone please tell the mother of the bride that the flowers are staying exactly as they are.”
My mother opens her mouth. Chris’s father—a jovial man named Doug who seems perpetually confused by the chaos around him—offers her a glass of champagne. She takes it.
“Poppy, you’re walking with Tyler.” Tammy consults her clipboard. “Chris’s college roommate. He’s the tall one with the unfortunate haircut.”
I spot Tyler near the groomsmen. He waves awkwardly. The haircut is, indeed, unfortunate.
“Got it,” I say.
“We’ll practice the walk three times. Music cues, spacing, the whole thing. Then we’ll run through the vows.” Tammy’s gaze sharpens. “And if anyone has a phone out during my rehearsal, I will personally throw it into the ocean. Am I clear?”
Fifteen people nod in unison.
