He pauses, setting down a handful of nails. “Look, I know this is hard for you. This whole thing.”
I shift my weight, kicking at a loose piece of plywood. “It’s not hard.” Another lie. “It’s just… fast. Why does everyone suddenly think throwing together a wedding at the lake in ten days is a good idea? Cooper and Cara aretwenty-six. And Cara is… Cara.”
I didn’t mean to let the last part slip out, but Dad just looks at me, his expression softening slightly.
“Your brother is happy, sweetheart. Truly happy. And your mother is thrilled to have a reason to pull out her whole party-planning arsenal.”
“So, what, you’re just going along with it to make Mom happy?”
Dad picks up a small, chipped ceramic knob and turns it over in his hand. A brief shadow, a flash of something unreadable, flickers across his face, but then it’s gone.
“Look, I know you think it’s crazy,” he says, his gaze returning to the messy workbench. “But trust me, one day, you’ll do crazy things to make the person you love smile.”
13
MY MOM LIVES ANDdies by yellow legal pads and number two pencils.
Currently, she has three of each set out on the kitchen table.
I pass on the coffee the next morning and instead pour myself a glass of iced tea and sit at the seat with the legal pad that has NICOLEwritten in neat block letters at the top. The two others are marked CARAandJACQUELINE.
Apparently, Mom doesn’t trust any of the men with their own legal pads. I peek over at Cara’s list. It’s significantly shorter than mine, and seems mostly to involve putting together a guest list and sending out invitations.
“Now then,” Mom says, putting on her reading glasses. “We’ve settled on the last Sunday we’re all here, which is the thirteenth of July, yes?”
“Yes,” Cara confirms. “The thirteenth.”
That’s only a few days after my birthday—which somehow feels like another betrayal. July has always been our family’s special time. Even after we kids were grown up, we’d find our way back to thelake for most of July. Pete’s a teacher, and Linney’s a stay-at-home mom, so it’s always been easy enough for them to spend a couple weeks here in the summer. There was a period when Cooper first started his software sales job and was only available for the holiday weekend, but now even he can work remotely.
My first few years out of college, I would count down the days until the Fourth. Since I was out of school, I couldn’t go home for the entire summer anymore, but I always made sure to save up my vacation days for that week in July. Then I went onLovedBy. After that, I stopped coming east in the summer. The flight from LA was so far, I told my family. And I was often juggling a shooting schedule plus a million social media campaigns. But the truth is, sometimes it just felt easier to avoid home and all the expectations that come with it. All the questions about when it would be my turn. When I’d get that Happily Ever After everyone knows I went onLovedBylooking for in the first place.
“One week,” Linney says, flipping through her notepad pages. “To plan an entire wedding.”
“Yes,” Mom says resolutely, like she’s leading us into battle. “Cara, hon, that means we need to get invitations out today.”
“I’m on it.” Cara leans over her legal pad and dutifully takes notes.
Linney looks alarmed. “I think you have to send out electronic save-the-dates, at least. People need time to plan.”
“She has a point,” I jump in. “This is so hasty, I bet most of your friends and family won’t be able to come.”
Mom turns to me. “I’m sure that’s not true,” she says, her voice laced with warning.
“I’ve already texted my closest friends,” Cara says. “And Dad is reaching out to family. Everyone important to me will be here. I mostly just want the paper invitations as a keepsake.”
“Excellent,” Mom says, pushing on. “Nikki, I put you in chargeof flowers. You’re so good at it. I was thinking something simple—individual stems in bud vases?” She looks to Cara, whom I expect to bristle at her mother-in-law-to-be taking charge of the planning, but she’s just nodding along enthusiastically.
“Exactly. I love that.”
They nod in perfect unison—Mom and Cara, totally synced. A tiny, stupid twinge of jealousy sparks in my ribs.
Mom smiles and turns back to her checklist. “I will make the cake.” She pulls out a recipe clipping for a white chocolate and strawberry cake, dripping in flounces of snowy white and pink icing.
“Are you sure you want to make a cake?” I ask. “That’s a huge lift, Mom.”
“I’ve always wanted to make one.” As she looks down at the photo of the cake, Mom’s voice goes a little dreamy, as if she’s looking at her own personal Everest. “Linney wouldn’t let me do hers.”
Linney rolls her eyes. “I wanted you toenjoythe wedding, not cater it.”
