“You mean sorry if you had too many of the shots Stevie was showering on everybody?” I ask, hating that he thought we felt that way.“I think you’re allowed to have a break sometimes. It doesn’t mean you’re not an excellent father.”
Thad sighs. “Thanks, Joni,” he says. “Anything you want to divulge?”
“Oh, plenty,” I say, stepping toward the edge of the path again. “But we have a job to do.”
“These fucking lights,” Thad says.
“These fucking lights,” I repeat.
“Thesefucking lights—” Sasha’s voice echoes from behind us, as she marches up through the trees from the direction of the lighthouse, clearly back to her normal self “—can stay on the path. We found the ones we need for the lawn.”
“Are you kidding?” Thad throws an arm out toward the work we’ve just undone. “Sasha—”
“Sometimes it takes a few tries to get it right,” she says, mirroring his gesture. “Rome wasn’t built in a day.”
Thad tips his head back, letting out something close to a growl. “Good thing we’re stringing shitty lights for a wedding and not building an empire, then,” he says.
“Exactly,” Sasha says. “So you can— Joni, you’re bleeding.”
I look down at where she’s pointing. “Look at that,” I say. Blood trickles from a short cut on my ankle, heading toward my sandal that Sasha, to be fair, did warn me was not appropriate light-stringing attire as we left the house earlier. “It’s fine.” I wave her away.
“It’s not fine if you get gangrene and can’t be in your sister’s wedding tomorrow,” she says. “Come on.”
“I don’t think that’s how you get gangrene!” Thad calls after us as she hauls me away. “I’ll get these lights, don’t worry!”
“I’ll send her back in five!” Sasha shouts back to him, like the drill sergeant she absolutely could be. She guides me down the path toward the lighthouse, one hand on my arm like my minor scrape might send me off-balance at any moment, crashing through the trees to the rocky bluff and down into the ocean.
She leads me past where my dad and Greg are mapping out the placement of the chairs that will be delivered tomorrow for the ceremony on the lawn, and up the steps into the cottage. The long bays of doors are thrown open on either side of the room where Ren and I set up the tables the other day.
“I have a first aid kit somewhere,” Sasha says, shoving me into the lone chair in here, next to the bar where Ren is unloading boxes. “Hang on.”
“Are you okay?” he asks as Sasha ducks behind the bar and rummages around with the air of someone who thinks the time it will take to grab a Band-Aid is what will derail the wedding.
“It’s a tiny scratch,” I say, rolling my eyes. “She’s—”
“Sasha!” We both turn to see my mom hurrying in, eyes near rabid.
“What?” Sasha barks, popping up like a gopher out of its hole, first aid kit in hand.
“The trucks are here,” my mom says.
“What trucks?” Sasha’s voice reaches a decibel that bounces around the room.
“The chairs, the dance floor, the tent,” my mom says.
“They’re not supposed to deliver any of those untiltomorrow. Today is for minor setup only!”
Ren widens his eyes at me from the bar and I have to stifle a laugh behind my hand.
“Ren,” Sasha says, slamming the first aid kit against his chest. “I need you to handle this emergency. Carol—” She nods at the door and the two of them take off at a dead sprint, both straight-backed and clear-eyed.
“Does she seem bossier than usual?” Ren asks as he drags a footstool out from behind the bar and next to me. He pulls my leg onto his lap, fingers soothing against my skin.
“A little,” I agree. “Weddings can do that to people. It’s probably also the hangover.”
He’s focused on my ankle, gently rotating it so he can see the cut. I watch him as he cleans it, puts a Band-Aid over it.
“What do you think?” I ask. “Will I live?”
