Page 6 of Something like Desire

“You understand, right?” Jayden asks.

“I do,” I say lightly, looking up at him, even though I’ve told him hundreds of times that I’m in no rush to get married. Jayden’s dark eyes brim over with kindness, which first attracted me to him, when we met at the first party I ever went to in college. He looked at me—really looked at me, like he could see who I really was beneath all my quirks—and we’ve spent nearly every day together since.

“So, what do you want to do this weekend?” he asks. “Let’s go to Santa Monica like we were planning. You need to get your mind off this.”

I sigh. Even though Santa Monica isn’t quite the weekend escape I had in mind, it sounds like a dream right now. Honestly, a weekend of salty air and zero responsibility sounds like medicine.

“What’s up? Do you have stuff to do for Gia’s wedding?”

I smile wryly. “Well, of course. There’s amandatory”—I make air quotes around the word—“bridesmaids meeting at her house tomorrow.” I’m teasing, but the truth is I’d do almost anything for Gia. Almost.

“Oh,” Jayden says, cracking a smile. “Well, there’s a new movie out that I’ve been looking forward to. Want to check it out after you put in some time at Gia’s? Drive-in, maybe?”

The word “sure” is on the tip of my tongue when I look back down at my phone and catch sight of something my mother just posted. “Sorry. Can’t.” I point at my screen triumphantly. “Mom would be an easy kidnapping target. She puts her whole life on Facebook. She’s going to Imperial with Nicholas tomorrow night... and I’m gonna be there too.”

FOUR

Breaking the news to Gia was an absolute nightmare—just like I predicted.

I showed up early so we could have a private moment of chaos before the other bridesmaids arrive, but the mayhem doesn’t show any sign of stopping. Gia is pissed. I can’t even blame her. If Mom had dropped that kind of bomb beforemybig day, I’d probably be curled up on the floor too.

“Now?!” Gia shrieks, pacing up and down the hallway, her face as red as her short satin dress. She lets out a loud sob and covers her mouth with a trembling hand. “She picked now? Four weeks away from my wedding? And she used to callmeselfish. This is unbelievable.” She leans against the wall and slides down until she’s cross-legged on the linoleum floor.

“Don’t cry.” I lean down, running a hand across her shoulders.

Gia lets out another wail, her mouth in a jagged O-shape and her eyes squeezed shut, a stream of snot shooting out of her nose.

I grab her a tissue. “She’ll realize her mistake,” I say in a soothing voice that I save for children—and my sister when she’s in moods like this one. I gesture toward her table, covered with her wedding favors—little teal boxes of chocolates decorated with silver ribbon, arranged in perfect rows beside a vase of white hydrangeas. “Come sit down. Let’s have a glass of wine.” It’s not much, but if I can calm her down for a few minutes, maybe we’ll both feel a little less like the world’s falling apart.

“A glass of wine?” Gia repeats, raking her hands through her long blonde hair. “How about a bottle of whiskey? What’s Mom trying to do, turn me into an alcoholic before my wedding day? Mother of the year right there. And she didn’t have the guts to tell me this herself?”

“She was probably worried about how you would react.” Mom usually tasks me with handling Gia’s emotions. She says it’s because I’m so good with her, but really it’s because Mom can’t seem to get through to Gia when she’s angry or upset. It does take alotof patience. Which our mother doesn’t have.

“How am I supposed to continue planning a wedding with this nonsense going on? And poor Dad! Have you checked on him yet?”

“Not yet. But I will. I was kind of waiting for the dust to settle a little bit.” And honestly, I’m stalling. Talk about emotional overload.

“And you’ll talk some sense into Mom too? God, I hope it works.”

Gia lets out a long breath, stands, brushes off her dress, and takes a seat at the table. She rolls her shoulders and gives her wrists a few brisk shakes, like she’s prepping for some kind of sporting event. Then she begins tying ribbons around wedding favors.

A few minutes pass in quiet focus until Gia lets out a soft whimper. A tear escapes, and she wipes it away with the back of her hand, smearing a streak of mascara down her cheek.

I scoot my chair closer and put my arm around her. “It’s okay,” I say softly. Gia can be a little much sometimes, but I can’t bear to see my baby sister cry. “This is hard for all of us.”

“I already made the seating plan,” she sniffles. “I paid three hundred dollars to have it artistically printed on a four-by-four-foot canvas and it has Mom and Dad at the same table. What am I supposed to do now? They can’t sit together anymore. They’ll probably get into a fight and ruin my whole day.”

“Oh...that’swhat you’re upset about?” I ask, trying to keep the annoyance out of my tone. I think about my HR tactics: remain nonjudgmental, maintain neutral body language, and actively listen.

Gia nods miserably.

“Oh, okay.” I brush her mascara stain away with a napkin. “Well, no worries. We’ll just tell one of them to disregard the seating chart and sit somewhere else. No need to reprint.”

“And number two on the checklist,” Gia says, grabbing handfuls of her hair, her eyes practically bulging out of her skull. “Oh god, number two.” She lets out an exasperated sigh and marches to the kitchen to grab the list from its place, under anI Love NYCmagnet on the center of the fridge door. She brings it back and jabs at it with her finger.

Gia’s Nonnegotiable Wedding Checklist

For Mark and me to have as close to a perfect day as possible.