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I glanced down at my black wool pantsuit and white cotton blouse, my go-to outfit when conducting an open house. “Well, I just came from work. And it’s not as if I knew we’d be celebrating—”
The loud popping of the champagne cork interrupted my explanation, for which I was more than grateful. Since when did I have to account for what I wore? Just because Tracy always dressed as if she was half-expecting an invitation to the Met Gala didn’t mean I had to.
My father poured the champagne into the flutes and gave one to each of us. “To my beautiful bride,” he said, raising his glass.
We each followed suit. “Welcome to the family,” Tracy said.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” Elyse said. “I just want you girls to know that I’ve always been terribly envious of women with daughters. I always wanted one of my own, and now I have two, and I couldn’t be prouder or more grateful! Not that I’m trying to take your mother’s place. Not that I ever could,” she qualified. “But I want both of you to know that you can always count on me, that I’m here for you, should you ever need me. For anything. At any time.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Tracy said.
I downed what was left in my glass, watching Elyse as she cupped her flute in both hands and raised it to her mouth, my mother’s diamonds reflecting off the flute’s surface to shine directly in my eyes.
