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1
HOPE
This is the part I was dreading. Worse than sitting through the vows, the promises of forever, the “till death do us part,” is this: the tribute to Brandon.
A slideshow plays on the big screen as Logan speaks to the guests. His voice begins to crack, and his new bride grips his free hand with both of hers. He tells a story about Brandon as a gangly nine-year-old capturing frogs and keeping them as pets. Everyone laughs, and for a heartbeat, I’m nine again, ankle deep in frigid pond water with Brandon.
Logan shares another story—about a time when Brandon was sixteen and their mom caught him sneaking in a girl to play spin the bottle. Just like that, I’m sitting cross-legged on Brandon’s floor, leaning in to kiss the boy next door who I always knew I’d marry.
Logan’s eyes, lined with tears, lock on mine. I nod, giving him silent permission to continue. It’s his day, his wedding. Brandon was mine, but also his. Even though their age gap meant Brandon spent half Logan’s life treating him like a nuisance, in the years before he died, they were as close as brothers could be. Logan needs to feel like Brandon is a part of his day. Heshouldbe a part of today.
But Brandon’s been gone over two years now, and it’s still hard to hear his name in the past tense.
The memories continue to rush forward, separate from Logan’s stories.
Now I’m eighteen. At prom. Brandon’s wearing a baby-blue tie to match my dress. Then I’m twenty-one, standing in front of family and friends, whispering vows for only Brandon to hear.
I’m twenty-three, broken, bruised, battered, and barely breathing as Brandon’s coffin is lowered into the ground.
Around the ballroom of the Kingsette Inn, a few hundred sets of eyes shift toward me as Logan tears up mentioning how much I’m like a sister to him, how much it means to him and his new bride, Tanya, that I came tonight. Each gaze is a prick of heat along my spine.
“Are you okay?” Tessa twists in her seat and grabs two flutes of champagne from the passing waiter. She hands one to me. It’s my third or fourth ... maybe fifth. But it’s a wedding, and weddings are fun, so—who’s counting?
“I’m fine,” I tell her, accepting the glass. Bubbles sparkle around the quartered strawberry lounging at the bottom of the glass. “Thanks for being my plus-one.”
“Unlimited champagne and a night away from the kids? You’re doing me the favor,” Tessa whispers as the people at our table begin to clap.
Logan leans down and kisses Tanya. They’re so happy, so in love. So unaware that it’s all so painfully fragile. I raise my glass to the happy couple along with everyone else, and down the champagne. The bubbles fizzle in the back of my throat.
Tessa frowns. “Let me get you some water. We haven’t even made it through salads yet.”
I flash her a warning look. “You promised you wouldn’t do that.”
“Do what?” she asks, taking a sip of champagne. “I’m not playing the overprotective sister role tonight. I’m just trying to make sure we both stay hydrated, so we make it to the cake.”
I roll my eyes, but she has a point. My body feels looser than it should so early in the night. “Don’t worry. I’ll slow down. I don’t want to be the clichéd drunk widow crying in the bathroom at the wedding.”
A mischievous smile pulls up Tessa’s lips, which are lined and glossed to pink perfection. “At least not again.”
The corners of my mouth twitch up, too, and some of the jagged places that splintered during Logan’s speech smooth over. I take a steadying breath. I can do this. It’s just a wedding. Only one night.
“In my defense,” I say, scanning the room for Brandon’s cousin Selena, who hasn’t spoken to me since her wedding last year, when, admittedly, I did make a small scene, “I told her I wasn’t ready to go to a wedding. And she used our wedding song. Who does that?”
Within moments, I spot the petite former bride across the room in a conversation with my tenth-grade chemistry teacher and her wife, the veterinarian who sold her practice to Logan last year.
Selena’s hands rest atop the swell of her stomach.
When Tessa sees what I see, her shoulders sag. “Ugh, Hope. I’m sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry about. That’s what happens. You get married. You have babies. You live happily ever after.” I breathe through the flash of what might have been playing across my thoughts.
Tessa covers my hand with hers; the weight is anchoring.
She keeps it there as the band returns to the stage and begins an off-key cover of a pop song. Tanya’s bridesmaids swarm the dance floor in a flurry of cream-colored tulle.
“Speaking of getting married,” Tessa starts, her voice reaching an all-too-familiar pitch. “Did you notice that Bailey Walters is here alone? I heard she broke off her engagement with Rory Lefner.”
“That’s awful,” I say, easily spotting the pink-haired bridesmaid leading a conga line on the dance floor. Her face is transformed from the last time I saw her—a few months ago, curled up on Logan and Tanya’s couch, crying about Rory. “And none of our business.”
