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Twenty-two years ago, on the morning of Sophie’s wedding to Jared, Sophie had woken up with a violent stomachache. For nearly an hour, swirling with nightmares, she’d toiled in the bathroom, drinking, blinking at herself in the mirror, demanding answers of herself. Why was her life such a mess? Why couldn’t she get it together? “Jared is right about you,” she’d told herself, pointing at her reflection angrily. “You’re nothing. You’re lucky he’s even marrying you. You should have been left alone.”
These were difficult memories, Sophie knew. And now that she’d begun to see a therapist, just like Katrina, she’d begun to attack them head-on. Slowly, they’d begun to lose their power over her. Sophie couldn’t wait to squeeze them dry and move on.
By contrast, on the morning of Sophie’s wedding to Patrick, she woke up at her mother and father’s house clear-eyed and happier than ever. She floated downstairs in a pair of running pants, a hat, and a sweatshirt, drank a cup of coffee on the back porch with her father, and then ran down the beach, her tennis shoes cutting into the sand as she went. The sun over the water was pinks and oranges, and she stopped short at the edge of the water, where the froth raced across the sands, raised her handsto the sky, and thanked God above for taking her out of the darkness of her life. “I’m free,” she reminded herself.
Free from addiction. Free from Jared. Free from the terror of hating herself.
The wedding was small. Simple. Just family and very close friends. Sophie had insisted on this, telling Katrina that her enormous wedding twenty-two years ago had been like a nightmare. “All those eyes on me. I felt like they knew how unhappy I was. I thought someone would jump up and start laughing at me.”
Yearning for simplicity, Sophie had asked Sam to do her hair rather than hire someone. Sam arrived at nine thirty with bagels, cream cheese, and a big bag of styling equipment. In her wake came Ida, Nellie, Frankie, Darcy, Rachelle, Hilary, and Aria, all of whom planned to get ready at Katrina and Grant’s place and travel to the church together. The younger girls floated with excitement. Probably, they felt they were only a few years out from their own weddings, their own gowns, their own big, life-altering decisions. Sophie wanted to tell them to take their time, not to rush into anything just for the allure of a wedding. But she knew they had to make their own mistakes. That was the nature of growing up.
And Sophie still felt like she was growing up. Motherhood would force that even more. Of this, she’d joked to Katrina, “I’m preparing myself to make one mistake after another.” And Katrina had said, “That’s what motherhood is all about.”
Sam styled Sophie’s hair with simplicity in mind, curling it in shining ringlets and drawing it into a half-updo. Her hair shimmered with hairspray, and it was tight around her temples, reminding her of old dance recitals she’d performed as a child. It gave her a funny expectation and a fluttering in her stomach. Something big was about to happen.
Hilary stepped up to do Sophie’s makeup, insisting she was better at it than Sam. Sam threw up her hands and stepped to the side. “She is,” she promised. “I can’t hold a candle to the magic Hilary makes. Some of her most iconic friends insist on her doing their makeup. Don’t they, Hil?”
“They trust me,” Hilary agreed, poring through a mighty bag of makeup she’d brought from home and drawing out eyeliner, contouring colors, various lipsticks, and a few utensils Sophie had never used or even seen before.
Sophie laughed and opened herself up to the mastery of Hilary’s makeup skills. Within the hour, her face transformed as Hilary contoured, raised, and thickened her eyebrows, sharpened her cheekbones, and plumped up her lips. The woman in the mirror was half Sophie, halfVoguemodel. Sophie smiled and watched her reflection smile back. It was far better than what she’d paid a makeup artist to do twenty-two years ago.
“It isn’t too much?” Sophie asked the women in the room.
Katrina crept toward her to investigate. Her hair was in curls, her face was perfectly done up, and her eyeliner was drawn in dramatic wings.
“Oh, honey,” she said, taking Sophie’s hands. “You’re always stunning. But right now, you look like a bride.”
An hour before the ceremony, the Coleman women loaded Sophie’s dress in Katrina’s vehicle and disappeared in their separate cars, buckling their seat belts and touching their curls gently, terrified the swift walk outside had caused them to frizz. Sophie joined her mother, sitting up front, her heart blasting against her rib cage. Ida jumped in the back with Frankie and Nellie, all of whom were already wearing their spring dresses. Ida was officially Sophie’s matron of honor, but Sophie had told her to wear whatever she pleased. Ida had answered the call with a tremendous, forest green dress.
That was the thing about Ida. She had a knack for knowing what worked. She never missed.
When Sophie was just a girl, she’d been sure Ida was the smartest person she’d ever met. She followed her around, peppering her with questions, chasing her in her roller skates, begging her to play, to draw, to sing. Ida had always done her best to make Sophie feel special. To help her feel included.
Recently, Sophie confessed to Ida, “I never wanted you to know I was using. I thought you were perfect. And if you ever found out how imperfect I was, I was sure you would stop talking to me.”
“That’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard,” Ida said. “I remember thinking you were the coolest girl in high school. Everyone wanted to be your friend. Everyone wanted to date you. I was just your dweebier older sister.”
Sophie had blinked at her, incredulous. The past was always a matter of perspective. And it seemed to be shifting and changing at every turn.
Katrina pulled up in front of the Presbyterian church, where Sophie, Ida, Nellie, and Frankie scrambled out. Ida and Sophie carried the dress, protected in a black bag, through the side door of the church and hung it on a rack in the room they’d set aside for Sophie to dress. There was a bouquet on the table and several glass bottles of sparkling water. There was a note on the table that offered a Bible verse.
“So they are no longer two, but one. Therefore, what God has joined together, let man not separate.”
The words thudded through Sophie’s heart. She swallowed the lump in her throat, momentarily lost in thought.
“You okay, Sis?” Ida asked, touching her shoulder.
“I was just thinking about the first time I met Patrick,” Sophie offered.
They’d been so blurry with want—for drugs. For escape. But somehow, they’d found solace in one another. They’d been two lonely shores drowning in the darkness.
“It’s just crazy we ended up here,” Sophie said, blinking back tears. “Maybe we shouldn’t have made it.”
“You were always going to make it,” Ida breathed, her voice catching. “We weren’t going to let you fall.”
Sophie stepped into her wedding dress and held her breath as Ida buttoned it to the nape of her neck. Before her, Nellie and Frankie gushed quietly. Their earnestness was reflected in their eyes—proof that Sophie looked the part of the bride. Sophie placed her hands over her pregnant belly and closed her eyes, trying to focus her energy on her baby. She thought,your father and I are getting married today. Wish us luck. And see you later.
Katrina appeared with Sophie’s bouquet a few minutes before the ceremony. The organ buzzed through the floorboards, and the soloist could be heard, her voice shimmering far above, circling like a bird. Sophie reminded herself she couldn’t cry. Not now.
