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When Chloe called, sixteen days before her wedding, to ask if I’d like to attend, I said, “Absolutely.”
So what if everyone else received their invitations months ago? I don’t blame my sister for being unsure about me. The truth is, sometimes, I’m still not sure about myself.
I’m not invited to the reception—only to the ceremony—and, while it’s painful not to be fully incorporated into my sister’s special day, we’re making a start and that’ll have to be enough.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Mom whispers for what feels like the hundredth time this hour. “It makes me happy to see you girls working through your issues.”
“Me too.”
“And your dress is lovely. Very appropriate.”
I try not to cringe as I think about years’ worth of miniskirts and f**k-me pumps.
The bridal march begins to play
