Uncle Owen twists like he wants to look behind us and see if Charles and the triplets have the same nose too.
This was supposed to be Emma’s fantasy come to life, and instead it’s a small-town shit show of secrets.
I train my eyes on Laney.
I want to have her over to my place at home. I want her to play with the kittens. Watch them grow into cats. Have snowball fights with her in the yard. Set a fire to warm her up.
Take her to bed and warm her up even more.
Taste the pancakes she teased me about over breakfast again today.
And I don’t want to tell her what I need to tell her.
I don’t want to know if she’ll judge me.
If it’ll change how she feels about me.
I can’t just quit and sweep it under the rug like it never happened. She’ll hear eventually.
She’s not looking at me any differently right now, which I’m assuming means she hasn’t heard.
Emma reaches us in the front row, which I only realize because Dad moves next to me. I tear my eyes away from Laney to watch my sister pause at the end of our row.
She pulls my dad into a hug, and as she does, she looks over his shoulder at me.
Fuuuuuck.
I know that look.
She’s stressed.
She’s stressed, and she wants me to crack a joke to relieve all of her tension and fix it.
“Love you, Daddy,” she whispers to our old man, and then she steps up in front of the minister under the trellis, where Chandler’s beaming at her and wiping his eyes.
Fucker hasn’t bolted.
Is that a good sign?
I don’t know.
“Holy shit, you’re hot,” he says to my sister while he looks her up and down. Not loudly. Just loudly enough for the front row to hear it.
His parents chuckle like they’re so proud to have a son who recognizes he has a good thing.
We all sit.
All of us.
Me too, even though I’d rather go punch the guy who just told his bride shelooks hot.
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…” the minister starts.
The minister thatI fucking found.
I did this.
This, too, is my fault.
