“Come on, Mom, live a little. I’m getting married!”
“About time,” Phee said.
Momma smiled. “Fine. Fill it up.”
“I want to toast,” Daisy said.
I passed around glasses. It felt so good to be home, to fade into my familiar supporting role. Not the princess or the fairy or the star. Just... me, one of the March girls, the quiet one who brought home strays and sometimes played guitar.
Meg poked a straw into a juice box. “Do not squeeze,” she warned Daisy.
“Right.” Jo cleared her throat. Raised her glass. “I want to say this now, in case I can’t do it properly later. To Aunt Phee, thank you for letting Eric and me have Oak Hill for the wedding, for the restaurant, and to make our home. We’ll do our best to make everyone feel always welcome. To you, my darling sisters. Thank you for the flowers and the dress and the cake and, oh, everything. Thank you for making a fuss, even when I said I didn’t want one. And Momma...” Her gaze sought our mother’s. Her eyes shone with unshed tears. “Thank you most of all. For being there for me. For us. Always.”
“To Momma,” I echoed softly.
Amy patted her fingertips under her eyes.
“No crying,” Meg said. “You’ll ruin your makeup if you cry.”
Our mother passed out tissues while the photographer snapped pictures.
“Time for the flowers!” Amy said.
Meg had ordered seasonal bouquets from the farmers’ market, sweet pea and tulips for us girls, gillyflowers and blush roses for Jo.
“One last thing.” Our mother turned from the bureau, a box in her hand. Opening it, she lifted a simple pearl brooch from the cotton batting. “It was your grandmother’s. Something old to carry on your wedding day.” She pinned it to the white ribbon binding Jo’s bouquet. “For luck.”
“Oh, Momma.” Jo threw herself in our mother’s arms.
Aunt Phee cleared her throat. “Don’t you think you’ve kept that man waiting long enough?”
Jo grabbed her bouquet. The petals trembled in her grasp.
My heart squeezed in sympathy. “Nervous?”
“Maybe. A little.” Jo shook her head, smiling. “Not about getting married. Now that the day is finally here, I can’t wait to be Eric’s wife. He makes me better. More. More myself, you know?”
I didn’t, but I nodded anyway.
Honestly, I never felt I could be entirely myself in Colt’s world. There were always too many other people around us, watching. Judging. He was so wonderful. I could never quite measure up in their eyes or my own, never be the equal partner he deserved.
It was different for Jo. She fit into Eric’s life. She had worked in his kitchen. They went back to New York all the time, to visit her publisher or his restaurant. But Eric, with his big heart, had chosen to live in her world.
Surreptitiously, I checked my phone again. No word from Colt.
“Because Eric loves you,” Meg said.
“He does. And I love him.” Jo grinned. “I guess I’m just worried I’ll trip. Or forget my lines or something.”
“Your father will remind you,” our mother said.
“Where is Ashton?” Aunt Phee asked.
“Outside,” Meg said. “With Eric. They’re all waiting.”
“He should be here to give you away.”
“That’s an antiquated tradition from a time when women were considered property, Aunt Phee,” Jo said. “I’m my own person. I don’t need my father to give me away.”
