Summer
I stare at myself in the full-length, gilded mirror and try not to think too many thoughts. The midday sun streams through the windows and the breeze lifts gauzy white curtains. It smells like recently-cut grass, lemonade, and toast.
In the room behind me, there’s a yelp and then a squeal, but I don’t turn around. If I turn around now I’llneverbe done with this and I would really, really like to be done.
“Just try to act natural,” the photographer suggests, as if that’s possible. I don’t know how I usually act, I just do it and hope no one notices.
“Okay,” I say, and… try a slight smile. She makes a noise that isn’t exactly positive.
Behind me is a crash, then lots of swearing, followed by my sister Ariel hissing, “I told you not to stand on that!”
“It looked sturdy!” Sadie hisses back.
“Are you drunkalready?” Reid asks, and I shoot the photographer a pained look. She sighs.
“They’re all right, don’t worry,” she says of the slapstick comedy act apparently going on behind me. “I just need a few more getting ready shots. Did you have a young lady…?”
“Andi?” I call, and turn around.
I almost regret it.
Elliott’s wedding is taking place at some sort of large, old inn in the country about an hour outside Boston, and the traveling circus of his wedding party has taken over some sort of large room with lots of mirrors and a chandelier. He’s standing off in a corner with his best man, Adam, and the other photographer, looking slightly nervous but mostly calm and… happy, actually, which is good.
Meanwhile, the rest of the room is strewn with tables and chairs, most of which either have drinks on them or clothing draped over them, an impressive state of chaos given that we’ve barely been here for forty-five minutes.
Sadie, Ariel, and Reid are standing next to a chair that looks far more decorative than sturdy, whisper-shouting at each other. There’s a balloon in the corner of the ceiling above them, about twenty feet up. I ask no questions.
They’re being glowered at by my sister Hannah, off to the other side, who’s standing very still while Andi does something to the back of her dress.
“One second, sorry,” Andi calls back. “This button got loose but I think I can…”
Hannah just gives me a thumbs up as Andi trails off.
“Totally under control!” she calls, and while I’m not sure I’d call it that, the chaos is oddly comforting and familiar, at least.
“Usually there’s a few toddlers running around, spilling apple juice on someone,” the photographer says, shrugging. “This is a walk in the park.”
A minute later, Andi comes over and gets directed to stand in front of me and, quote, “do something to my suit.” She opts for poking at my tie and messing with my corsage, and since I don’t know what to do with my hands, I settle them on her waist as the photographer snaps away.
“Your hair smells good,” I say, because I’m running out of compliments to give her today. I’ve already told her, in both polite and impolite terms, that the one-shouldered pale turquoise dress she’s wearing looks very nice on her, as well as her earrings, necklace, and hairstyle.
“Thanks. I washed it,” she says, still poking at the flowers pinned to my chest as she looks up at me through her lashes.
That look should probably be illegal.
“Perfect. You’re doing great,” the photographer says. “Just a few more, act natural.”
“She keeps saying that,” Andi whispers, ducking a little closer.
“I know.”
“Do you know what it means?”
“Not a clue.”
She plucks at something on my shoulder.
“How did you get cat fur on a tuxedo you rented in Boston?” she murmurs.
