Austin also will be disappointed, I thought.He won’t be angry, but he’ll be really disappointed in me if I don’t go.
And my brother had been in the best mood lately. He was now in his final year of dental school, determined to be a pediatric dentist, plus he and Katie had smoothed things over…pretty much thanks to Da. Since Austin’s lying days were far, far behind him, hehadtold our parents about the less-than-terrific tasting at Bedens Brook and the Gallants’ plan for outside caterers. “Why don’t you do another one just to be sure?” Da had suggested. “I’d love to come with you, if you want another opinion.”
(The second tasting had gone much better.)
Now, they gave me a look. “Mads, it’s admirable—and adorable, truthfully—that you believe you need to cover yourbridesmaid expenses,” Dad said. “But there’s no way that’s happening.”
Thank god, I thought, my sigh of relief embarrassingly audible.Thank god, thank god, thank god!
“We’ll take care of everything,” Da told me. “It’ll be up to you when your field hockey friends inevitably ask you to be in their weddings someday, but your situation will be different then. You’ll have graduated college and be working.” He shook his head. “You cleaning the grout in the bathrooms this summer is not the equivalent to earning a salary.”
“Helping stage houses and reviewing inspection reports is closer,” Dad said. “Although still not the same.”
The corners of my eyes smarted with tears. “I’ll go on the trip,” I said. “I’ll go to the Finger Lakes.”
“Well, would you look at that!” Da exclaimed. “Harry, the second she finds out she’s not paying her tab, she’s no longer such a hater.”
“No, no,” I said as Dad laughed. “I’ll go, but that doesn’t mean Iwantto.” I folded my arms across my chest. “Haters gonna hate.”
***
“Do you think Austin’s best man has something like this for Montana?” I asked. Marco and I were both on the Garden’s couch, sitting close enough that I could smell his sunscreen, its coconut scent now so familiar. We were reading through the Google Docthat Amanda had shared. It detailed everything from the Airbnb mansion to the scheduled vineyard visits to meal planning. My cooking skills were so limited that I’d quickly signed up to make breakfast one day. Coffee, muffins, yogurt, and fruit salad would work, right?
Marco shook his head in disbelief.
I giggled. Austin’s bachelor weekend wasn’t until September. “We invited Wit,” Austin had said on the phone the other day. “He’s not a groomsman, but who cares? The guy is a ton of fun…”
Marco scrolled past the decorations section, which had a bullet-pointed list but also an all-capitals comment:PAIGE, YOU ARE IN CHARGE OF THIS!
“Holy crap,” Marco said. “There aregameson here.”
“Games? What kind of games?”
I imagined playing truth or dare again and resolved that I had no problem being dared to dive into lake butt-naked. If eleven-year-old Annie could do it inThe Parent Trap, so could I!
“Mmm…” Marco scanned the list. “Something called Prosecco Pong. With a note that reads:Mer, bring your dad and uncle Brad’s beer pong table. Not the crappy one Wit made.”
I sighed. “Meredith’s family sounds fascinating.”
“How Well Do You Know the Bride,” he continued. “The Newlywed Game, some type of wedding-themed Mad Libs, and—”
“What?” I asked when he dropped off. “What else?”
Marco’s only response was pressing his lips together, as if trying not to laugh.
Part of me wanted him to break; I loved seeing him burst into laughter—the sight was so palpable that sometimes I could feel the sound reverberate against my cheek.
With no such luck, I glanced back at the laptop screen and noticed the cursor hovering above three words:The Panty Game.
My spine straightened, and Marco took that as his cue. “For this game,” he read, “each bridesmaid should bring a pair of unwrapped panties that reflects their personality. All panties should be hung on a clothesline, and the bride must guess which bridesmaid gave her which pair. Reese suggests Katie should drink every time she gets one wrong. Amanda agreed.”
I disregarded that, too focused on the game itself. “What the actual fuck?” I said. “Panties”—I grimaced, for some reason always despising that word—“that show off mypersonality?” My face was ablaze. “That’s beyond humiliating!”
“Why?” he asked, totally deadpan. “Are the contents of your top dresser drawer humiliating?”
“No! Lots of black and lace and various shades of blue. Maybe one pair of purple…” I trailed off, my body freezing but lungs fluttering frantically. “Oh my god, why I am talking about this with you?!”
Marco smiled. “Because I don’t think you think I’m such a dickhead anymore,” he said. “I think you like me.” He tilted his head, bemused. “I think you trust me.”
