Page 82 of Philippa Flynn’s Year of Panic and Piracy

Chapter Thirty-One

I have to admit, my mom was right about the wedding venue. The Shermans’ back lawn looks stunning, bedecked with lush blue and white floral arrangements on every banquet table, lining the aisle created by two sections of linen-covered folding chairs, and decorating a lattice arch set up for guest photos near the house, a compromise Riley proposed and our mom reluctantly accepted. An expansive canopy of twinkle lights promises to make the yard look magical once the sun goes down an hour or two after the scheduled ceremony, while a string quartet plays classical music I can’t identify, though I know someone who could if, of course, he was here. At least I’ve only been asked three times so far if I’m here with anyone, a question I still despise for the assumptions that accompany it, but today I answer by saying, “Yes, my family.”

Riley finds my sisters and me in the Shermans’ back sunroom, where Louisa has finally stopped trying to make my hair curl and twisted it into a low bun instead, Haley’s bouncing a five-and-a-half-month-old Beth on her knee, and Eleanor’s applying preventative Band-Aids to the backs of her heels, always prepared for blisters, scrapes, cramps, and emotional wreckage.

“I brought champagne!” Riley holds up a bottle in one hand and five flutes dangling by the stems in the other. We all cheer and talk over one another about the best way to safely pop the cork before Riley deftly manages the task, fills the flutes, and passes them around.

We toast to Riley and Emil and what we all suspect will be a happy and impressively noncontentious relationship. We toast to Louisa and Reuben, who remain elated that they got married with no parental interference whatsoever. We toast to Beth, because she’s here and she’s adorable in a fluffy dress she keeps chewing on. And we toast to family, and my choice to stay nearby, even if that means—as Louisa says with an exaggerated gasp—not having a plan.

The ceremony is beautiful, and I’m glad the four of us are standing up beside Riley as he and Emil face each other in their sweet linen suits and pledge to never stop loving each other, to be each other’s person, even when everything’s not rosy and perfect. I can’t help but tear up with joy, though I also can’t help the envy that grips my heart because some kinds of loneliness have nothing to do with drawing a line between lonely and alone. Some kinds can only be felt when I’m not alone at all.

By the time Riley and Emil kiss, we’re all crying, even Eleanor, who cleverly hid a travel pack of tissues under her bouquet. She passes them down the bridesmaid line as Riley and Emil beam at each other, holding hands, and the three hundred or so people in attendance cheer.

The newly minted husbands head up the aisle, and the four of us follow, along with two of Emil’s friends who served as groomsmen, an imbalance that irritated our mother to no end. She catches me looking her way as I pass and quickly averts her eyes. She hasn’t spoken to me since I called her about the job and we got into a fight about it, but it’s only been two weeks, and we’ve been through this before. I don’t even remember what our last fight was about, other than her not feeling listened to, which is basically what this one came down to as well.

Haley links her arm through mine and whispers, “I thought she’d defrost by now.”

“I hoped, but I wasn’t optimistic,” I murmur back. “I did precisely what she told me not to do. But she’ll warm up when the property sale adds several million to her travel budget.”

“Oof. Yeah.” Haley draws me closer against her side while Eleanor casts me a sympathetic glance over her shoulder and we all continue parading up the aisle, spilling out onto the lawn behind the seated guests. “How are you doing with all that?”

“As expected,” I say, and leave it there. My siblings know the For Sale sign in front of the house breaks my heart, and I want to rip it out of the ground every time I pass it. Rip it out, smash it, burn it, and scream bloody murder at anyone who comes to look at the property. I’ve resisted, but barely. Meanwhile, I’ve spent a lot of these last two weeks committing the rooms to memory, packing up items I plan to keep, and watching sunrises from the back porch while I still can. I want to watch a thousand more sunrises from that porch, but I also know it’s time to let the house go. It’s not my safe harbor anymore. It’s an anchor I need to raise.

Louisa catches up with us as Emil’s friends split off and guests begin leaving their seats.

“Are you talking about the books?” she whispers in a tone so collusive I have to laugh.

“There’s no point,” I say. “Mom was clear. ‘A deal is a deal,’ even if she hung up on me two seconds later, claiming she was too upset to talk about it.”

My sisters exchange glances, and they’re not subtle.

“What?” I ask.

Louisa’s eyes dance with mischief. “We just figure, she can’t be mad at all of us, right?”

I eye her warily. “I mean . . . she can. Why? What are you plotting?”

Eleanor shakes her head in true resigned older sister fashion, always the mature one.

“Don’t even try to rein her in,” she tells me. “Just wind her up and let her go.”

Louisa grins with pride, as though our sister just gave her the best compliment ever.

I remain wary, but I know my sisters have my best interests in mind, and if they’ve figured out a way to get our mom to reconsider pulling the rights to Grams’s books, I’m all for it.

We soon get swept into the milling crowd, greeting friends and neighbors. Thankfully, my sisters do most of the talking while Riley and Emil are swarmed with giddy congratulations, and our dad sneaks me a hug when our mom’s not looking. He assures me she’ll come around and even says he’s glad I won’t be in Iowa for the next two years. I almost correct him and tell him the job was in Idaho, but he’s trying, so I thank him and hug him back.

I run into Michael over by the catering tent. He’s here with his mom, along with a lot of other people my parents invited, most of whom Riley and Emil barely know. He shows me today’s novelty socks, baby blue with wedding bells, and asks how things are going.

“I’ve been looking at studio apartments in nearby towns,” I tell him. “And applying for jobs at libraries, museums, high schools, restaurants, the cutest knitting shop I’ve ever seen, a sailing school, and even a bait shop where I’d eventually get used to the smell.”

“A bait shop?” he asks through a laugh. “If you’re that open about work, want me to reach out to the head of the history department and see if they’re looking for adjuncts next year?”

I give this two seconds of consideration. That’s all it takes.

“Actually,” I say, “I think I’d rather sell worms.”

Michael laughs again, and this time I laugh, too.