Kitty ignores me and sings to herself, “Sugar shock, whoa baby, that cake’ll give us sugar shock,” to the tune of that oldies song “Sugar Shack.” It’s probably my own fault for playing it whenever I bake.
“This is the last time it’ll be just us,” I say, and Margot looks over at me and smiles.
“I’m glad it won’t be just us anymore,” Kitty says.
“So am I,” Margot says, and I’m fairly certain she means it.
Families shrink and expand. All you can really do is be glad for it, glad for each other, for as long as you have each other.
* * *
I can’t sleep, so I go downstairs to make a cup of Night-Night tea, and as I run the water for my kettle, I look out the window and see the red embers of a cigarette glowing in the darkness. Trina is outside smoking!
I’m debating whether or not to forego my tea ritual and go to bed before she sees me, but as I’m emptying the kettle, she comes back inside, a can of Fresca in her hand.
“Oh!” she says, startled.
“I couldn’t sleep,” I say, just as she says, “Don’t tell Kitty!”
We both laugh.
“I swear it was a good-bye smoke. I haven’t had a cigarette in months!”
“I won’t tell Kitty.”
“I owe you one,” Trina says, exhaling.
“Would you like a cup of Night-Night tea?” I ask her. “My mom used to make it for us. It’s very soothing. It’ll make you feel nice and cozy and ready for bed.”
“That sounds like heaven.”
I fill the kettle and put it on the stove. “Are you nervous about the wedding?”
“No, not nervous . . . just, nerves, I guess? I really want everything to go off—without a hitch.” A giggle escapes her throat. “Pun intended. God, I love a good pun.” Then she straightens up and says, “Tell me what’s going on with you and Peter.”
I busy myself with spooning honey into mugs. “Oh, nothing.” The last thing Trina needs on the night before her wedding is to hear about my problems.
She gives me a look. “Come on, girl. Tell me.”
“I don’t know. I guess we’re broken up?” I shrug my shoulders high so I don’t cry.
“Oh, honey. Bring that tea over here and come sit next to me on the couch.”
I finish making the tea and bring the mugs over to the couch and sit next to Trina, who tucks her legs under her and drapes a blanket over both of us. “Now tell me everything,” she says.
“I guess things started to go sideways when I got into UNC. Our plan was for me to go to William and Mary and then I’d transfer, and we’d be long distance for the first year. But UNC is a lot farther, and when I visited, I knew I wanted to be there. Not with one foot in and one foot out, you know?” I stir my spoon. “I really want to give it a chance.”
“I think that’s a thousand percent the right attitude.” Trina warms her hand on her tea mug. “So that’s why you broke up with him?”
“No, not entirely. Peter’s mom told me he was talking about transferring to UNC next year. She wanted me to break up with him before he messed up his life for me.”
“Damn! Peter’s mom is kind of a bitch!”
“She didn’t use those exact words, but that was the gist of it.” I take a sip of tea. “I wouldn’t want him to transfer for me either. . . . My mom used to say not to go to college with a boyfriend, because you’ll lose out on a true freshman experience.”
“Well, to be fair, your mom never met Peter Kavinsky. She didn’t have all the facts. If she had met him . . .” Trina lets out a low whistle. “She might’ve been singing a different tune.”
Tears fill my eyes. “Honestly I regret breaking up with him and I wish I could take it all back!”
She tips up my chin. “Then why don’t you?”
“I don’t think he’ll ever forgive me for hurting him like that. He doesn’t let people in easily. I think I’m probably dead to him.”
Trina tries to hide a smile. “I doubt that. Look, you’ll talk to him at the wedding tomorrow. When he sees you in that dress, all will be forgiven.”
I sniffle. “I’m sure he’s not coming.”
“I’m sure he is. You don’t plan a man’s bachelor party and then not show to the wedding. Not to mention the fact that he’s crazy about you.”
“But what if I hurt him again?”
She wraps both her hands around her mug of tea and takes a sip. “You can’t protect him from being hurt, babe, no matter what you do. Being vulnerable, letting people in, getting hurt . . . it’s all a part of being in love.”
I take this in. “Trina, when did you figure out that you and my dad were the real thing?”
“I don’t know. . . . I think I just—decided.”
“Decided on what?”
“Decided on him. On us.” She smiles at me. “On all of it.”
It’s so crazy to think that a year ago, she was just our neighbor Ms. Rothschild. Kitty and I would sit on our stoop and watch her run to the car in the morning and spill hot coffee all over herself. And now she’s marrying our dad. She’s going to be our stepmom, and I’m so glad for it.
40
THE AIR SMELLS LIKE HONEYSUCKLES and summer days that go on and on. It is the perfect day to get married. I don’t think there’s any place prettier than Virginia in June. Everything in bloom, everything green and sunny and hopeful. When I get married, I think I might like it to be at home too.
We woke up early, and it seemed like there would be plenty of time, but of course we’re running around like chickens with their heads cut off. Trina is flying around the upstairs in her silky ivory robe that Kristen bought her. Kristen bought pink ones for us bridesmaids, with our names embroidered in gold on the front pocket. Trina’s says The Bride. I’ve got to hand it to Kristen. She’s annoying but she has vision. She knows how to make things nice.
Trina’s photographer friend takes a picture of all of us in our robes, Trina sitting in the middle like a very tan swan. Then it’s time to get dressed. We compromised on Kitty’s tuxedo—she’s wearing a white short-sleeved button-down shirt, a jaunty plaid bow tie, and pants that hit at her ankle. Her hair is in Swiss Miss braids, tucked under and pinned up. She looks so pretty. She looks so . . . Kitty. I compromised by putting baby’s breath in my hair but no flower crown. I also compromised on my vision of fairy nightgowns for Margot and me. Instead we are wearing vintage 1950s floral dresses that I found on Etsy—Margot’s is cream with yellow daisies, and mine has pink flowers and straps that tie at the shoulder. Mine must have been owned by a short person, because we didn’t even have to alter it, and it hits at the knees, right where it’s supposed to, .
Trina is a beautiful bride. Her teeth and dress look very white against her tanned skin. “I don’t look silly, do I?” She casts a nervous look in my direction. “Too old to wear white? I mean, I am a divorcée.”
Margot answers before I can. “You look perfect. Just perfect.”
My older sister has a way of sounding right. Trina’s whole body relaxes, like one big exhale. “Thank you, Margot.” Her voice goes tremulous. “I’m just . . . so happy.”