everything to be perfect. Throwing an engagement party with Reese had been . . . interesting, for sure. The conversations around this first major wedding event had gone something like this:
Reese: “We should get swans.”
Wendy: “That’s a good sentiment, but I don’t think—”
Reese: “What? You hate it? That’s what you’re saying. Isn’t it?”
Wendy: “Let’s think party. Not 18 th century ball.”
Reese: “I’m guessing that’s a no to the cooked goose, then?”
Reese wasn’t a wedding person. She was just an extremist. It was actually sweet, if Wendy thought about it. It just was a little difficult to rein in.
In the end, there weren’t any swans or carriages or cooked geese. There were strands upon strands of white twinkle lights. There was a bar and hired bartenders. There were white and gold balloons that lined the back fence. Everything l ooked purposeful and beautiful, down to the tiny monogramming on the printed napkins.
At four, Wendy went home to fix herself up, with only an hour to spare.
For the first time all day, she took a second to breathe. As she stripped down, she studied herself in the mirror. There was nothing different about her. No real signs of aging, no real evidence of wisdom. Physically, twenty-four-year-old Wendy looked almost exactly the same as fourteen-year-old Wendy. Same green eyes. Same curly brown hair. Same hourglass shape.
Wendy decided on a bright pink dress that tied at the waist.
Reese called. “On your way?”
“Almost. Just as soon as I amputate my heart.”
Pause. “Freaking out?”
“Trying not to.”
“If it makes you feel better, I just downed three glasses of champagne.”
It didn’t.
Lately, her feelings felt stacked on a scale, unbalanced, weighing heavy to the left one day and unanimously to the right the next. She couldn’t trust them.
“Remember that time you thought you were pregnant but really it was just badly prepared sushi?” Wendy asked.
Reese groaned. “Yes.”
“That. That is how I feel.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Exactly.”
The sun hovered over the horizon as the world faded to lilac. Reese’s parents’ house looked even better in the evening—a white tent erected in the back, pictures of the happy couple throughout the house and a remember when scrapbook Wendy had made from old college pictures. The house reminded her of homecomings and prom pictures around the pool.
Vivian was crying before she walked through the door. She wore a yellow and gray print dress, her hair styled into an old Hollywood look, and Owen wore a gray suit to match. Wendy could almost read her mind: thinking about her friends, thinking about Owen, thinking about memories and love and happily ever after.
She hugged Reese and Wendy, and whispered, “You guys are too good.”
“We know,” Wendy said, eyes brimming faint with tears.
Once the evening started, it was hard to stop.
Toasts in the kitchen.
Mingling with relatives.
Trips after trips to the bar.
“Have you seen him?” Reese asked her, an hour into the party.
Wendy shook her head. “Maybe he’s a no-show.”
The words went down with a kick. She didn’t know how to feel about that. Angry, maybe, that he wouldn’t come to his best friend’s engagement party. Definitely not surprised. Disappointed? No. She wasn’t. No.
“You guys,” Vivian said, draping her arms over them, “are the best. This makes it official. I’m getting married .”
“I think the engagement made that official,” Reese said.
Vivian clinked her glass against Wendy’s, a bit too hard. “Are you having fun? I want you to have fun.”
“Viv, I’m having the best time. And you’re drunk at your engagement party,” Wendy said, laughing.
“You think I’m drunk? You should see Owen.”
Across the pool, he tried to rope Vivian’s grandmother into a line dance.
“Match made in wasted heaven,” Reese said.
“Wendy? Do you hate me?” Vivian asked.
Wendy took her hand and
Reese: “We should get swans.”
Wendy: “That’s a good sentiment, but I don’t think—”
Reese: “What? You hate it? That’s what you’re saying. Isn’t it?”
Wendy: “Let’s think party. Not 18 th century ball.”
Reese: “I’m guessing that’s a no to the cooked goose, then?”
Reese wasn’t a wedding person. She was just an extremist. It was actually sweet, if Wendy thought about it. It just was a little difficult to rein in.
In the end, there weren’t any swans or carriages or cooked geese. There were strands upon strands of white twinkle lights. There was a bar and hired bartenders. There were white and gold balloons that lined the back fence. Everything l ooked purposeful and beautiful, down to the tiny monogramming on the printed napkins.
At four, Wendy went home to fix herself up, with only an hour to spare.
For the first time all day, she took a second to breathe. As she stripped down, she studied herself in the mirror. There was nothing different about her. No real signs of aging, no real evidence of wisdom. Physically, twenty-four-year-old Wendy looked almost exactly the same as fourteen-year-old Wendy. Same green eyes. Same curly brown hair. Same hourglass shape.
Wendy decided on a bright pink dress that tied at the waist.
Reese called. “On your way?”
“Almost. Just as soon as I amputate my heart.”
Pause. “Freaking out?”
“Trying not to.”
“If it makes you feel better, I just downed three glasses of champagne.”
It didn’t.
Lately, her feelings felt stacked on a scale, unbalanced, weighing heavy to the left one day and unanimously to the right the next. She couldn’t trust them.
“Remember that time you thought you were pregnant but really it was just badly prepared sushi?” Wendy asked.
Reese groaned. “Yes.”
“That. That is how I feel.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Exactly.”
The sun hovered over the horizon as the world faded to lilac. Reese’s parents’ house looked even better in the evening—a white tent erected in the back, pictures of the happy couple throughout the house and a remember when scrapbook Wendy had made from old college pictures. The house reminded her of homecomings and prom pictures around the pool.
Vivian was crying before she walked through the door. She wore a yellow and gray print dress, her hair styled into an old Hollywood look, and Owen wore a gray suit to match. Wendy could almost read her mind: thinking about her friends, thinking about Owen, thinking about memories and love and happily ever after.
She hugged Reese and Wendy, and whispered, “You guys are too good.”
“We know,” Wendy said, eyes brimming faint with tears.
Once the evening started, it was hard to stop.
Toasts in the kitchen.
Mingling with relatives.
Trips after trips to the bar.
“Have you seen him?” Reese asked her, an hour into the party.
Wendy shook her head. “Maybe he’s a no-show.”
The words went down with a kick. She didn’t know how to feel about that. Angry, maybe, that he wouldn’t come to his best friend’s engagement party. Definitely not surprised. Disappointed? No. She wasn’t. No.
“You guys,” Vivian said, draping her arms over them, “are the best. This makes it official. I’m getting married .”
“I think the engagement made that official,” Reese said.
Vivian clinked her glass against Wendy’s, a bit too hard. “Are you having fun? I want you to have fun.”
“Viv, I’m having the best time. And you’re drunk at your engagement party,” Wendy said, laughing.
“You think I’m drunk? You should see Owen.”
Across the pool, he tried to rope Vivian’s grandmother into a line dance.
“Match made in wasted heaven,” Reese said.
“Wendy? Do you hate me?” Vivian asked.
Wendy took her hand and
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