1. Paisley
My college sweetheart’swedding invitation arrives in my mailbox on a Thursday afternoon.
I’d been expecting it, but still. It smarts, snapping at me like a rubber band that has reached into the past before zinging back into the present.
I’d prepared for the invitation’s arrival by telling myself my feelings don’t matter to anybody but me. They simply don’t. But preparing for an eventuality, and living through it, are two different things. You can tell a person they will one day feel angry, but when that one day arrives, anger doesn’t come solo. Erratic heartbeats, sweaty palms, a decrease in common sense, those are the feelings that accompany the emotion.
That’s how I feel now, and it’s not only anger. Add humiliation to the mix. Also, a splash of anger’s close cousin, indignation.
Abandoning the small stack of mail in the mailbox, I take only the large envelope with me as I hurry up my driveway. I live on a block full of cute, tidy homes and even cuter, tidier neighbors, most of whom love to chat.
Today is not the day for chatting. Or answering curious but well-meaning questions about why I’m using a two-fingered hold on the corner of an elegant-looking envelope. You’d think she’s holding a used gym sock, Bill would joke. Or my sports bra after hot yoga, his exercise-addicted wife Jessica would add.
Head down, I make it to my front door without incident. Tossing my purse on a side table, I drag a deep breath through my lungs, releasing it noisily. With zero poise I flop onto my couch, one leg tucked beneath me. My finger slides under the flap of the fancy envelope with the gold filigree in the corner. A paper cut seems apropos, but no such injury occurs. I am undamaged by the invitation. Physically, anyhow.
I remove the invitation, turning it over in my hands. Ivory cardstock, heavy and textured. The text in black ink, the font a readable serif with a touch of whimsy. Classic, simple, tasteful.
Like my sister, the blushing bride-to-be.
Wine. I need wine.
I’m up from the couch, gliding into the kitchen and uncorking a crisp white kept in the fridge. After a long, decadent swallow, I deposit the bottle on the counter alongside the offensive invitation.
A deep breath crashes through my lungs as the sweet sting settles into my belly. I am fortified. If a girl can’t use booze to numb the indecency of her little sister marrying her ex-boyfriend, when can she use it?
Bent over the white quartz counter, I remove an insert from the envelope. It’s a personalized note from the happy couple, the text printed in shimmery copper.
You are cordially invited
to make the event of the summer
even more memorable.
Please be on the island
one week prior to our nuptials
to accommodate a forthcoming itinerary.
Xoxo,
Sienna and Shane
Gag me. Now. With a spoon. A serrated spoon. No! A spork.
Did my sister just refer to her nuptials as the ‘event of the summer’?
I eye the trash can in the corner. What would happen if I threw the invitation away? Claimed it was lost in the mail? It would be a lie, but a lie told solely for the purpose of self-preservation surely isn’t as bad as one told with cruel intentions.
Yep. That’s what I’ll do. I didn’t get the invite, therefore I couldn’t book a flight, and now oh shoot, I’m so sorry I can’t make it. I have a non-refundable trip to Anywhere, U.S.A. planned for that same week.
Except, I can’t.
I knew this invitation was coming. I was one of Sienna’s first five phone calls after she touched ground following the ultra romantic hot-air balloon proposal.
Also, I’m a bridesmaid.
An anvil named reality crashes down upon me, and I resign myself to my fate. I live across the country from my family, but there’s nowhere on earth I could go to get away from this wedding. Soon I will be on an island off the coast of North Carolina, watching my little sister pledge everlasting love to my ex.
My phone rings and I retrieve it from my purse.
Sienna’s name displays across the screen. My stomach drops to my knees. Is that sweat beading at my hairline? Can’t be. It’s January, for crying out loud. It’s sweater weather even here in sunny Scottsdale, Arizona.
Sienna’s name continues to flash angrily. I know where this is going, and there’s only way to face it. Head on.
Another swig of wine and I’m doubly fortified. I got this. I’m good. I’m fine.
I tap the screen, and without me greeting her, Sienna’s exuberant voice fills my kitchen. “Hellooooo did you get the invite?”
“No.” I didn’t intend to lie, but it’s a damn smooth delivery, if I do say so myself.
“Oh,” Sienna says, disappointed. “Check your mail. Mom received hers two days ago, so yours should be there. It doesn’t take that long to go from North Carolina to Arizona. It’s not like it’s being ridden on horseback.”
I wish it were. Maybe it would’ve taken an unfortunate dive out of the postman’s saddle bag.
“It doesn’t matter if you get it, because obviously you’re coming.” Sienna pauses, giving me the opportunity to chime in with an appropriate response, something like Well, yes, I’m a bridesmaid!
Here’s the thing about my sister’s relationship with my ex: it’s my fault. I could’ve put a stop to it from the beginning. But on that day when she’d called to tell me she ran into Shane, I was too shocked to use my words. My ears were in working order, so I listened and nodded my way through her almost unbelievable story.
There Sienna was, sauntering over the tree-lined streets in downtown Raleigh, the fall leaves scattered over the sidewalk, when she bumped into Shane. Can you believe it? she’d said with an incredulous gasp. I thought she was going to tell me he looked awful, that I’d dodged a bullet when he broke my heart two years prior, blessing in disguise and all that jazz. I didn’t need my ego stroked, only pacified.
“He moved here from Phoenix about a year ago. He looks great,” she’d said, and it was the way she infused the word ‘great’ with a smile that told me all I needed to know. Across the miles, I heard the want in her voice. “He asked me out. I said no, of course.” She took a deep breath. “But Pais, I kind of want to.”
I felt as if a cartoon rubber mallet swung from off-screen and walloped me over the head.
We should’ve been laughing about the fact he asked her out, mutually agreeing about his cretin status. Sienna should not have been holding her breath, waiting for me to give her my blessing.
And that’s when it hit me. She’d do what she wanted, no matter what. My choice was to make a fuss, or acquiesce.
“You can go out with him if you want to.” So mature! So agreeable! Paisley never causes problems or makes waves!
Deep down, there was a part of me hoping she’d change her mind. That she’d choose me and our sisterhood over whatever attraction she felt toward Shane.
But, no.
And here we are. I’m cordially invited to the event of the summer being held at my favorite place, my sanctuary, my childhood hamlet. Bald Head Island.
So I say what Sienna is waiting for me to say, because what else is there to do? “Of course I’ll be there, Sienna. Obviously.”
She makes a squeaky, joyful noise. “An entire week on the island, Paisley. All our loved ones, days and days of wedding shenanigans.” A dreamy quality envelops her voice. “It’s going to be ah-mazing.”
If I thought I was dreading this wedding, it’s only a fraction of the feelings I have about returning to Bald Head Island. As wonderful as it was to grow up vacationing there, it wasn’t always perfect. Correction: the island remains pristine. The actions of certain individuals tainted a handful of my memories there.
“One more thing, and it’s kind of late notice.” Sienna takes a deep breath, her gusty exhale crackling the connection. Excitement oozes from the phone. “Paisley, will you be my maid of honor?”