Chapter 2
On Sunday morning, Emmy found herself in a circle of hell reserved especially for single women of a certain age: in a bridal
shop watching her younger sister try on her wedding dress.
Piper looked like a certified cake topper in the beaded ball gown that was, in Emmy’s opinion, more fitting for a black-tie
ceremony than a destination wedding in Mexico. But hey, what did she know? Her only knowledge of weddings came from casual
glances at the bridal magazines Piper had carted around like survival manuals for the past year and a half. Ever since her
fiancé, Ben, had popped the question and sentenced them all to months of minutiae like color palettes, invitation fonts, floral
designs, freaking frosting flavors . Until recently, Emmy had no idea one could even weigh in on the color of foil lining an envelope. But Piper’s obsession
dated back further than her engagement. Emmy could trace its origins to her childhood bedroom where Piper pinned up cutouts
of brides and officiated wedding ceremonies for her dolls. The train had left the station decades ago. The only thing missing
was the person who’d stand with Piper at the altar someday. And she’d found herself a prince.
Emmy wished Ben was there in the bridal shop with them to diffuse the imminent tempest she could see brewing in her sister’s
face because her dress’s hemline wasn’t hitting her feet right, but of course Ben couldn’t see his future bride in her gown
before the big day. So it was only Emmy, Bridezilla, their mother, and Natasha, a sprite of a woman fluttering around fluffing
Piper’s skirt and plying them all with champagne.
“I don’t know, is it hitting right?” Piper said, and swished the billowing skirt once more. The tiered layers of tumbling white fabric elegantly rippled around her toes.
“The hem was cut to the exact specifications,” Natasha assured her with a nod as she grabbed a handful of skirt and fluffed
it once more.
“Well, sure. But it’s not like I’ve grown since I was here last. It should skim my toes but not show my feet. I can see my
feet.” Piper stuck out her foot from under the cumulus cloud of skirt and wiggled her painted toes. A delicate gold chain
with a heart pendant glinted from her ankle.
“Pipes, who cares if anyone can see your feet? We’ll be on the beach. Everyone will see everyone’s feet,” Emmy said, and sipped
another mouthful of beautiful, glorious bubbles.
Piper gasped as if she were scandalized. “I certainly hope people aren’t going to show up barefoot to my wedding !”
Emmy frowned at her. “Barefoot to your wedding... on a beach in Mexico?”
Piper clucked her tongue and swiveled to face the other corner of the small suite where their mother sat. The room looked
like her princess brain had exploded inside it with antique velvet furniture, beaded chandeliers, gilded mirrors. “Mom, Emmy
is being mean!”
Emmy clucked back. “I’m not being mean! I’m only pointing out the obvious. I mean, beach wedding; barefoot. Kind of seems
apparent?”
“Girls, relax,” their mother said. Vera Jameson looked more like her eldest daughter than her youngest. Curvy with blond hair,
hazel eyes, and creamy smooth skin, she was a picture of middle-aged but understated radiance. Emmy only hoped she was as
well-preserved as her mother in later life. She probably needed to spend less time in the sun at baseball games if she wanted
to achieve such standards. Piper shared their curves but was brunette and, rudely as a younger sibling, a few inches taller
than Emmy. “Everyone at the wedding will have shoes. And, Piper, the hem looks great,” Vera said.
Piper grumbled and pivoted back to the mirror.
“I just don’t know...” Her face twisted into the annoyed pinch Emmy knew well.
The one that said a tantrum loomed on the horizon.
Everyone in the room felt it crackling like electricity.
Natasha chewed her lip in worry. Vera spun her champagne flute stem between her fingers.
“At least your boobs look amazing,” Emmy said to diffuse the situation. She was fluent in Piper tantrums, knew the signs like
symptoms of a head cold. She knew what words to say to spare everyone another meltdown.
Piper’s face split into an enormous grin. She grabbed her chest and squished her breasts together in glee. “They do, don’t
they.”
In fairness, the tailor had done an impeccable job with the bodice. The sweetheart cut (another term Emmy had picked up over
the past year) hugged Piper’s body like an elegantly beaded glove. The silhouette showed what Piper had termed a princess amount of cleavage , which Emmy translated to understand meant contoured enough to show she had curves but nothing indulgent or lascivious. A hint and nothing more.
“Yes! The detail here is amazing ,” Natasha groveled, relieved to have avoided stepping on another land mine.
Vera caught Emmy’s eye and winked from across the room, silently thanking her for deftly diffusing the situation.
Piper preened in front of the mirror some more, still holding her chest, before she dropped her hands into the fluff at her
waist. “Okay, let’s try it with the veil now.”
“Of course!” Natasha chirped, and skipped over to the waterfall of gauzy white mesh hanging from the wall on one of those
puffy, silk-bound hangers that only seemed to exist in lingerie shops or bridal salons.
While she fussed with it, Vera stood from her chair to help. “Emmy, sweetheart, what’s the latest on your promotion?” she
asked.
Emmy thought for a moment the booze was getting to her head. Her mother hardly ever asked about her job. Not because she didn’t care about her daughter’s successes in life, but because her chosen profession was a bit of a sore spot for their family.
More like a gaping wound that would never fully heal, and Emmy’s choice to spend day in and day out in the industry that had
torn their family apart was baffling to most everyone, to say the least.
“Um, it’s still on the table. I find out tomorrow who the pool has been narrowed to.”
Vera took the veil from Natasha and wedged the comb into Piper’s hair. She jammed it into Piper’s bun hard enough that her
head jerked around with the force.
“Ow, Mom,” Piper whispered, and reached up to intervene.
“Sorry,” Vera said, and Emmy couldn’t help wondering if the tiny burst of aggression was due to her. “Well, that’s excellent.
Are you in the top choices still?”
“Yes. As far as I know.”
Piper felt for the veil hanging behind her and pulled it forward like a cape. It hung nearly to the bottom of her dress. “You
better get it. And if they give it to that d-bag Gabe, I will burn the stadium down.”
Piper may have had her faults as a bride, but she was fiercely, undyingly loyal as a sister. She knew all about Emmy’s workplace
nemesis and had partaken in many a Gabe Olson bashing at Emmy’s insistence. They’d even thrown darts at his name on a piece
of paper one drunken night at a dive bar in Pacific Beach after he’d been chosen over her to join a players’ luncheon.
Emmy felt her blood begin to boil at the mention of his name. No one could send her into a fit of fury faster than Gabe Olson.
The cocky pretty boy obsessed with winning—who often unfairly did win at everything because he had a penis and used to play baseball. And sure, he was good at his job, whatever. But so was
Emmy! Arguably, she was better at their job, but she was constantly climbing an uphill battle as a woman in the world of men’s professional sports. Every
single time—seriously, she could count them all!—something came down to a choice between her or Gabe—even when they were iden tically qualified on paper—he got it. The unjustness of it made her want to peel her skin off. But she’d known what she was getting
into. When she’d taken a job in data analytics for the local professional baseball team, the San Diego Tide, she knew it’d
be a challenge.
“I will buy the lighter fluid,” she half joked and envisioned her and her sister dressed like cat burglars breaking into Tide
Field to set it ablaze. She finished off her champagne with a smile.
“Girls, no one is burning anything down,” Vera said, like the threat might have been real. Both of her daughters shared a
fiery spirit; Piper was just a bit more transparent about it.
“We are kidding , Mom,” Piper said, and snuck a wicked wink at Emmy in the mirror. “Oh! Actually, a much more important topic: Em, who are
you bringing to the wedding?”
Emmy would rather have been arrested for arson than discuss the dreaded Plus One topic. She mournfully looked into the bottom
of her empty champagne glass. “Natasha, another?”
Piper frowned at her avoidance. “You can’t keep putting it off, Em. The wedding is in three weeks, and I won’t have my MOH
show up stag.”
“I draw the line at pronouncing ‘MOH’ out loud,” Emmy said. She’d asked her sister to translate MOH the first time she’d texted
it, and Piper explained it was shorthand for maid of honor. After helping with the initial dress search, the engagement party,
the bridal shower, and weighing in on Piper’s ever panicked texts over chiffon versus charmeuse, fondant versus ganache, rose
versus blush, Emmy’s only MOH responsibility left between today’s final dress fitting and the big day was throwing the bachelorette
party. And, unfortunately, finding a plus one for the wedding.
Seeing as she didn’t date, she had no candidates.
No front-runners. No one who owed her a favor.
And it wasn’t a casual Hey, wanna come to my sister’s wedding this weekend?
It was Hey, could you book a plane ticket and fly to Cancún to hang out with people you’ve never met in a remote location for several
days? Who was going to say yes to that?