Phoebe Berman's Gonna Lose It(46)

From behind me, Bethany, the stylist who’s been straightening my hair for the majority of the morning, chuckles. I have at least another half hour to kill in this chair, so I’ve been using this time to practice my maid-of-honor speech.

“Okay, so I’ll pause for laughter there,” I tell her while marking up the speech in front of me with a red ballpoint pen.

I continue, stopping here and there to take note of Bethany’s reactions, and find myself getting choked up when I reach the end. I power through.

“And so, Ethan, you may have lost the middle school track team their trophy, but you ended up with the greatest prize of all: Jamie.”

Bethany dabs at her eyes with the back of her sleeve.

“It’s good, right?” I ask.

“I don’t even know them and I’m crying,” she sniffles.

Excellent.

My speech took months of drafting to finally achieve the perfect balance of funny and heartfelt. According to Jonathan, my first draft read too much like an “audition for SNL,” while my second draft was an “extreme overcorrection” that “sounded like Jamie’s eulogy.” But I feel confident that I’ve nailed this final version.

And I made sure to stash a box of tissues under Dad’s chair for the moments I’ve flagged to pause for tears.

“Knock, knock.” A fist raps on the open door behind me, and through the mirror, I see Jamie’s head peeking into the room. “Almost ready?”

“She’s done!” Bethany exclaims, turning my chair around to face Jamie.

“Wow,” the two of us say at the same time, admiring each other’s freshly done hair and makeup. Though I’ll never admit it to her, the girls Mom hired for glam knocked it out of the park. And if the band and photographer are anywhere near as good, I may even have to thank her for taking on some of the wedding logistics. Still, the thought of doing so makes me feel slightly queasy.

I follow Jamie down the hall to the bridal suite, where we change into our dresses. My eyes immediately begin to prickle at the sight of Jamie in her wedding dress.

“Do not,” Jamie says, fanning my face with her hands. “Your mascara will run.”

“How could I not?” I catch a loose tear with my finger before it manages to run down my face and leave a streak in my foundation. “You look so beautiful.”

Jamie’s bridesmaids offer their share of oohs and ahhs as they help her accessorize.

“So do you.” She motions to my dress. “Tonight would be a perfect night for you to meet someone, you know. Assuming you and Finn aren’t exclusive yet.” She smiles. I roll my eyes lovingly. “Ethan has tons of cute friends.”

“And I’m sure I babysat at least half of them.”

“Still…” Jamie says, her eyes lingering on me. “I don’t know, I feel like you might meet someone tonight. Try to be open to it.”

I’ve heard this countless times, at countless weddings, from countless people in relationships. As if my night won’t be worth anything unless I’m coupled up by the end of it.

“Where’s your veil?” I ask excitedly, changing the subject. Originally, Jamie had wanted to forgo the tradition of wearing one, but she changed her mind last minute. I’m dying to see what kind of style she landed on.

“Over there.” Jamie points to an old satin box resting in a chair in the corner of the room. I recognize it immediately.

“Oh.” I walk across the room and lift my mother’s veil out of the box it’s been stored in for the last thirty-one years. I run the delicate lace through my fingers, an old habit from all the years when I used to sneak up to the attic and try it on. “It’s Mom’s.”

“I thought it would be sentimental,” Jamie says with a smile. And of course it is. Which is why I had always envisioned myself, the older daughter, being the first to wear it. For a wedding that doesn’t exist. And most likely never will. Which makes this sinking feeling of disappointment in my gut completely illogical.

“It is.” I don’t let my smile falter. “It’s perfect.”

I help secure the veil to her hair.

“Ethan is going to completely lose his mind,” Laura, one of Jamie’s bridesmaids, chimes in.

“You should go give him a first look before we all gather for photos,” I suggest to Jamie. “In private.”

Earlier, Ethan fell to his knees at the sight of Jamie in her matching bridal pajamas. It’s likely in everyone’s best interest that whatever reaction he has to the sight of Jamie in her dress happen behind closed doors.

“Good idea.”

And like the former track star she is, Jamie takes off running down the hall. Toward the kid with the short legs.

The familiar sound of my mother’s heels clicking against the hallway floors gives me a few seconds to prepare for her arrival. As casually as possible, I place my right hand on my left arm, covering my exposed tattoo.

This morning, Jana, the makeup artist, had reached toward my arm with a beauty blender coated in a thick foundation.

“What’s that for?” I had asked.

“Your tattoo,” she replied. “Your mom mentioned you wanted it covered up.”

I had told my mom no such thing, of course.

“Five-minute warning for pictures,” Mom announces as she enters the bridal suite. I don’t even have time to compliment her dress before her eyes drift to my arm. She sighs. I drop my hand.