Author: Kristan Higgins

But it’s raining out, so my threats are empty.

Finally, we clamber into the minivans and cars and head off. Mom, Elaina and I are alone in Mom’s Chrysler, me chauffeuring while the two of them sit in the back.

“You look beautiful, Mamí,” Elaina says, fixing a stray curl behind Mom’s ear.

“Did Chastity tell you she dumped Ryan?” Mom says mildly.

Elaina sighs. “Yes. Too bad about that ring. Could’ve sent my baby through college.”

I grin in the rearview mirror. “Well, you could always finish divorcing Mark and marry Ryan yourself, Lainey.”

“You know very well I’m not divorcing Mark,” she says. “In fact, I might as well tell you, I’m pregnant.”

The car swerves to the right as Mom and I shriek. “Lainey! That’s wonderful!”

She blushes. “Yeah, well, he’s a new man and all that, you know? So maybe a girl this time.”

Mom is dabbing tears. “I’m so happy, Elaina, sweetheart,” she says, hugging Lainey tight.

I am, too, and if a flame of envy is dancing in my heart, well, I’m pretty used to it.

“Oh, look, there’s the church!” Mom exclaims. “This is so exciting! I barely remember marrying Mike, I was so sick with Jack.”

“Jack’s a bastard? I knew it,” I comment. Sure, we kids did the math, but Mom and Dad never admitted it. They insisted that Jack (weighing in a nine pounds, twelve ounces) came two months early.

Men in suits wait for us, faces obscured in a sea of umbrellas. Some, no doubt, are my brothers. And Trevor. And Dad.

Jack helps me out of the car, as I am awkward in my long dress. “Lucky, why are you wearing a dress?” he asks. I flip him off cheerfully. “Sorry, Chas,” he amends, ushering me inside. “You clean up nice.”

“Thanks, Jack. How’s Dad?” I glance around. Dad is talking to Matt. Angela waves to me from a pew.

“Dad is eerily fine,” Jack answers.

“Chas, can you load this film for me?” Lucky asks. “I’m all thumbs.”

“Yet you defuse bombs for a living. How reassuring.” I take the proffered camera and do as I’m told.

Lucky laughs. “Put a dress on her and she’s all high and mighty. I like you better when you’re one of the guys.”

“Join the club,” I murmur, handing his camera back to him. “Here.”

“Hey, Chastity.”

I turn around. “Hi, Trevor.” I bite my lip. “You look very handsome.” And tired, and a little sad.

He smiles, but his eyes don’t join in. “You…that’s a nice dress.” He closes his eyes briefly, acknowledging the lameness of his compliment.

“Thanks,” I say, forgiving him.

He clears his throat. “Chastity, what’s your dad doing here?”

“Oh, you didn’t hear? He’s giving away the bride,” I say, forcing a smile.

His eyebrows bounce up in surprise. “Are you kidding me?” he asks too loudly.

“Trev! Over here, bud,” Mark calls from a front pew. Trevor hesitates.

“Go ahead,” I say. “I have bridesmaidy things to do.”

Still looking stunned, he walks toward the front of the church, glancing back at me. I shrug.

Mom bustles in behind me. “There you are!” she says, as if I were hiding. “Where’s your father?”

“Right here, Betty. Can I be the first to kiss the bride?” Dad smooches her cheek. “Don’t you look gorgeous,” he says, and he seems to mean it. He’s all Cary Grant today, smiling and debonair, good grace and manners. Mom grins up at him.

Seeing them smiling moonily at each other, I wait. Wait for Mom’s smile to fade in abrupt realization. Wait for her to make the announcement. To call it off. Wait for her to glance down the aisle at Harry, five foot seven—too old for her, too chubby—and then stare at my tall and handsome, strong and heroic father and realize that no one will ever fill Mike O’Neill’s shoes. To declare to everyone that true love has conquered, and she and Dad will stay together, happier than ever, till the day they die.

But she doesn’t. Instead, she adjusts my dad’s pin, a Maltese cross, the symbol of firefighters. Then she checks to see that all her granddaughters are in place, and they are, a shimmering mob of creamy pink satin. Sarah nods at the choir loft and walks down the aisle to where Jack and their boys are sitting. The organ starts playing, and the girls begin their march. First Sophie, strewing pink rose petals, then Olivia, her coppery curls bouncing. Then comes Annie, who is scowling at Luke as he tries to take her picture. Claire, holding baby Jenny, comes last. When they’re all seated in the front pews with their brothers and parents, it’s my turn.

I take one more look at my parents, together for the last time, arm in arm, smiling. Do it, Mom, I will her. She smiles at me as if she’s reading my mind. Being Mom, she probably is.

“Go on, honey,” she whispers.

So I do. Heart aching, I do.

Trevor is watching me as I make my way down the aisle. I hope I’m smiling, but I bet I’m not. I can’t seem to feel my face, actually. Trev looks…odd. Bleak. The way I feel.

Then I’m past him, already at the plain little altar.

“You look lovely, Chastity,” Harry whispers.

How can my mom be marrying a man I’ve only met four times? How can this guy be the one who will sit in my father’s chair?

Mom and Dad are right behind me. Dad kisses Mom’s cheek, shakes Harry’s hand, and I surreptitiously wipe away a tear. Dad turns away, and my throat slams shut. No, Daddy! Fight for her!

But Mom is beaming. Harry is beaming. Dad sits in the second row with Mark and Elaina, picks up Dylan and kisses his cheek, possibly, I think, to hide the tears in his eyes.

And then, without a lot of pomp or circumstance, my mother turns to Harold H. Thomaston and becomes his wife.

THE CHURCH HALL IS DECORATED with pink streamers and pink flowers. Pink balloons are tied in bundles to the concrete posts, and the DJ is setting up in the corner. It looks more like a seven-year-old girl’s birthday party than the wedding of two senior citizens. The Starahs cleverly hired a couple of high school girls to keep an eye on their broods, and the kids are running around, stuffing deviled eggs in their mouths and getting sugared up on Shirley Temples and root beer.

My plan is to have a large glass of wine as promptly as possible, but Mom forcibly introduces me to each and every one of Harry’s relatives and friends. By the time I sit down, my cheeks ache from fake smiling and my feet are killing me, encased in tombs of size-eleven kitten heels invented by a man whose mother must have beaten him daily to inspire such misogyny.

“How are you doing?” Angela asks, sliding next to me.

“Not that great,” I admit. “How about you?”

“Matt’s telling your father he’s leaving the fire department,” she murmurs, toying with a napkin.

“Kicking him when he’s down?” I suggest, looking over to where Matt and Dad sit, head to head, faces serious.

“Well, to be honest, Chastity,” Angela says gently, “your father doesn’t seem that unhappy.”

She’s right. That’s probably the most depressing thing of all. That, or Trevor’s face. He’s sitting in the corner table with Jack and Lucky and their many children, staring at the saltshaker, clearly lost in thought. Unhappy thought. At least he had the grace not to bring Perfect bleeping Hayden.

“Your brother wants to be a teacher,” Dad announces, thumping into the chair next to me. Matt sits down more gracefully next to Angela.

“And how do you feel about that, Dad?” I ask.

He eyes Matt. “I’m surprised, that’s all, son,” he says. “I thought you loved the fire department.”

“I do, Dad. But I want to try this, too.”

“Fine, fine,” he mutters. “If I’ve learned anything, it’s that you can’t keep a man away from the work he loves. Right, Chas?”

I roll my eyes and chug a little wine.

“Well, Matthew, you’ll be a great teacher. And a husband one day soon, if I’m not mistaken,” Dad announces heartily. I sputter some wine—so graceful, really; I should’ve been a princess.

“Excuse me?” I ask.

Angela’s face is bright red. Matt grins. “Well, we’re planning to get married. Nothing official yet, since I don’t have a ring and all that, but, well, I’m giving notice, Chas. Angie and I are moving in together.”

“Great!” I bark. “That’s just great. That’s just bleeping wonderful. So happy and all that crap.”

Angela’s face falls, and I’m immediately repentant. “Shit. Sorry, Ange. I am happy and all…” To my horror, I start to cry. “It’s just that…I’ll miss you, Mattie. So will Buttercup.”

“We’ll be two blocks away, Chas,” Matt says, putting his arm around Angela. “And I couldn’t do better than this girl, could I? Just think. Another sister-in-law.”

All four of my brothers, married. Everyone except me. Boohoohoo. I get up, hug them both, mess up Matt’s hair and give him a smack, then go to the bathroom to cry a little. There’s no respite, though, because my father bangs on the door. “Chastity! Your mother’s going to dance with my replacement,” he calls. “She wants you there.”

“Great,” I mutter at my reflection. Reaching into the bodice of my dress, I yank up my strapless bra and stomp out of the bathroom.

All the guests are gathered round the little dance-floor area. “Ladies and gentlemen,” the DJ says, and I resist the strong urge to stick a finger in my mouth and make a gacking sound. “Appearing for the first time as man and wife, Mr. and Mrs. Harry Thomaston!”

Everyone claps—even sulky little old me—as they take to the floor. The song is Norah Jones’s cover of the beautiful Hoagy Carmichael song, “The Nearness of You.”

Harry is smiling besottedly at my mother, and she grins back, and suddenly, her happiness breaks through my thorny, sulking heart. She deserves this. She really does, and my eyes fill with tears—again—at the sight of her face.

“And now the bride and groom would like to invite the members of their families to join in,” the DJ oozes smarmily.

Of course, I don’t have a mate, I think as JacknSarah, LuckynTara, MarknElaina and MattnAngela drift out onto the floor. Jack leans down and kisses Sarah’s tummy, Lucky is making Tara laugh. Elaina and Mark are doing that hot staring thing they do with each other, looking like they’re about to burst into a pasa doblé or something. Matt has his cheek against Angela’s blond hair. What a gorgeous family, I admit. Harry’s two daughters are there somewhere, too, but I have to say our genetics are quite superior. What a great job Mom and Dad did!

“Come on, Porkchop,” Dad says, and leads me out to join them.

The familiar smell of my dad envelops me, Johnson’s baby shampoo and Old Spice, and I lean my cheek on his shoulder. “Are you okay, baby?” Dad asks. “Your mother told me about Ryan.”

“So much for her vow of silence,” I mutter.

“Are you?”

“I’m fine,” I say.

“What happened with you two, anyway?”

“He just wasn’t the one, Dad. Blah, blah, bleeping blah. You know how it is.”

Dad chuckles and kisses my hair. Then he stops dancing and looks up.

“Can I cut in, Mike?”

It’s an emotional day, sure. But the sight of Trevor standing there, asking my dad if he can dance with me…It does something to me. My heart surges toward him—the man I’ve loved since I was ten, the man I’ll always love—and for one second, I feel as exposed as a baby mouse in a room full of feral cats. Dad looks at Trevor, smiles and steps back, winking at me, and Trevor takes me in his arms.