“And on that note, we agree.” Brooke tips her forehead to the door. “I’ll be downstairs in the limo with David. See you there in a few minutes.”
She takes off with her kiddo to join her husband, and just to be safe, I grab one more packet of tissues, wielding it at my mom. “One more for the road for me.”
“Grab an extra for me too, sweetheart,” my mom says in a confessional whisper.
“You’re not a crier,” I say suspiciously. My mother isn’t a cold woman, but she’s more steely, steady.
Dad was always the crier. Tough as nails in business and a total marshmallow when it came to family.
He was the one with tears rolling down his cheeks when he walked Brooke down the aisle nine years ago.
He was the one with the trembling bottom lip when my mother received an award for all her philanthropic work in San Francisco.
He was the one whose voice broke when Eric told him two years ago that he’d just met the woman he was going to marry.
“Do you miss him?” I ask my mom.
She nods, her voice tight. “I do.”
“You wanted him here today,” I say, and it’s a statement, not a question.
“So much. He’d be so proud of Eric. All he wanted for his son was for him to fall in love.”
“He wanted Eric to have what the two of you had,” I say, rubbing her arm.
Her eyes well with tears, and I draw her into a hug. “I miss him a lot too,” I say when I let her go. “But I know it’s harder for you. He was your one true love.”
She pulls back, giving me a sad smile. “He was. But I also believe that we can have more than one true love.”
I tilt my head, surprised. She’s always seemed so rah-rah soulmate-y. “You do?”
“I’m not looking right now, but I loved love. I loved being in love. And I’m only sixty-five. I’d like to think some of my best years are still ahead of me. And I wouldn’t mind being in love again.”
My heart glows at that thought. At the idea that somebody who lost the man she was married to for more than thirty years has a heart that’s open enough to love again.
It’s an unexpected thought, but one that makes perfect sense now that she’s voiced it. “I bet you’ll find someone,” I say.
She laughs dubiously. “You think it’s easy at sixty-five?”
“Well, it’s hard at twenty-five,” I say.
She shakes her head. “Sweetheart, I’m winning this battle. There’s nothing as hard as dating at sixty-five.”
“Fine. You win, but then again, I wouldn’t know what dating’s like at twenty-five. Or twenty-four, or twenty-three.”
“You’ve never really been in love, have you?”
I shrug, grabbing my silver clutch as we head to the door. “It felt like love a few times. But looking back, no. I liked my high school boyfriends, but it wasn’t love. And being at an all-girls college, I never really met anybody there I fell for. I honestly don’t think I’ve ever been serious enough with anyone to feel that way. Maybe that’s why I cry at weddings. It all feels wonderful and magical and sort of far away.”
She squeezes my hand. “It won’t always be far away.”
But it doesn’t matter if my time is near or far away.
Today isn’t about me. It’s about my brother.
When we reach the Luxe Hotel atop Nob Hill, I find Eric in the suite next to the ballroom, fiddling with his bow tie, the other groomsmen milling about in the hall.
“For a brother, you look fantastic,” I say with a smile.
“For a sister, you look decent,” he says.
As we leave and make our way toward the groomsmen, Eric lowers his voice and says, “Don’t forget what I said the other day. About Crosby.”
My brow knits. “Why are you reminding me right now?”
He gives me a look that says you know why. “You’ve kind of had a crush on him, haven’t you?”
My jaw drops. I shake my head in adamant denial. Vociferous denial. “No. Of course not. Not at all. Not one bit.”
A dubious brow lifts. “Nadia, I saw how you looked at him when you were younger.”
I growl. “You must be confusing me with literally every other woman who crossed his path.”
Eric shrugs, smoothing his lapels. “Maybe I’m remembering it wrong.” He scrunches his brow, like he’s trying to recall something. He tilts his head. “Or maybe he had a crush on you?”
I blink, stopping in my tracks, as the floor imitates a tilt-a-whirl. He did not say that. “What are you talking about?”
“Just seemed that way when we were younger,” Eric says, like this yummy nugget is on the same level as remembering a test junior year that he earned an A on. Something mundane and ordinary, when it’s actually the opposite. It’s big and fascinating. “But what difference does it make now?” Eric asks philosophically. “He’s off the market anyway, and I’m going to make sure he stays that way. I promised him I would.”
“I’m off the market too,” I say, since I need to remember that. I need to underline it, bold it, highlight it.
“Good. Just making sure. You both have way too much going on in your lives for anything to happen. But you’re back in the same city now, and I know days like today make people do crazy things. I met Mariana at a wedding, so I know what happens at weddings.”
I roll my eyes. Then I roll them once more all the way to the back of my head and around. “Nothing is going to happen at your wedding,” I whisper.
I repeat that mantra as the ceremony begins.
I say it a few times as Eric walks down the aisle to the front of the ballroom.
I imprint it on my brain several times.
When the music begins for the bridal party, I clutch a few tissues strategically around my bouquet, ready to dab my eyes.
But it turns out, I don’t feel like
