“How soon?”
“As soon as possible,” she replies.
“You’re sure you want to get married so fast?” I ask.
“When you know, you know. I never knew before. Never. And I know now. He thinks of us as already married, so this will be … you know, my showing him that I do too.”
I bite my lip, pondering some things.
“So…” she goes on shakily, “I hope you’ll support my decision like I tried to support yours even when I wasn’t sure I agreed with it.”
Ouch.
“Yeah, but Ivy, you told me what you thought even if you tried to be supportive.”
“I know,” she says.
“So I’m gonna tell you what I think, too,” I advise.
“I’d expect nothing less. But, Ames, it’s not going to change my mind,” she says. “And I’d really love it if you’d be my maid of honor.”
Mason comes up from the basement, a smile on his face. He’s shirtless. Yum. He kisses my cheekbone and reaches into the fridge, pulls out a beer and I lean against the counter and watch him go to the couch, sit, and grab the remote.
“Of course I will.” I break the silence as Mason turns the television on.
“Oh?” She sounds surprised.
And then, a sniffle. She sounds like she’s emotional.
“When are you and Tyson getting married?” I ask, trying to hold my own emotions in check. Hearing my sister like this gets me all misty-eyed.
This gets Mason’s attention.
“I mean... soon, I think,” Ivy answers with a sniffle.
“Why don’t you do it next weekend. Next Saturday?” I suggest.
“Next Saturday?” she checks.
“Yeah. I’ve got stuff with the date on it. I mean, we’ll have to print labels or Wite-Out the wrong names, but… you might as well use the stuff with the date on it. Conserve trees and all…”
She doesn’t say anything.
“Unless you think it’s a bad omen to use the date I was supposed to use. You don’t have to…”
“No,” Ivy replies. “Not at all. I’d… I’d love to. But you’re not gonna be upset that it was your day and now it’ll be… mine?”
“Of course not. Listen…” I moisten my lips. “My wedding was going to be gorgeous. Lavish. Beautiful. And almost nothing about it my choice. Not the venue, the meals, not the centerpieces, nor the invitations. I was in a battle to even have the songs I wanted played at the reception, so this is all for the best. Whatever you want from it to give you your special day, have it. The ice wine and the chocolate shot glasses and the candied almonds in the little boxes. The décor I bought. The miles and miles of ribbon I curled. All the bride undies and bride and groom robes and flip flops. God, there’s oodles of stuff and I won’t use it, so I’d rather give it all to you than throw it out or go through the hassle of selling whatever isn’t personalized.”
“Except the dress,” she says.
“Take the dress,” I say. “Wedding gift from me to you.”
“Take the dress?” Ivy asks.
“Yeah.”
“Take the dress?” she repeats like she doesn’t understand.
“It’s all yours.”
“But you love that dress!” she exclaims. “You said yes to that dress. No. You said FUCK YES to that dress.”
“Don’t be a drama queen,” I tease.
She’s silent.
I sigh. “I’m not getting married, Ives; I don’t need the dress. I would much rather see it on you than let it go to waste. It’s got a corset back, so you’ll just tighten the laces up since you’re smaller than me. Mom can handle whatever alterations you need. A few darts and cinching here and there around the hips. We might need to stuff your bra a bit since I needed to have the boob area let out, but I’m sure we’ll make it work. You’ll be beautiful.”
“Really? You’re sure, Amelia?”
“A hundred percent. Use whatever you want, toss what you don’t. No pressure. It’s all in my storage unit where I’ve got all my furniture. Mom took it there the other day. There’s tulle, pew bows, twinkle light strings for the tables, fake flowers that I got on sale, and other stuff. I’ll come over and help you set up for it. Just get someone to do the ceremony and hire a caterer. The rest is done.”
“Really?”
“Really, Ivy.”
“Oh my God. Ty! We’re getting married Saturday!”
I hear a deep voice in the background, and I don’t make out much of what he says, but it sounds like something to the effect of already being married and then a deep laugh before something about party food.
“I want to catch up some more but Tyson’s being kind of handsy, Ames.”
“No problem. Talk to Mom. She has my locker key. We can get on a three-way-call later and make some plans. I need to get started on dinner here. I’m making Mason my chicken roulade and tortellini bake, and that takes a while. I’ll call you tomorrow?”