He peeked his head around the refrigerator door. “Yes?”
“Be nicer!” I whispered.
“That man didn’t even bother to ask me!” he argued. “I’m her father!”
“Mom did it on purpose, okay? We all know it. Well, except for maybe Brad who’s oblivious. Who cares? Nicki’s marrying the guy, and we need to be supportive,” I said.
“Supportive? They’ve been dating for eight months,” Dad replied.
“That’s long enough to warrant a proposal,” I explained. “And anyway, Brad’s a nice guy. It’s not like he hasn’t tried with you. Stop being a crotchety old man.”
Dad pulled out two bottles of champagne. “I wondered why these had been chilling in here.”
“For how long?” I asked.
“About a week. Give or take.” And then his eyes went wide. “What the hell, Bailey? Your mother couldn’t tell me Brad had proposed! A week! I looked like a fool in there!”
I sighed. “Well, if you’d have known, then the whole dinner and announcement would have been exclusively for me, and I suppose that’s no fun.”
Dad popped the cork and poured himself a glass.
“Shouldn’t we do that in the dining room?” I asked.
He gulped down the drink and poured himself another. “Give me a second.”
I smirked and waited.
“This night is nothing but wedding plans. I need a few in me to make it through,” he explained.
I giggled, thinking how furious Mom would be to know Dad was sneaking drinks. Sure, it was a special occasion, but I’m sure she only allotted him one. And then I had a thought and strode quickly to the fridge. I opened the door and searched the shelves until I found it. I grabbed the bottle and turned to Dad.
“Umm, Dad? I think this is for you,” I said, holding up the sparkling grape juice.
He stared at the bottle, then me, then at the bottle once more. I put it back in the fridge without a word, and we walked together to the dining room.
Mom was perturbed that Dad already opened one bottle, but she didn’t want to spoil the moment by chastising him in front of the happy couple. After all, tonight was about them, and after the initial shock of who Brad asked permission waned, we settled into a fabulous dinner and decent conversation.
“B?” Nicki said halfway through her roast.
“Hmm?”
“I want you to be my maid of honor,” she replied.
Remember me telling you that I basically have no relationship with my sister? Yeah. So this was weird.
I looked at her and frowned “Me?”
She nodded and smiled.
“Why?”
“Bailey, for heaven’s sake!” Mom snapped. “What is wrong with you? It’s your sister we’re talking about! Your sister’s wedding!”
“I know that,” I said patiently. I didn’t take my eyes off of Nicki. “But what about Tess? I mean, she’s your best friend. Wouldn’t you rather have Tess as your maid of honor?”
Nicki continued to force a smile. “Why would I choose my best friend over my own sister?”
I’d had three glasses of champagne, so my mind was a little hazy. I couldn’t think quickly enough. I knew something was up. I knew Mom and Nicki were passing each other conspiratorial glances. But I couldn’t piece it together. Why me?
“So will you?” Nicki asked. “I’d be honored.”
“You would?”
“Jesus Christ, Bailey! Will you be my maid of honor or not?!” Nicki barked.
I thought for a moment. “Yes?”
“I don’t know what that means,” she said.
I repeated the word, making sure it didn’t sound like a question this time, and Mom and Nicki seemed relieved.
“You won’t pick out ugly bridesmaids dresses, will you?” I asked Nicki.
“Bailey, look who you’re talking to.”
I fell face first onto my bed that night. I told Dad I couldn’t stay to help him with his model boat, and you’d have thought I told him we needed to put down his favorite dog. I promised I’d spend a weekend with him very soon, but he told me the wedding planning would eat up all my time. And right there, in that moment, with my face smashed into my comforter, realization finally dawned. I shot up from my bed and addressed the far wall.
“You little bitch!”
It all made sense. Nicki didn’t want me to be her maid of honor because she loved me so much more than Tess. Nicki and Tess were inseparable. Hell, it crossed my mind at the dinner table that it may be the two of them marrying Brad. No, this wasn’t about familial devotion. This was about my fucking OCD! She wanted me maid of honor because she knew I’d pull off the most picture-perfect, clean lines wedding she could ever have! My mother and sister planned to use me—to take advantage of my condition by encouraging my tics! All so Nicki could have the perfect day.
I was livid and called Erica. I roared into the phone for half an hour before she talked me out of the kitchen. I was in there reorganizing my cupboards. Yes, I did say that anxiety encourages my tics. So do any other heightened emotions. This time it was anger, and it drove me to the cabinet where I keep all my Tupperware.
“Put the Tupperware bowl down, Bailey,” Erica demanded. “You’re in control.”
“How could they do this to me?” I asked, gripping the bowl tighter.
“You don’t know they’re doing that. Maybe Nicki wants to get closer to you, and she sees her wedding as the perfect opportunity,” Erica said.
“Bullshit,” I spat. “She just wants her flowers delivered on time.”
Erica sighed. “Bailey, I don’t know what to say except put that bowl down. I know you haven’t.”
I dropped the bowl and sank to the kitchen floor.
“She’s getting married, Erica. Married before me,” I whispered.
“Who cares who gets married first?”
“I do.”
“Honey, it doesn’t mean anything that she’s getting married first, okay? You just focus on trying to be happy for her and living your life.”
“What life?”
“Stop it. Your life is amazing, Bailey. You have a great, stable job. You own your own house. You’re creative and always sew me the cutest things for my kids. I don’t need Etsy. I’ve got you.”
I smiled through my tears, watching the drops dot my dress.