Ring by Spring

6 - Ellie

"There's your brother," Clover said, leaning to look out the window as she sprayed my head with a preemptive coating of hairspray.

"Do I -?" I started to ask while heading out the door.

"Better than he deserves," she said. "Go stop his heart."

"That would be really inconvenient and counterproductive" I said, laughing. "It would ruin the wedding for sure."

"You look nice," said my brother, throwing the book of sheet music he'd been skimming into the backseat. His compliment made me feel even more confident about my hot pink silk dress with its slash neck, long sleeves, and V-ed back.

"Thank you, Bertie," I said.

"You're welcome."

It was too much to expect conversation - especially because jazz played on the stereo. This signaled stress or another otherwise abnormal emotional state. I wanted to make him pull over, get a latte, and do some deep breathing while we prayed, but Bertie ignored all of my nonverbal cues. Then he swiped at his eyes and swerved so abruptly that I hit my chin on the glove box.

"Excuse me?"

"I can't stop thinking about your wedding."

"My wedding?" If I hadn't seen the tears, I would have laughed at the absurdity.

"What about your wedding?"

He snorted and looked over before his gaze swung back to the road. So naive, it said, still hoping I'll be the handsome prince in someone's Cinderella story. Stop dreaming, silly girl. They were words that sensitive, liberated, Bertie would never speak - and never to me, if anyone - but I knew they were etched in the darkest places of his mind where anger, grief, and pain had mildewed.

"We talked about it," he said then, less hostile, "your wedding." It took me back to the late nights they spent together sprawled across the dark hardwood that gleamed black in the low light from the fireplace while the adults drank cocktails together, or even while the rest of the house slept. Her long fingers stroked his back as they sat up, talking through pasts they hadn't shared, or futures they wanted to experience in tandem. Sometimes they would put on a movie at low volume, or Bertie would make magic in the kitchen while she read out loud or sang.

"She wanted to be your maid of honor," Bertie said after a long pause where he was surely reliving the same events. "Did you know that?

"I wish I had."

"Nothing you can do about it now. It's probably better that you didn't know." I didn't see it that way, but it was too late to debate it with him, since we were pulling into the parking lot.

"I know you'll have a good time today," he said, not looking at me, not taking his hands off the wheel. "Tell Max I said hey." I promised I would do so, and he drove off - to pray or meditate, I hoped, and not to brood and pick through the past like a mother searching her child for head lice.

As soon as she saw me, 'Dite sneered at me with unreasonable dislike. It made me less appreciative of her sequined boysenberry mini and cocoa-colored heels.

"How's Taylor the Latte Boy?" she said, and I realized the true target, wondering - yet knowing all too well - how she could be so bitter.

"He'd feel complimented if you addressed him as such publicly."

"And I'd be happy if the first time I saw your brother was the last time, too."

"What's your problem?" said Phil Beaumont to his sister. "This is supposed to be a happy day. You remember what Dad said in the car: 'When you're at a wedding, check your drama at the door'."