Page 116 of Break Your Fall

36

Open Invite

Reyna

It takes a week for my mother to plan her wedding—without me.

It takes a week for my father to discover that no evidence could be lifted from the gallery cameras. No prints, nothing.

One week for the five of us to put together what funds we could to help my dad replace his supplies—and ease our guilt, hoping the dust can just finally settle between Landon’s group and ours.

Now I have to finish getting ready to watch my mother walk down an aisle in the sand, to marry a man she hardly knows. She and Aspen have a small set up on the beach for a quick ceremony, open invite. Aspen is still fairly new to Bellsby, and the only people my mother knows besides me and her coworkers are the other men she’s slept with. But I can’t feel sad for her. I’m just happy she can’t complain when I show up with my friends.

I do a twirl in front of Jessa’s full-length mirror hanging off the wall of her loft, dancing in place to the song she has playing. “Riptide” by Vance Joy. She said it’s one of her favorites. I like it, too.

I thought I’d dress appropriately for this in my black faux leather looking number I’ve been saving for the right occasion. We decided as a group to wear our normal clothes, but I’m the girl who lives in dresses, and it’s only going to be warm enough for a little while longer.

I have another reason for wearing this specific one, but the black works for this, too.

My eyes grab on to the new graffiti artwork my sister has added to her others on the wall; a piece she created after I told her more about my friends.

It’s Camille. She’s a robot, leading a gang of minion robots, but her metal parts are melting as she slowly becomes a human, forced to abandon her robotic followers.

I chuckle every time I see it.

“Black to a wedding,” Jessa says as she steps up next to me, her face replacing my view of the piece. “I like it.”

I smile. “Thanks. I’m really going to a funeral.”

My sister chuckles and straightens her belly shirt, this one white, in the style of a jersey with the number twenty-three. She then fastens her black belt around her jean shorts, her initials JW at the buckle, which is more for fashion than to hold up the shorts. I run my fingers along my own black belt as she shakes her fingers through her hair, lifting the strands to let them fall back down around her face. I almost want to cut my own hair so I can do the same thing.

But this is all so perfectly Jessa.

And I’m so perfectly Reyna,I think with a quick smile at myself as I sway the skirt of my dress and admire my long, blonde locks falling in waves over my shoulders.

Still, I have the prettiest sister. And when she notices and questions my scrutinizing, I smile and tell her, “You’re so pretty.”

She laughs me off and nudges her hip against mine. “And you’re gorgeous.”

“Well, we are related,” I say, a tease in my voice. “And we look alike.” I give her a pointed look through the mirror that she returns with a smile and more hair tousling.

“We are, aren’t we,” she responds to my first comment. Her hands find my arms and she rests her chin on my shoulder, smiling at me through the glass. “You’re a Wescott now.”

She lingers long enough to squeeze my arms and see me smile back before she heads to another area of the loft.

I keep my smile on myself, repeating my sister’s declaration in my head, focusing on the features of my face that are only hers and my father’s as I sway the skirt of my dress again, dancing in place to the music.

“Tommy?” I call for him as I step into the guest house.

I hear shuffling from the bedroom and he calls back, “Yeah! Coming.”

He jogs out from the hall wearing black khaki pants and a black T-shirt. I smile.We had the same idea.

My eyes hold to the pants as he comes to a slow stop in front of me, my mouth now opening to comment our agreement about not dressing up for my mother, but I quickly realize that’s not what he’s doing. These khakis are the type of pants he’d wear to special events for basketball.

My heart tugs with nostalgia and sympathy. He’s using this opportunity to wear them one last time.

Memories take me back and back as I stare at the pants, which has verged on ogling the way he fills them out as my eyes settle on one place in particular.

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