Page 6 of Take Me to the Wedding

In some ways, I perpetually felt that my sister was one misstep away from disaster. From flunking important classes to getting involved with the wrong boys to spending money that I couldn’t replenish fast enough. I was always torn between pretending that everything was normal so that she could enjoy a college life relatively free from worry to coming down on her hard and demanding that she get it togetheror else, whatever that meant. And so I said nothing, afraid to drive her away for good.

I would never do anything to drive a stake between us. It was bad enough we’d grown up without a father—at least, by the time she’d come around, he was long gone—and that our mother had been capricious, floating in and out of our lives as randomly as a bubble in the wind, bringing the promise of excitement and fun and raising our hopes, only to have them all dashed.

After a while, that kind of hurt makes you want to give up on people. You don’t trust anyone except yourself. And you end up alone.

I didn’t even have a pet. I wasn’t sure that I could manage one more responsibility.

But at least I could depend on myself, right?

I just had to figure out how to handle my sister. How to be a good big sister. How to help her reach her full potential. Be a mentor. And love her. But how?

I had no clue what I was doing. As I lay back on the pillows, my phone fell from my pocket and clattered on the floor.

The broomstick banged again.

Caleb never got the broomstick.

He got leftovers and pieces of homemade pie and cookies while I got… the broomstick.

But then I was a woman. I was used to working hard in what was very subtly still a man’s world without perks or privileges. I didn’t expect cookies or leftovers or a friendly landlady. I didn’t expect the world to give me anything. I’d come a long way on my own willpower. And I would be just fine.

ChapterThree

Caleb

I was trying to be as silent as possible as I crept down the hall to my apartment, not only because of my landlord’s excessively early bedtime and insistence for us to basically play dead any time after it but also because I had a feeling that my nosy across-the-hall neighbor wanted to talk to me.

“The wedding bonding experience” that my friend Ani had come up with—a weekend experience that was meant to replace the bachelor and bachelorette parties—was taking place in just a few days. Being trapped at a farm in rural Wisconsin would require Samantha and me to bury the hatchet, at least temporarily. She’d been lying in wait for me the past few nights, and I’d barely escaped, her door opening just as mine shut—but she never knocked, and I didn’t answer. I was waiting for my temper to cool.

I usually didn’t require that—I was a fairly easygoing guy, and I didn’t typically harbor anger. But through a strange twist of fate, Samantha had unknowingly thrown another complication into my life that had messed with my relationship with Lilly, my first and potentially only love, who was Ani’s oldest friend and in the wedding too.

Call me romantic, call me an optimist who doesn’t know when to quit, but I couldn’t stop wondering if Lilly was the One. Things hadn’t ended well between us, but there were circumstances. This wedding weekend was my chance to set things right and start us off on a better foot, in a brand-new direction. I didn’t want to live withwhat-ifsandwhat-might-have-beens,and being in this wedding together would be the perfect opportunity to resolve things.

I’d grown up understanding that love was a rare and precious gift and the only thing that truly mattered. I learned this because I’d lost a sibling—my younger sister Mia’s twin—when I was eleven. So nothing Samantha said or did could stop me from taking my last chance with Lilly.

I dreamed of being an orthopedic doctor in our quaint little hometown, where Lilly worked as a florist. We’d have a cute house near my parents’ farm, and our kids would grow up roaming the fields and forests and having a great time being surrounded by family just like I did. The dream was there, within reach—I just had to actualize it, starting this weekend.

Tonight I was tired after a long day and definitely not in the mood to hash anything out. I was okay with pretending that Samantha and I liked each other for the weekend, but I had no desire to talk with her about anything. Silent as a cockroach—or any one of the random critters living in this old place—I turned my key but accidentally dropped my keys. They hit the wood floor with a metallicchink. Behind me, Samantha’s door opened with a loud creeeaaaak.

I spun around to find my annoying neighbor standing there in shorts, a Brewers T-shirt, and pink fuzzy slippers, her long black hair wet from a shower. I’m not even going to mention catching a glimpse of her nicely tanned legs, which made me do a double take that I instantly regretted.

Samantha looked fun, attractive, and not at all like someone impossible to be friends with—but looks are deceiving. She didn’t have a stitch of makeup on, but she had long, thick lashes and pretty, full lips and didn’t need it one bit. Looking at Samantha sure wasn’t painful, but talking to her definitely was.

I reminded myself to be cordial for my sister’s sake. But I was still so damn angry.

“Why, if it isn’t the notorious Dr. Gas,” I said in a false-pleasant tone, using the common nickname for anesthesiologists as I slowly straightened up in the dim hallway. “Awake past curfew, I see.” My gaze flicked up and down, until I realized that I was staring at her legs again. I diverted my gaze directly up to her face and forced it to stay there.

“Dr. Bone Cracker,” she shot back, glancing at her watch. “You barely squeaked by, I see.”

“Mrs. Von Gulag thinks I’m charming.Shealways cuts me some slack.”

“Men always get cut slack. But we women don’t need any slack. We make our own destinies.”

I usually got this type of diatribe about women vs. men, which for some reason she felt I needed to hear. I tried to remember that Mia loved her—they were the very best of friends. I honestly didn’t have a clue why.

Small talk was over. I was ready to call it a day. So I turned back to my door and jiggled the key—or rather, tried to. But it was now stuck. I silently cursed.

“I need to talk to you about something,” she said.

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