Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 101168 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101168 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
Yeah, because he wasn’t flirting with you; he was just awkward, insisted the voice in Jamie’s head.
What Jamie had found was a voicemail from their mother, requesting Jamie’s presence at breakfast—not brunch, because by then Jamie’s mother would have had to put out a dozen fires—to discuss something important.
Jamie’s mother was a force to be reckoned with. She’d found politics later in life and approached it with the zeal of a convert. No resting on laurels or hoping things worked out for Blythe Wendon—nope, she gave a hundred percent effort a hundred percent of the time. On the plus side, 8 a.m. nearly guaranteed them privacy, so Jamie wouldn’t have to watch their mother grasp awkwardly to introduce them to any friendly constituents.
Jamie’s mother rose to kiss them on the cheek, a glancing peck that was more breath than contact.
“So,” their mother began before Jamie had sat down. “Emma has some news.”
Once, Jamie and their sister had been close. Only two years younger, Jamie had watched Emma intently, sure they’d follow in her footsteps, and Emma—although she’d sighed huffily and rolled her eyes—had seemed to enjoy the captive audience. Emma, not their mom, had been the one Jamie watched apply makeup, tweeze her eyebrows, shave her legs. When Emma had her first crush, Jamie listened to her enumerate the charms of the floppy-haired second clarinet with such ardor that they fell a little in love with him themself. When the boy broke Emma’s heart three months later by making out with her best friend, Jamie cried with her, raged with her, and held a grudge against this so-called best friend long after Emma had moved on.
When Jamie came to understand they were trans and nonbinary, Emma had been the first person they told, assuming that all those years of being an Emma devotee would be enough to inspire reciprocal support.
It had been a miscalculation.
Emma held out her hand and waggled her fingers.
“Dave proposed,” she said. There was a squeal of delight in her voice that reminded Jamie of sitting curled up on Emma’s bed all those years ago while she gushed about Nathan Jones, the cheating clarinetist.
This wasn’t unexpected, but Jamie had held out hope that Emma would tire of dull Dave before he had the chance.
“Congrats, Emma,” Jamie said automatically. “That’s so great.”
They tried to infuse their voice with sincerity. But it was hard to muster enthusiasm for a lifetime spent with a guy who’d once pulled his phone out to check the status of his crypto while people were singing him “Happy Birthday.”
“The ring was his grandmother’s,” Emma said, her hand still extended in Jamie’s direction.
“It’s a stunning ring,” Jamie’s mother declared before Jamie had a chance to respond.
When the waiter came to take their orders, Jamie asked for a Bloody Mary with their pancakes, suspecting they’d need it to get through what threatened to be a lot of talk about weddings. When the drink was slid before them, they could’ve sworn the waiter shot them a sympathetic look. It was confirmed when they took a sip and tasted the amount of vodka.
“Have you and Dave chosen all your uh…?” Jamie grasped for the appropriate terminology. “Wedding-related stuff yet?”
“I have a Pinterest board,” Emma said, phone already in hand.
“That’s a good segue,” Blythe said, cutting off Emma’s Pinterest show-and-tell. She stacked her used half-and-half containers and brushed something invisible from her husband’s collar. “This wedding will be…an event for the whole family as well as for your sister. You know how these things are when you’re in the public eye. No avoiding it. And of course, my family represents me. So I’d just like to make sure that any…scrutiny…is met with a…”
She seemed to search for the perfect turn of phrase, as if words were a spell that you had to get exactly right to conjure their intended effect.
“Met with a united front,” she concluded.
Jamie gulped Bloody Mary. They’d learned the hard way that when their mother used corporate politspeak, it meant they were about to suffer.
“A united front, yes,” Jamie’s father echoed.
That was mostly what Hank Dale spent his time doing. When it wasn’t his wife he was echoing, it was his bosses, his golf partners, and his favorite news podcast.
“And what precisely is the front that you want me to unite around?” Jamie asked.
“There’s so much to do,” Blythe said, ticking them off on her fingers. “Flowers, catering, music, colors, transportation.” She waved off what Jamie suspected would’ve been another hand’s worth of items she could’ve named.
“Yeah, I’m happy to help,” Jamie said hesitantly. “Whatever you need, Em.”
Their mother’s satisfied smile made Jamie feel good for the first time since showing up.
“Well, that’s great,” Emma said, searching out a bite of kiwi in her fruit salad. “Because I was hoping you would be my maid of honor?”