And I worried about him.
Not because I thought Vanessa was evil.
Life had taught me to be suspicious of words that simple.
Vanessa could be funny.
Generous when generosity reflected well on her.
She remembered birthdays.
She loved our mother.
She once drove four hours in the middle of the night when her college roommate’s father died.
She could make a room feel exciting merely by entering it.
But Vanessa also needed admiration with the desperation of someone needing oxygen.
If she felt ignored, she punished.
If she felt compared, she competed.
If she felt ashamed, she attacked whoever had witnessed it.
Daniel seemed to calm some of that.
For a while.
Then the wedding planning began.
And suddenly every old version of Vanessa returned with reinforcements.
The guest list became three hundred people.
The dress cost more than my first car.
The flowers came from two states.
She changed photographers because the first one told her sunset did not move according to her ceremony schedule.
She made our mother cry over the seating chart.
Then she sent an apology basket that probably cost four hundred dollars.
That was Vanessa too.
Damage.
Repair.
Repeat.
I arrived Friday afternoon.
The ceremony was scheduled for Sunday.
My mother met me in the hotel lobby wearing linen pants and the exhausted expression of someone who had spent the previous twelve hours being told which napkins were “too cream.”
“Emily.”
She hugged me carefully.
“How’s the shoulder?”
“Still attached.”
“You drove yourself?”
“Yes.”
“You shouldn’t have.”
“I have a left arm.”
Mom frowned.
“You know what I mean.”
“I’m fine.”
“You always say that.”
I smiled.
“Learned from you.”
She carried my small overnight bag despite my protest.
At the elevator, Vanessa appeared.
She was wearing white already.
Of course.
Not the wedding dress.
A white designer jumpsuit.
She looked beautiful.
My sister had always been beautiful.
Blonde hair.
Blue eyes.
Sharp cheekbones.
The kind of face that made strangers assume confidence before she spoke.
Her eyes went immediately to my shoulder.
“You brought the sling?”
“It’s upstairs in the bag.”
“Are you planning to wear it tomorrow?”
“If I need it.”
Her expression tightened.
“In the pictures?”
“Probably not.”
“Good.”
Mom said:
“Vanessa.”
“What?”
“She just had surgery.”
“Three months ago.”