I give him the finger and grunt, hoping he leaves me alone.
He rolls his eyes. “Don’t get mad at me. I gave you a place to crash. You can go explain to Sienna why you’re not bunking with your boyfriend. Or the love of your life.”
“You don’t have to be a dick.”
“Don’t I?” He runs curly hair pomade through his hair and primps in the mirror, crunching his locks. “Look, I might not be Cam’s biggest fan, but I don’t want to see the guy get hurt. And I don’t want to see you hurt, either.”
“I know what I’m doing.”
“Do you?” Benny swivels around. “And I’m not trying to be a dick; I’m asking as your family because I care, and if you don’t, if you need advice, I’m here.”
I wave him on, bring it–style.
He snickers. “I know you like to go at things alone because Nonno taught you that men bottle up their emotions and express themselves through their hands by taking their anger out on wood, and men take care of other people before themselves and blah-blah-blah, but you gotta learn how to express yourself or else you’re going to be running away for the rest of your life.” He walks toward me. “Something Fielder’s nonna said the other day struck me: that Fielder was born with sneakers on, that he’s always running, but ever since I’ve known him, he’s never runawayfrom anything. He’s always running toward something.” He grabs my shoulders. “You’re the one running, Ric. I know youthinkyou made the hard choice to walk away from Fielder last year to find yourself, but you kind of ran away without givingyourself a chance to work through it. Forget about Fielder, and even Cam, because who you choose or end up with, it doesn’t matter—despite everyone involved, including yours truly, loving a grand romantic gesture. What matters is you choosing yourself. So what decision is you choosingyou?”
I have to sit down after that because the irony is, after all this time, all the heartache I’ve caused myself and Fielder and now Cam in my quest to find myself, I never actually listened to my heart, followed my gut, or chose myself. “Huh.”
“I know, sometimes I surprise myself.”
“Take me to church.” I lift my hands in praise.
Hands on his hips, brows furrowed, he says, “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t want anyone to hate me.”
“Girl. You’re gay. Get used to it.” He pops his tongue. “What’s your plan? Because it sounds like you already know what you want to do.”
He listens intently as I tell him everything I’ve never said out loud.
After, he nearly loses his footing. “Oof. I need a shot of tequila. And we need to enlist help. Let me think. In the meantime, you need to get ready. Sienna will claw your eyes out if we’re late for this rehearsal and the first of her outfit changes.”
Sienna brought three wedding dresses to Amalfi. One for the rehearsal and dinner, one for the ceremony tomorrow, and a third to change into during the reception. In case people forget she’s the bride. Tonight’s is a Marilyn Monroe–inspired halter dress modified to show off far more cleavage than the famedactress ever did. Her hair is tied up with a classic Hollywood flair.
One thing is clear: Sienna DeLuca isthemain event. Despite their fight on the yacht yesterday, Monroe and Jenni Lee do their best to tend to Sienna like handmaidens while avoiding each other. Sienna is keeping peace with JL until the wedding is over; then, according to Topher, she’ll be excised from the friend group. JL sees the writing on the wall because she’s been nothing more than cordial to Sienna.
Their arbor, fashioned from two potted lemon trees whose branches have been woven together, sits in the center of the grassy courtyard overlooking the Tyrrhenian Sea. Small lemons drip down between lush green leaves. It looks painstakingly crafted, and it is in a sense because it’s done in a way that protects the lemon trees, and I instantly dream up plans to make something similar out of wood and plaster and planters back in the wood-shop in Seattle. Around the arbor in a semicircle are thirteen chairs. It’s astounding, gorgeous golden sun, bright blue sky, and fluffy cumulous clouds floating in clumps.
At the end of the aisle, in some sick cosmic joke, Fielder and Cam somehow end up together side by side and, at the same time, turn to see me and wave.
“Oh,thisis painful,” Benny whispers, hooking his arm in mine and pulling me away. “Come, you’re being imaginary called over here by nobody at all!”
“Thanks.”
“Not a problem,” he says.
It’s a small wedding, so of course their procession down the aisle had to be confusing as hell. Here goes: (almost) everyone ispart of the bridal party especially when Guisy, Rosa, and Fielder’s nonna demand to be featured just as prominently as Gabriella since they all “had a hand in raising” one another’s kids.
Topher’s solution: Gabriella walks Topher down the aisle, followed by Nonna flanked on either side by Guisy and Rosa. Matty jokes about them looking like the Sanderson Sisters fromHocus Pocus, which makes them hiss and sneer.
Fielder laughs and my heart aches.
He tries not to look my way, but I can’t stop staring at him, so gorgeous in a pale pink short-sleeve button-down and a cute white pleather fanny pack crossbody, hair messily combed to the side, his face full of patchy scruff because he never could grow facial hair the way I could.
After the Coven descend the aisle, Zia Francesca and Benny will walk, followed by Monroe and Tyler, Jenni Lee and Trav, Fielder and Matty, me and my mom, and finally Sienna and Dad. Sienna and Topher will stand beneath the arbor, with Matty and Fielder standing beside Topher, and me standing beside Sienna. Everyone else will be seated. We run through this twice. In the blazing sun.
I pick at the calluses on my fingers nervously to distract myself.
As the priest from the Duomo runs through the ceremony, I remember how, at ten years old, I used to dream about standing at the altar hand in hand with Fielder. The tension between us as we stand near each other is palpable. Some kids dream about becoming a space ranger or Batman. I dreamed of marrying my best friend, even if it would be years before I could say that out loud.
