“Today? Oh, fifty, sixty. Been doing this for thirty years, ever since the parade started in 1989.”
“That’s the year I was born!” Somehow I felt like this meant something.
“Imagine that!” He rolled paint down my left arm. “A momentous year. Think you’ll live up to its legacy?”
Not knowing exactly what he meant, I nodded. “I’ll do my best.”
“Good girl.” He put down the roller and wiped his hands on his shirt. “All done. Do a few twirls to let it dry, and then fly!”
I obeyed, spinning round and round, naked and pink and joyful. Giggles poured out of me as I thought how amazing it was that twenty minutes before, I’d felt miserable.
“Thank you!” I flung one leg over my bike.
“Fly! Fly!” he called. And off I flew.
CHAPTER 12
FROM NOW ON, Iwould be prescribing naked bike rides to everyone going through a breakup. It was incredibly effective as a mood booster. A week later, my heart felt as good as new. It was a beautiful summer morning, the sun was shining, and I was on my way to a bridal shop to watch Jane try on dresses. I had cold brews for everyone, ice rattling cheerfully as I walked down the sidewalk.
I arrived at the shop in a delightful mood. I was exactly on time, but Mom and Jane were already there. (They both got this early bird gene—I didn’t understand it. It was indecent to show up early anywhere, in my opinion.) They were both cheerful too. Sun, coffee, wedding dresses. What wasn’t to be cheerful about?
Jane stood at the front desk and went over the details of her wedding with the shop assistant, who jotted everything down with the utmost seriousness. (As she should! I couldn’t believe it: mysisterwas gettingmarriedand she haddetailslike a date and a venue!) I sat on a settee, sipping my coffee and admiring Jane’s poise. Even in jeans and a T-shirt—boatneck with Breton stripes, naturally—she looked elegant.
“Big day,” I said to Mom. “Are you excited?”
“I’m so proud.” Her voice sounded tearful as she dabbed her lower lashes with her pinkie finger. “So very proud.”
“Mom, you can’t start crying now; she hasn’t even tried on a wedding dress yet.”
She chortled and dragged a tissue out of her purse.
“I know.” She composed herself. “You’re right.”
“Okay. We’re all set.” Jane beamed at us. “Let’s pick some dresses!”
We dashed around the shop, plucking dresses off the racks and showing them to Jane. She liked lace and silk, not too much tulle, nothing big or poofy. Once she had a dozen or so, the assistant ushered her into the curtained-off dressing room. Mom and I sat just outside on an overstuffed couch. Mom was so excited she couldn’t even be bothered to harass me. She just smiled pleasantly, bubbling over with anticipation.
The assistant whipped open the curtain with a flourish. There was a long moment of silence as Mom and I gazed raptly at Jane, and then all three of us burst out laughing.
“Next!” I cried.
Jane’s figure is best described as “a beanpole with a bosom.” Her boobs are just a tad smaller than mine, and the rest of her is teeny tiny. Somehow the first dress made her look like an ear of corn, straight and shapeless all the way down. She wanted something demure, but it would have to be a little more formfitting than that. Mom, of course, was advocating for something backless, with a slit up the side, that also showed cleavage. I think she secretly wanted everyone to see how hot Jane’s bod was because it reflected well on her own genes.
Look, if I’m being honest, my mom still had it. She was ancient, yes, but she was in good shape and understood how to use a push-up bra to her advantage. Also, her curly hair game was on point.
After a few minutes of whispers, laughs, and what sounded like a muffled boxing match behind the curtain, Jane emerged again, this time clipped into a beaded halter-neck gown that made her look like a mermaid. She looked down at herself skeptically.
“Are you going for the mermaid look?” I asked.
“No… and I can hardly walk in this.”
“I think it’s lovely.” Mom’s eyes were misty.
Jane looked like she was willing to reconsider her own opinion in light of Mom’s.
“Go.” I waved my hands. “You’ve got ten more back there.”
The assistant hustled her away again.
