At her wedding, my sister told me my boyfriend couldn’t be in the family photos because he’d “ruin the aesthetic.” I bit my tongue then, but what she did at the reception was the last straw! In one move, I made sure she’d regret her cruelty. The country venue my sister had chosen for her wedding looked like something ripped straight from a luxury magazine spread: all rustic beams and manicured gardens.
It screamed money without actually saying it out loud. “You think she’ll like it?” Jamie asked, reaching into the backseat for the wine gift bag we’d spent way too much time picking out at the local shop. I knew my sister too well.
“Honestly? No, but I will.”
That made him laugh, which was good because we were both going to need our sense of humor that weekend. Trust me on that one.
Meanwhile, staff members in matching navy polos appeared like genies, all bright smiles and clipboards, ushering us toward the stone patio where Melanie’s “Wedding Weekend Experience” was already in full swing. And yes, she actually called it that in the invitation. I’m not making that up.
Custom water bottles emblazoned with the bride and groom’s names sat on every surface. A banner stretched between trees, letters spelling out #GrantMeForever in what I can only assume was supposed to be witty wordplay. Melanie materialized beside us like she’d been waiting in the wings, champagne flute in one perfectly manicured hand.
Her fiancé Grant appeared at her side, looking like he’d stepped out of a luxury watch advertisement, all sharp jawline and confident smile. Melanie squealed and pulled me into a hug. “Nora!
And Jamie! I didn’t recognize you without your flannel.”
Jamie’s smile tightened just a fraction, but he held out the wine bag like the gentleman he is. “Congratulations, Melanie.
This place is incredible.”
“Of course it is.” Melanie peeked inside the bag, her smile slipping for maybe half a second before snapping back into place. “Oh. I think the bartenders are only pouring our varietals tonight, but maybe we’ll crack this open tomorrow for, like, the cleanup crew?”
Grant’s laugh boomed across the patio.
Jamie glanced at me and shrugged. Melanie was already moving on, waving enthusiastically at a woman with an enormous camera. “We’re doing the start-of-weekend family shots now!
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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