Page 85 of Heartstrings & Horseshoes

Raucous laughter wakes us, and I’m surprised the sky is fading into pinks and oranges as we near sunset. I didn’t mean to sleep so long.

The rehearsal dinner is informal, and Izzy said to dress comfortably, so Connor and I change into fresh clothes that weren’t rumpled during a four-hour car ride and make our way to the dining room.

I can’t hold back my laughter. Every surface of the kitchen is covered with open pizza boxes, liters of Cherry Pepsi, and an adorable tower of Hostess cupcakes. Plates are passed around and loaded with greasy, cheesy goodness.

When it’s my turn through the line, I hesitate for only a moment. In the past, pizza was a strictly no-food for me. Just the thought of eating it used to give me hives, but the anxiety is a ghost of what it once was.

Food’s been easier lately, probably because of how happy I’ve been. When Connor told me he loved me, something clicked into place, and I felt whole. Every day that he showers me with love, I heal bit by bit.

I take a slice of cheese, Izzy’s favorite, and meat lovers, Connor’s favorite. It’s been years since I ate pizza, and I didn’t want to overwhelm myself with new options.

Connor kisses my temple and whispers, “I’m proud of you” as he fills his plate.

He pours me a bubbling glass of Cherry Pepsi and gets a dessert plate with two waxy cupcakes for us to enjoy after dinner.

“James, if you don’t shut the fuck up right now, I’ll kill you and send you to a watery grave in the frozen lake, I swear to god,” Reid seethes.

James is cackling like a hyena, nearly tipping backwards out of his chair.

“What? You don’t want your blushing bride to hear about the time you got Little Reid stuck in your zipper trying to cover up getting caught in the hay loft with Marcie Gossler?”

Reid lurches from his chair to strangle his older brother but Izzy holds him back, laughing. Even the normally stoic Greyson is laughing.

“No, you dumb fuck, why would I want my wife to hear about any of my past sexual experiences?” Reid snaps.

“It’s okay baby, I know you weren’t a monk before me. Plus, now I want to hear the story,” she says with glee.

He tickles her sides but relents, waving a dismissive hand for James to continue.

“That’s the whole story. He was in the hay loft with Marcie doing god knows what, heard me and Sam come into the barn, panicked, and got his dick pinched in his zipper. He screamed like a little bitch and Marcie flew down the ladder like her ass was on fire,” James regales.

“Never thought I’d take my son to the emergency room with a penile injury, but such is life,” Mr. Andersen says chuckling. Mrs. Andersen bats his chest with the back of her hand.

Connor laughs with the family we’ve been adopted into. I’m so lucky to have his love.

“How’re we supposed to fit into these dresses after that brunch? My god!” Livy complains, cradling her food baby.

“Hush, you’re gorgeous. Maybe James will ask you to dance,” Izzy taunts.

Livy turns beet red, stuttering, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Gross. I mean, like…shut up!”

Flustered, she takes her dress to the bathroom and the lock clicks behind her.

Izzy and I share a knowing look but drop the subject. Today’s about Izzy and Reid, and in the end, Livy’s love life is none of our business.

“It’s so nice of Mrs. Andersen and Harper to finish the decorating,” I say.

“I know, luckily this place is stunning as it is. Some flowers and candles and we’re set!”

Izzy’s an angel in her wedding dress. Blush pink chiffon drapes like a waterfall from her waist to the floor. A high slit allows her leg to peek through with each step, showing off hot pink cowboy boots. The bodice is made of intricate lace, with a sweetheart neckline held by delicate straps that meet at her waist, leaving her back exposed.

I stand behind her, finishing her hair, overflowing with happiness for my sister. A somber expression crosses her face.

“Hey, what was that? Today’s a happy day,” I say.

“It is. I’m over the moon, I can’t wait to marry Reid and become Isabelle Andersen. His parents being here for him—so happy and involved—makes me sad for what you and I don’t have,” she says to me in the mirror.

Moments of grief like this come out of nowhere. Having a difficult relationship with a parent is a minefield to navigate. Though they’re alive, you mourn the death of the relationship you wish you’d had. Our parents cared more about gambling and alcohol than to be there for us. The way we were raised was worse than negligent, it was abusive.