My Family Chose My Sister’s Baby Shower Over My Wedding and the Next Morning They Wouldn’t Stop Calling Me

sculptor named Dave and a printmaker named Lena. Harold Brenton in a suit I had never seen him wear, navy three-piece, beautifully cut, clearly treasured. And two college friends who had driven up from New York.

Seven people in forty-two chairs.

I stood at the end of the aisle in the thrift-store lace dress that fit like it had been made for me, and continue reading …