15

GIRLS’ NIGHT MUST GO ON, or so Harper had decreed.

They’d both agreed that something was better than nothing and that Jillian could call it an early night if she needed to. But getting together was an in-person form of positive thinking.

All Jillian could hope was that she’d make it to eight o’clock before admitting she needed to crawl into bed.

Harper held up her wine goblet, swishing the purple contents inside. “I’ve got to say I’m not a big fan of this.”

“Really? And Geoff made that one special for tonight. Ever since he bought me that juicer, he’s insisting I try all these fruit and veggie concoctions that are supposed to be healthy for me. I never know what color they’re going to be or what they’re going to taste like, either.” Jillian raised her glass to her nose and sniffed the concentrated liquid. “I think this one has beets, strawberries, and blueberries —”

“Stop.” Harper stood and held the glass away from her. “You lost me at beets. Would I be a terrible friend if I tossed this down the sink and poured myself a glass of wine? And maybe found some chocolate?”

“You could never be a terrible friend, but I probably am. Go ahead and see what you can find, but I don’t have any wine or chocolate to offer you.”

“What?”

“Sorry. I gave Geoff the two bottles I had, along with all my snack food. I’m trying to eat healthy.”

“That explains the cardboard crackers. But the cheese is good.” Her friend disappeared into the kitchen.

“And the grapes.” Jillian raised her voice. “Just grab whatever you want to eat, okay?”

“I found a soda in the fridge.” Cupboard doors opened and closed in rapid succession. “Aha! A half-full bag of Fritos that you somehow missed when you purged your cupboards! We’re saved!”

All the special food Geoff was encouraging her to eat reminded Jillian of the different diets she’d gone on through the years. The time she’d sworn off sodas. The time she’d given up candy. Or carbs. The time she’d gone on that big diet before she started her junior year of high school. Chopped carrots and celery and eaten like a rabbit and drunk so much water she spent most of each day in the bathroom. Maybe, just maybe, she’d return to school looking like someone new. And maybe, just maybe, she’d be noticed. Invited to homecoming. But she showed up the first day of school all of ten pounds lighter. The same old Jillian Thatcher.

“So let’s talk dresses.” Harper sat across from her on the couch again, selecting one of the bridal magazines from the stack in front of them.

She’d found the magazines Jillian had left abandoned in her bedroom, brought them out to the living room, insisting they should browse through them and discuss possible wedding dresses.

Jillian winced as the skin around her incision strained when she shifted her shoulders. She needed to be patient with her body, to give herself time to heal. Chemotherapy started in one week. Tick, tick, tick. How was she supposed to plan all the details that went into a wedding? How was she supposed to look at gowns when she didn’t know who she’d be the day of her wedding? What kind of body she’d have? Was she ready to look at all these posed, perfect happily-ever-after moments again?

Harper flipped through the pages of the magazine in her lap. “Well, let’s get down to business. What kind of wedding dress do you want? You know me and my Say Yes to the Dress addiction.”

“Yes, but is it for the dresses or the family drama?”

“Oh, the drama, girlfriend. The drama.”

“Let’s hope we can keep that to a minimum when I go shopping.”

“All the more reason to know what you want. I’ll back you up. So what’s your dream dress? Princess? Mermaid? Sheath? Empire waist?”

“I don’t know, although I think we can rule out the whole princess style. That would only make me look shorter and fatter.”

“No negative talk, Jill. Think positive, remember? Just say you don’t like that style, okay? How about your budget? Have you and Geoff talked about that? It’s always good to know your price point.”

“Geoff and I budgeted for the wedding. We weren’t planning anything lavish even before . . . before my diagnosis. No more than one hundred people. Late afternoon, so we can get by with a buffet and wedding cake.”

“Sounds good.”

“But now my parents are insisting they want to give us some money toward the wedding, too. They plan on doing the same for Johanna and Payton. Although Johanna’s been dating Beckett for so long I don’t know that she’ll ever marry the guy.”

“You’re accepting the money from your parents, right?”

“Isn’t that a bit old-fashioned? I mean, Geoff and I are both in our thirties. We can pay for our wedding.”

“It’s not about whether it’s old-fashioned or not. It’s that your parents offered to help. You say yes and thank you.” Harper mimed accepting a check, holding it in both hands, and kissing it before turning serious. “There’s not a lot your parents can do to help you through your treatment, Jillian. But they want to help with your wedding. Let them.”

“To be honest, with everything going on, I find it hard to even think about planning a wedding. Johanna’s called a couple of times about the bridal shower. And then she not-so-casually suggested Geoff and I move the wedding up, before I’m too far into chemo.” Jillian set aside her juice. “You know how I’ve always felt lost in the middle of my sisters?”

“Yes. It’s always made me glad I only had one younger brother.”

“Well, it’s like cancer is some unnamed, invisible sister that has shown up and shoved herself into my life. She’s telling me to forget my dreams. Telling me it’s all about her. I should be used to this by now —”

Harper shifted so that she was closer to Jillian, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “That’s just the tiredness talking. You’re still in recovery mode. You’re going to have the wedding you want, when you want it.”

As her friend talked, Jillian scanned the page of the open magazine in her lap. A headline snagged her attention.

Real Weddings.

Just how real would her wedding be? Would she be bald on her wedding day? Would she be able to find a dress that hid her mastectomy scar and the fact that she had to wait for reconstructive surgery until after her chemo and radiation? Would Geoff look at her differently when she walked down the aisle toward him? How would he react on their wedding night? She’d always worried about her weight . . . but now she’d face him with a scarred body and no hair. What if she lost her eyebrows and eyelashes, too?

A tear plopped onto the page.

“What is going on?” Harper’s voice dropped to a whisper.

“Maybe . . . maybe Johanna’s on to something.” Jillian sniffled, swiping at her eyes.

“You think you should move the wedding up?”

“No. No, I think maybe we should postpone it. Maybe April isn’t the right time. Maybe now isn’t the right time to be planning a wedding. Geoff’s so busy with work that we hardly see each other. Maybe I won’t be able to do everything I need to do —”

“Okay, now you’re talking crazy. You’ve got to go easy on yourself for a little while, Jill. You’re tired. And you’re eating a bunch of . . . of junk. I mean, I’m all for eating healthy —and bless Geoff for buying you a juicer. But find healthy food you like! There’s no sense in wasting money on stuff you’re not going to eat.” Harper crumbled a handful of crackers onto her plate. “Geoff loves you, and he’s not the kind of guy to change his mind about wanting to marry you because you have cancer. Sure, he’s a bit of a goofball and he tells the corniest jokes I’ve ever heard, but the guy’s steady like an atomic clock.”

Once again, her best friend was being a much-needed voice of reason.

“Remember when you called me and asked, ‘Why is Geoff Hennessey asking me out?’ and I said, ‘Because he likes you!’ Was I right or was I right?”

“You were right.” Even as Jillian gave a little laugh, she couldn’t help but notice her friend’s wedding band, the one Harper refused to take off eight months after her husband had left her when he’d reconnected with his high school sweetheart on Facebook. Harper —the woman who refused to be anything but hopeful.

How could Jillian not dig deep into her own heart and find some sort of hope, too? For the time being, she’d just lean into her friend’s endless wellspring of optimism.

“And remember, we’re all here to help you. Me. Your mom. Payton. And yes, even Johanna in her own way. And I’m sure Geoff’s mom wants to be included. I forget: does Geoff have any sisters?”

“No, he’s an only child.”

“Well, in some ways that simplifies things.” Harper handed her another magazine. “We need to plan a day to go look at wedding dresses. It’ll be fun. We should go before you start chemo. Shop and then do lunch. Or dinner. Maybe we can look at the calendar before I leave and text people with a possible day?”

“That would probably be good. I could try on different styles and at least get an idea, even if I don’t find something.”

“Oh, you never know. A lot of women find their dress the very first time they try something on. I did.”

“How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Talk about your wedding after what Trent did?”

It was Harper’s turn to flip through a magazine. One page. Another. Then she sighed and made eye contact with Jillian. “It’s a choice. I waited a long time before I found someone I wanted to marry. And as crazy as it may sound, I still want to be married to Trent. I can either give up and give in to the anger —and believe he isn’t the man I married —or I can believe we’re going to get through all of this and he’s going to get tired of that . . . that woman and come back to me.”

“And you’d take him back?”

“Yes.” Her friend clenched her fist, crumpling the corner of the page and then smoothing it out. “I would. If he realizes what he’s doing is wrong . . . and with a lot of counseling . . . yes, I’d take him back.”

“You’re a better woman than I am.”

“Oh, that’s not what it’s about —comparing ourselves to one another. We’ve stuck by each other through all sorts of challenges. Right now, life is throwing us both some major curveballs, but we’ll help each other through it like we always have. Just realize I may decline any more of Geoff’s health food juices.”

“I promise to have something else for you to drink the next time we do Girls’ Night.”

Even as she joked with her friend, Jillian ran her fingers through her hair. It wasn’t thick and luxurious like some model’s —and it wasn’t as if Geoff was marrying her for her airbrushed skin or thin body. He wouldn’t be like Trent and decide to find someone else . . . someone prettier . . . healthier . . . than she was now or after chemo or radiation.

After Harper left, Jillian gathered up the magazines and piled them on the coffee table. She loaded the dishwasher with their glasses, plates, and silverware, glancing at the clock. No call from Geoff yet, but it was early still. Just because he wasn’t calling her as often, wasn’t texting her as often, that didn’t mean anything was wrong. He was busy with a very demanding project —nothing else. She could always call him, but she didn’t want to hear him ask, “How are you?” and have to confess that she wasn’t okay. Again.

She needed to get control of herself. Of her emotions. Her thoughts. Harper had presented her with an entire glass jar full of positive thoughts. She’d never really thought of herself as a negative person before, but since her diagnosis, she seemed to face a daily battle with her body and her mind.

Finding a roll of tape in a drawer in her office, Jillian returned to the pile of papers. She’d opened dozens of Harper’s positive thoughts by now. Read them. Left the slips of paper in a pile on her dresser, unwilling to throw away something her friend had worked so hard on. She picked up a red slip —One positive thought in the morning can change your whole day. Using tape, she adhered it to the upper corner of the mirror over her dresser. Picked up a slip of blue paper that read, Every day may not be good, but there’s something good in every day.

For twenty minutes, she covered part of her mirror with slips of colored paper, rereading the positive thoughts written out by her best friend. The last slip of paper she taped up said, This too shall pass.

Well, if nothing else was true, that one was.

And maybe it wasn’t just about reading the thought each day, but remembering it.

One minute I was updating our Facebook page; the next moment Kimberlee loomed over my desk, casting a shadow across the papers scattered everywhere, her freshly highlighted hair falling around her face.

“Did you eat breakfast?”

“Yes, I ate breakfast.”

Although Kimberlee wouldn’t count a partially eaten bowl of quinoa as breakfast.

“Lunch?” She tilted her head to the left.

“Are you asking me to lunch or asking if I ate lunch?”

“Did you eat lunch?”

“I don’t know . . .”

“Are you losing weight?” Now she tilted her head to the right.

“Does it look like I’m losing weight?”

“Yes. Are you trying to lose weight?”

“Kimberlee, you sound like my mother.” I pushed away from my computer. “And you never, ever sound like my mother. That’s one of the reasons we work so well together.”

“I’m worried about you.”

That made two of us, but I wasn’t about to admit that out loud.

“I’ve lost a little weight. I’m concerned about Jillian. That’s normal, right?” I tried to laugh, refusing to tug at my pants on my way to get a cup of coffee. “The only problem is I need to buy myself some new clothes.”

“Oooh. Shopping! When do you want to go?”

At least Kimberlee was distracted from my weight by the idea of a shopping trip. When my phone rang, Kimberlee picked it up off my desk and announced, “It’s Jillian.”

Jillian. That was just some kind of odd coincidence.

“Do you want me to answer it?”

“No. You can fix my coffee.” I took my phone from her. “Please.”

Jillian’s “Hello” sounded the most normal it had in weeks. “I hope I’m not bothering you . . . interrupting anything . . .”

“No, I can talk. Is everything okay?”

How long would our phone calls be like this? Wondering if something was wrong? Even Kimberlee watched me as she stirred sugar into my coffee, wondering the same thing. Was my sister’s life going to be overshadowed by cancer forever?

Calm down. Just keep talking with Jillian.

“I’m going to go look at wedding dresses this Saturday. I was hoping you’d come and join the fun.”

“You want me to come wedding dress shopping with you?”

“I know it’s last-minute —”

“That’s okay. Let me check.”

Kimberlee mouthed the words “Go, go,” even as I pulled up the calendar on my computer. “What time?”

“I have a four o’clock appointment and then we thought we’d go out for dinner afterward.”

“We?”

“Me, you, Mom, Johanna, Harper, and Geoff’s mom. It’ll be fun.”

Fun. Right. I’d be surrounded. But there was no abandoning Jillian. Johanna was not going to push her around while she tried on wedding gowns. Besides, this was what sisters did. They went wedding dress shopping with each other.

“I’d love to go. Thanks for inviting me.”

“Great. I’ll text you the name of the bridal salon. It’s in south Denver.”

“Perfect.”

Kimberlee set my coffee down in front of me, along with a pumpkin muffin, as I disconnected the phone call. Coffee and calories. “Not very subtle.”

“Just eat it, okay? What was the phone call about?”

“I’m going dress shopping. You heard me tell her yes.” When my phone rang again, I held up it up so Kimberlee could read my older sister’s name. “And this is why. I’m going to protect Jillian from Johanna.”

I wasn’t going to be some sort of silent, peacekeeping sister and stand by while Johanna ignored what Jillian wanted. No, I’d be more like a tank rolling in to defend one sister from the other —armed and ready to provide firepower if needed.

“No. You’re going because it’s the right thing to do.” Kimberlee motioned toward my phone as it continued to ring. “Are you going to answer that?”

I bit into the muffin, shaking my head. “I don’t have the patience for Johanna right now. She probably wants to map out some sort of game plan for Saturday. Besides, you and I need to talk. What are we going to do about the bar mitzvah on Saturday?”

“Bianca can help me.”

“That’s perfect! She’s been wanting to learn about the business. Saturday is an ideal opportunity.”

Kimberlee executed a small half bow. “Thank you. I thought so, too. Since we’re using caterers to handle the big crowd, it’s an ideal time for her to shadow us . . . I mean me.”

“Only she’ll be doing more than shadowing you. Maybe you should make sure she’s available to help you on Saturday.” I took another bite of the muffin. “And I’ll go ahead and take this phone call from Johanna.”

Kimberlee paused in the doorway leading to the front. “Is she calling you again?”

“No, but she will. I know my sister.”

I had to give Johanna credit for allowing me to finish the muffin and my cup of coffee before she called a second time.

“Hello, Johanna. I’ve already talked to Jillian.”

“Hello —what?”

“I said I’ve already talked to Jillian.” I dropped the empty muffin wrapper and napkin into the trash can by my desk.

“Then you know about Saturday.”

“Yes. And I plan on being there.”

“You’re not busy?”

“I’m adjusting my schedule. This is important.” Did Johanna want me to be busy? “Is that why you were calling? To see if I was coming Saturday?”

“Yes. Are you coming to dinner, too?”

“Yes. Is that okay with you?”

“Don’t be childish, Payton. I was hoping we could talk about the bridal shower during dinner —”

“Why don’t you not try to plan things for a change? Jillian wants to shop for a wedding dress on Saturday. That may be all she’s up for.”

“But we need to make some plans —”

“At this point, let’s plan on a bridal shower after December. Then we don’t have to worry about anything else right now.”

“But —”

“Seriously, Johanna. Saturday is about shopping and only shopping. There’s no rush on the bridal shower, except according to your agenda.”

“I’m just trying to make sure things are nice for Jillian.”

For once, I wouldn’t argue with her, choking back a snarky comment that would only prolong our phone call. “I know. I’ll see you on Saturday.”

Questions bombarded me after the phone call ended. Why did all of my conversations with Johanna seem to start in the middle of an argument? Was there ever a time when Johanna hadn’t been angry with me? But what was she so angry about? What had I done —or not done —to make my sister dislike me so much?