“Yeah. She told me at our last fitting—the one you couldn’t come to because you had that emergency drug-and-alcohol-awareness training session—that she felt bad because there were so many more people on the groom’s side than the bride’s. So she got some kid from where you work to swipe your Rolodex, and your dad to cough up an address book I guess he copied from you a while back, and then she went through them both and added a whole bunch of people to the bride’s side.”

I feel a swooping sensation in the pit of my stomach, and it isn’t the good kind, the kind I get when Cooper comes walking into the room and I realize all over again how handsome he looks and how lucky I am that he chose me (of course, he’s lucky I chose him too). It’s the bad kind of swooping, the kind that means Warning, warning, get out now.

This is what I get, I think to myself. This is what I get for being too busy at work to pay attention to my wedding, and leaving it all up to Perry. Who, Cooper informed me earlier, hadn’t been too pleased about the fact that we’d canceled lunch. She’d stressed how busy and important she is, and implied her schedule is so tight, we might not get another appointment with her before our actual wedding day.

A day I can now see is going to be a disaster.

“Jessica and Magda and I told Nicole she shouldn’t have done it,” Patty goes on rapidly, “that you’d invited everyone you wanted to, but she said that it would be a nice surprise, and that your dad and Cooper approved them all, but now I’m guessing—”

“She didn’t tell anybody,” I say. My throat has gone as dry as sand, but I can’t move a muscle to reach for my wineglass. “Except my dad, I’ll bet, who’s been hoping for a reconciliation between us two for a long time.”

The woman standing inside the glass addition sees Patty and me sitting beneath the string of party globes and claps her hands dramatically.

“There she is!” she cries. “There’s my girl!”

Then she rushes through the open screen door and out onto the deck to embrace me, nearly choking me in a thick cloud of Chanel perfume, a scent I’ve only ever associated with her, and not in a good way.

“Hi, Mom,” I say.

9

I don’t want to look like a big white lightbulb

I don’t want to shine too bright

I don’t want to look like a marshmallow

I only want you to hold me tight

“Wedding Gown,”

written by Heather Wells

Uh, honey,” Frank says to Patty from the doorway. “We need to get going now.”

“In a minute.”

Patty’s gaze is riveted on my mother, who has taken a seat in the chair Cooper had vacated to answer the door.

Lucy, usually friendly to strangers (she’s a wonderful companion, but the world’s worst watchdog), slinks out from beneath the chair and goes inside. Perhaps she, like Patty, suspects that fireworks are about to go off. Unlike Patty, however, Lucy has the sense to get out of the blast range.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt your little party,” my mother says, looking down at the detritus of our meal. “I’m so glad you learned how to cook, Heather. That’s a skill every bride should have.”

“I didn’t,” I say coldly. “Cooper made it. What are you doing here, Mom?”

“Patty, we really need to leave,” Frank says, his tone more urgent than before. “It’s past Indy’s bedtime.”

Frank’s son is wriggling in his arms, crying to be put down, pointing in the direction Lucy has gone. He wants to run over my dog’s feet with his trucks some more.

“What do you mean, what am I doing here?” my mother asks. “You’re the one getting married. You sent me an invitation!”

She opens her arms wide, and silver bangles jangle on both her slim wrists. She’s wearing quite a bit of jewelry. Rings on almost every finger, long silver chains and pendants around her neck, and a diamond stud in each earlobe that peeks out beneath her red hair—hair that was frosty blond the last time I’d seen her.

“And can I just say, I approve,” Mom goes on, dropping her arms with a smile. “I always liked Cooper. He’s so much more stable than Jordan. I never wanted to tell you while you two were dating, of course, Heather, but I always thought Jordan was a little bit of a putz.”

My mother winks companionably at Cooper, who has taken up a defensive stance, leaning against the deck railing, his arms folded across his chest. He’s watching my mother like she’s a suspect in one of his cases, and at any moment he’s going to tackle her to the ground.

“No offense to your brother, of course, Cooper,” Mom adds.

“No offense taken, Janet,” Cooper replies.

“Oh, please,” my mother says with a wave of her hand, causing the silver bangles to jingle again. “We’re practically family. Call me Mom.”

“I’d rather not,” Cooper says politely.

His tone is so dangerously devoid of emotion that I glance at him, and find that his blue-eyed gaze is fastened on me. I can almost feel the protective waves radiating from him.

I know if Cooper had had his way, he never would have let my mother in the house. There’s got to be a good explanation for why he did.

“I didn’t send you an invitation to my wedding, Mom,” I say. “There was a mix-up. And even if I had sent you an invitation, that doesn’t explain why you’ve shown up here now, at nine o’clock at night, a whole month before the ceremony.”

“A mix-up?” Mom looks shocked. She does shocked very well because she’s had so much work done on her face, her eyebrows seem frozen into semisurprised arches. “But when I called your father, he said—”

“I don’t care what Dad said,” I interrupt her. “You know perfectly well he’s been on a redemption jag since he got out of jail. He’s all about making amends. Plus, he’s still gaga for you. He’d tell you anything you wanted to hear.”

“Oh, Heather.” My mother looks down modestly, then rearranges her scarf so that more of her necklaces show. “You know that isn’t true. Your father and I split up long ago. It has to be twenty years now. You have to give up hoping that we’re ever going to get back together—”

“Trust me,” I say. “I’m not entertaining any such thoughts. Where’s Ricardo?”