On the day I tried on my wedding dress, I caught my fiancé flirting with my little sister. Sasha is standing in front of him, giggling, and his fingers are at her throat, tying the ribbon of a sample veil she pulled off the rack. The stylist breezes past me like I’m a coat stand and heads straight for my sister. “Bride, this way please.” Sasha doesn’t correct her. Neither does Julian. Cole, my childhood best friend and our wedding photographer, brushes past my shoulder without a glance. His shutter clicks. Click. Click. Click. I look at the monitor. Ninety-nine shots. I scroll through every single one. Sasha laughing. Julian laughing. Sasha twirling. Julian’s hand on her waist, steadying her. Not one frame of me. Something cold drops through my chest, slow and final, like a coin sinking in water. I should be used to this. I have been used to this my whole life. “You’re the older sister, Elena. Just let her have it.” “Be the bigger person. She doesn’t know any better.” “A good big sister doesn’t keep score.” That was Aunt Nora. Uncle Robert. Every aunt, every uncle, every neighbor at every Thanksgiving since I was four years old. Let her have the bigger slice. Let her pick first. Let her, let her, let her. I learned to swallow before I learned to speak. So when Julian started looking at Sasha a beat too long at family dinners, I told myself I was imagining it. When he stopped calling my quiet “cute” and started saying women should be “lively, with opinions,” I told myself I was being insecure. When I finally worked up the nerve to ask, “Could you not be so close with Sasha?” he just ruffled my hair like I was a child. “She’s your sister, babe. You want me to be enemies with my future sister-in-law?” I went quiet. I always go quiet. “Elena, sweetie.” Julian finally notices me. He walks over, gently lifts the bouquet out of my hands, my bouquet, and carries it back to Sasha. “Why don’t you go pick the invitation samples? I’ll be there in a minute.” Cole peeks out from behind his viewfinder. “Hey, Elena, scoot a couple steps? You’re blocking my light.” I step back. And back. Until I’m against the wall. I pick up my purse off the bench. The little bell over the door chimes when I push it open. Nobody calls my name. I turn around once. Sasha is twirling in front of the mirror. Julian is behind her, tying a bow at her waist. Cole’s shutter is going off like applause. In the car, my phone lights up. The wedding planner. Hi Elena! Have you decided on the invitation style? A second message, three seconds later: Or your sister can pick! She has such great taste. 😊 I sit there in the silence, listening to myself breathe. Counting. I don’t even know what I’m counting anymore. Maybe how many times I’ve been erased this week. This month. This life. I type three words back. Let her choose. She will anyway. Julian will agree with whatever Sasha picks. He always does. Got it! the planner replies in two seconds flat. Relieved. Of course she’s relieved. No more pestering the indecisive bride. The group chat blows up. Cole is uploading the photos in real time. Sasha glowing in white. Julian’s hand on the small of her back. They look like a Vera Wang ad. I laugh. It comes out broken. When I was a little girl, I used to play wedding in the backyard with Cole and Sasha. They were always the bride and groom. I was the flower girl. I scattered the petals. And after they ran inside for snacks, I was the one left in the grass, picking every petal back up alone. Nobody ever asked if I was tired. I drive back to my apartment. There’s a Post-it on the fridge in my own handwriting: Wedding, 7 days. I peel it off, crumple it into a tiny ball, and drop it in the trash.
I call the landlord first thing in the morning and tell him I’m moving out today. “You sure, Elena? You’ve been here, what, four years?” Four years. When Julian and I first started dating, he wanted me to move in with him. Sasha was the one who said couples shouldn’t live together before the wedding, that it “killed the magic.” I agreed. So I rented this little place near his office, hoping I’d see him more often. He stopped by once in a while. Crashed for a night. Left before I woke up. The walls in this apartment have seen us kiss, fight, go silent, and every version of his back walking out the door. “Yeah,” I say. “Today.” He sighs and tells me to leave the keys in the mailbox. I’m taping up a box of books when the front door swings open. Julian walks in first. Sasha skips in behind him. She turns to him with a sparkle in her eye. “So it’s settled, right? The bedroom with the bay window in the new house, that one’s mine. But I want the curtains changed to pink.” I freeze in the middle of the living room. I think I’ve misheard. She says it so casually. Like moving into our marital home, the home Julian and I picked out together, is the most natural thing in the world. Julian doesn’t push back. He just laughs, fond and indulgent. “As long as your sister’s okay with it.” “My sister loves me. Of course she’s okay with it.” Something inside me snaps. Quietly. Like a thread I didn’t know was holding me up. “And what if I’m not?” Two seconds of dead silence. Sasha’s lips part. She blinks like a kicked puppy. Right on cue, her eyes well up. Julian’s voice drops, hard. “Elena. What’s gotten into you? You usually can’t wait to give her whatever she wants. Now you’re going to fight over a bedroom?” “I’m not fighting.” “Then what are you doing?” He frowns. “She’s your sister, not a stranger off the street. The house is huge. The room is empty. What’s the problem?” “It’s our marital home,” I say. “Is she marrying you?” Julian’s mouth opens. Closes. Sasha sniffles, eyes shimmering. “Sis, I just wanted to be close to you. Forget it. I won’t move in.” Julian shoots me a look. “See what you just did? She’s a girl. She’s your little sister. Can’t you think about her for once?” “Can anyone think about me for once?” The words come out before I can stop them. “You got her that cushy job at your company. She’s set for life. And what do I have? I only have—” “Enough!” His face changes. He steps toward me. “Be reasonable. She’s your baby sister. The only reason I look out for her is because of you. Do you really have to be this petty?” Petty. I laugh. A small, dry sound. Then I shut my mouth. Sasha tugs his sleeve. “Julian, don’t. Maybe she’s just in a mood.” He pats her hand. His voice softens. For her. “Elena. The decision’s made. Sasha moving in is a good thing. You sisters won’t have to be apart anymore.” I nod. Sure. Whatever. It’s your house. Your family. I won’t be living in it anyway. Julian exhales, relieved. Sasha dabs at her eyes and gives him a watery smile. I turn back to my boxes. Behind me, Sasha’s voice, bright again. “So I really can do pink curtains?” Julian, laughing: “Whatever you want.” That afternoon, I drive to Julian’s office. In my bag: his apartment fob, his office key, and a client file he’d asked me to organize weeks ago. The receptionist beams at me. “Ms. Carter! Want me to ring Mr. Hayes?” “No need.” I set the bag on her desk. “Just give him this.” I turn and walk out. I’m halfway down the stairwell when I hear his voice through a cracked door. “Saturday? Mani-pedi appointment with you?” My fingers go stiff on the railing. Then his laugh, warm and easy: “Yeah, yeah, I know. You want to look perfect for the wedding. I’ll go. I’ll tell your sister.” I press my forehead against the cold concrete wall. Saturday was supposed to be ours. He promised me last winter we’d watch the sunrise together before the wedding. He kept pushing it. To spring. To the week of. Finally we settled on this Saturday. Now he’s “handling” me. Like I’m a chore. I don’t wait to hear the rest. I walk down the stairs, get in my car, and drive straight to my hometown upstate.
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