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it himself)—she
     let me invite friends over for a weekend-long sleepover party.
    After we ordered, the Mother sat back and folded her arms across her chest. She studied me closely, like she was sizing me
     up or something.
    “What’s up?” I said.
    “Not much,” she said. “You?”
    “Not much.”
    She hadn’t started complaining about my choice of restaurants yet, either.
    “Why are you smiling like that?” I asked.
    “Am I?”
    “You know you are.”
    “Well, I can’t tell you. It’s not my place.”
    I reminded her that she never was one to stick to her “place” so why start now? She looked thoughtful and said, “You know
     what? You’re right. Okay, the big news is … Are you ready?”
    I rolled my eyes, and before I took my first sip of my coffee, I said, “Born ready.”
    “Okay, then … Your sister is getting married.”
    I gasped in horror. The coffee was a thousand degrees, too, and I sucked in too much. I could actually feel the roof of my
     mouth sizzle. “Wait,” I said, grabbing an ice cube from my water glass. “
What?
You’ve got to be joking.”
    “Not so far.”
    “My twenty-one-year-old sister.”
    “The only one you have.”
    “Is getting married.”
    “Yes.”
    “To whom?”
    “What do you mean ‘to whom’? To Jamie.”
    “To her commando boyfriend, Jamie.”
    “Ben, stop it.” She slapped her palm flat on the table. “Stop it now.”
    The Mother may act like a big sister much of the time, but I knew from experience it would be unwise to push her too far.
     Then I thought, as I often did,
Fuck it
.
    I said, “He’s a gun-toting Republican from Texas who wants to join the CIA.”
    “What does this have to do with politics?” she said, waving the thought away. “Your sister is getting married!”
    “Have you ever
been
to Texas? They shoot gay people for fun in Texas!”
    “Now you’re just being ridiculous.”
    “Besides, you don’t believe in marriage.”
    “How can you say that?” She looked offended. “I’ve been
married
three times.”
    “Exactly.”
    “Please don’t ruin this for me.” The Mother leaned forward. “I’m thrilled.
Thrilled
that at least I get to see one of my daughters marry the right man.”
    The jab didn’t escape my attention, so I told her for the hundredth time that Jack was hardly the right man. She nodded, like,
If that’s what you need to tell yourself
…
    “When did this happen?” I asked.
    “Yesterday. She was going to call you but, well, you know. Anyway, Jamie proposed to her in the Color Me Mine where they met.
     He put the engagement ring inside a ceramic mug she was painting. Isn’t it just adorable?”
    I felt like I was going to throw up.
    With that, the Mother kicked off an endless monologue about all the plans she and Audrey were already making for the wedding.
     I sat there, stunned.
Audrey’s too young to get married,
I thought.
Nobody gets married that young anymore
. I didn’t want to get married. Why should she want to get married?
    But every time the Mother’s voice went up at the end of a sentence, I nodded and smiled. I heard, “Something something something
     bridal shower since you’ll be the maid of honor?” Nodded and smiled. “Something something something
very
Martha Stewart?” Nodded and smiled. And
then,
“Something something something who you’re going to bring to the wedding?”
    Suddenly it occurred to me that I was about to become a cliché thanks to a ring in the bottom of a DIY coffee mug. I was the
     twenty-seven-year-old sister who would have to bring her best friend to the wedding because I probably wouldn’t have a boyfriend
     to take. Everyone would
tut-tut
over me, convinced that my decision to break up with Jack was a horrendous mistake, and the rumor that I was a lesbian (which
     I
knew
was being circulated by my Catholic grandmother) would finally gain a toehold.
And yet,
I mused,
Little Miss Perfect promises to spend the rest of her life with a Nazi and she