“Jenna,” Rachel said. She was crying now. Mascara was running down her face. “Jenna, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I do things. I don’t. You know how I am. You know I don’t mean it—”
“I know exactly how you are,” I said. “I’ve known my whole life. You rode my bike into a ditch. You
ruined my prom dress. You sat on the porch with Kevin. And every single time, you said the same thing. It’s a joke. You’re so serious. Relax.“
I walked down the deck steps. I stepped over the strawberry in the grass. I walked right up to
my sister until I was standing in front of her. She was wearing a white dress. Like a bride. Standing under a banner with her husband’s name on it.
“It was never a joke, Rachel,” I said. “Not one single time. You just called it that so nobody would
