Honey Girl(80)

Meera nods quickly, and when she looks up, her face is contorted into something that is supposed to be a smile. “I know,” she says, mouth trembling. “It’s just—ugh. Yeah, I know.”

“Tell me,” Grace says quietly. She is trying; she is trying so hard to be here and present. She is trying to be the best friend she can be. “You can tell me.”

She’s not expecting it when Meera starts to cry.

“Hey,” she breathes out, reaching for the phone like she can touch her. “Do you need Raj? What’s wrong?”

Meera hiccups, carefully wiping her eyes. “He’s not here,” she gets out. “He’s at another meeting for the new tea room, and soon he’ll be living in Boston. He’ll be in Boston, and soon enough you’ll be in New York for good, and it’ll just be me here.”

“That’s not true,” Grace says carefully, though her chest feels tight. “Baba Vihaan is there. All your cool, young and hip college friends are there.” She pauses, mouth twisting playfully. “Agnes and Ximena are there,” she teases, “and I know they loooove being around you.” Meera covers her face with her hands, embarrassed.

“Shut up,” she mumbles. “God, you’re as bad as Raj.”

“Older sibling privileges,” Grace says. “It’s our job. You know what else is?”

Meera sighs, fiddling with her hair. “What?”

“Not leaving you.” The sincerity of the words comes from somewhere deep inside her. “Even if we’re not there, we haven’t forgotten about you. You don’t just stop being our little sister.”

“I know,” Meera says, sounding stronger than she did a few minutes ago. She meets Grace’s eyes and nods. “I know. Now go away. I’m going to call Agnes and Ximena so they can show me the wedding decorations.”

“You could have just asked me to show you,” Grace complains. “You guys are going to be so gross and cute, aren’t you?”

“Shut up,” Meera says. “As if you don’t know Ximena is, like, ridiculously beautiful inside and out, and Agnes is the coolest, kindest person ever. I’m hanging up now. Bye!” The call disconnects.

Grace laughs and slips her phone into her pocket. She decides to take a short walk around the groves, on the side hidden away from the guests. She will breathe in the smell of citrus and earth, and she will breathe out all her anxiety and swirling thoughts.

But by the time the guests start arriving and people begin looking for her, all Grace has done is work herself up into an anxiety spiral about officiating. And, her shoes are dirty.

“Them things look a mess,” Saffiya says, when Grace greets her at the front of the tent. “Go inside and clean yourself up, Grace Porter.”

“I have to—” she starts, but Saffiya snatches the wedding programs out of her hand. “Fine, I’m going. Thank you.”

She cleans herself up. She knocks the dirt off her heels, dabs sweat off her forehead and tries to remember her speech.

Somehow, she makes it back outside in one piece. She feels stuck in her head, and it’s hard to breathe. It feels like she’s inside a washing machine, spinning around so fast that everything on the other side of the glass blurs.

Heather says to focus on one thing when she gets like this. Focus on one thing, Grace, and hold on to just that. Only, there is not just one thing to worry about now. Grace is officiating a wedding. Guests begin to sit, watching her for direction. Mom and Kelly are depending on her to do this perfectly. She is trying so hard and—

“Hey,” someone whispers, grabbing her arm.

Immediately, Grace relaxes. She knows that voice. She knows that shampoo and that lotion and that presence next to her. “Ximena,” she says. “Fuck, I’m—”

“Freaking out,” Ximena finishes. “Yeah, I could tell. But Kelly is on his way down, and the music will start soon, so you need to get it together.”

Grace blanks out. “I can’t,” she says, shaking her head frantically. “Oh my God, I can’t do this.” She grabs Ximena’s hand tightly. “Why did they ask me to do this? I don’t—I’m not—”

“You can,” Ximena says firmly. “You are.” She’s in a bright pink dress that pops against her brown skin. Her thick, curly hair is pushed into a high puff. “What did Heather tell you?”

“Focus on one thing,” Grace parrots obediently, feeling dizzy. “There’s too many things. What am I supposed to—”

“Focus on me,” Ximena says. She points to a row near the front where Agnes slouches down and gives them a lazy wave. “That’s where we’ll be. Focus on me and Agnes, okay?”

She gives Grace a push, so hard that Grace stumbles to the front of the tent just as Miss Darla starts to play the opening notes on the piano. Grace looks back at Ximena, wide-eyed.

“Go,” she whispers loudly, so Grace goes.

She takes her carefully typed-up paper out of her breast pocket. It has been opened, folded and opened again. It opens for the last time just as Kelly appears at the end of the aisle and walks up.

She takes a deep breath.

She tries to smile as he makes it up to the front next to her. “You look wonderful,” he says, leaning in carefully. “Do you need me to hold your hand?”