She looked almost offended.

“I want you to help.”

“With what?”

“All of it?”

“That sounds dangerous.”

“I’m serious.”

So I helped.

Not because I wanted to claim a role.

Because Hannah asked.

Caterer tastings.

Flowers.

Seating charts.

Dress appointments.

Invitations.

Hotels.

Emergency kits.

At 11:30 one night, she texted me in a panic because eucalyptus suddenly looked “too 2018.”

I had no idea what that meant.

I researched anyway.

Six months before the wedding, Audrey’s older sister Karen asked me to lunch.

Halfway through, she said, “There’s something Hannah should have.”

She opened her purse and removed the velvet box.

Inside were Audrey’s pearl hairpins.

Audrey had worn them at her own wedding.

Karen touched one gently.

“She always said Hannah might want these someday.”

I immediately started crying.

“Jenna.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.”

“I don’t want anyone thinking I’m—”

“Stop.”

I looked at her.

Karen softened.

“You’ve never tried to replace my sister.”

That meant more than she knew.

“I know Audrey isn’t here,” she continued. “But you are.”

She pushed the box toward me.

“Keep them safe until the wedding.”

“Why me?”

“Because you’re the person Hannah calls when she loses things.”

She wasn’t wrong.

I took the pearls home, wrapped the box carefully, and stored it in the top drawer of the guest-room dresser.

Every few weeks, I checked them.

Then, four days before the wedding, I asked Greg whether Hannah might want them in her braid.

And he told me to stop acting like her mother.

—

The next morning, I changed.

Not dramatically.

I simply stopped automatically doing everything.

Around noon, Hannah came through the door carrying three garment bags and a clipboard.

“Jenna?”

“Hey.”

Normally, I would have taken half the bags before she crossed the threshold.

That day, my hands stayed in my cardigan pockets.

She dropped everything onto the sofa.

“The florist sent the wrong eucalyptus.”

“Again?”

“Ethan is dealing with it.”

“That’s good.”

She studied me.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You look weird.”

“Thank you.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I’m tired.”

“Did Dad annoy you?”

I almost laughed.

“Your father exists. That occasionally overlaps.”