“Are you ready to be given away?” I asked Mom.
She took a deep breath and slipped her arm through mine. “Absolutely.”
“Then let’s go get you married.”
The doors opened, and we entered the church together. We immediately had to step over a giant pile of flower petals; Olivia had clearly dumped the entire basket the moment she’d gotten inside.
As we walked past a sea of smiling faces, I thought about what my mom had said. Two people who loved me. I caught Neil’s eye at the end of the pew where he stood with El-Mudad; how anyone could look at them and not see how in love they were, even without apparent PDAs, I had no idea. Amal and Rashida were beside them. They might not love me yet, but I wouldn’t give up hope.
Holli and Deja had seats in the next row; Holli put both thumbs up and stage-whispered, “Yeah, Becky! Get it!” before Deja pushed one of her hands down. We walked past our family, and past Tony’s, who I didn’t know very well yet but knowing my mom, would in no time. And when we reached the altar, I let Mom go—because that’s what it was. I wasn’t giving her away, because I didn’t own her, no matter how long I might have believed that as a child. I handed her off to Tony and stepped into my reserved spot in the front pew, beside Olivia, who took my hand in hers. She stood on her tiptoes, and I leaned down so she could whisper in my ear.
“Good job, Sophie,” she said earnestly. “You can give Olivia at my wedding.”
Tears sprang to my eyes, and I blinked them back as I whispered back, “Deal.”
Mom was wrong, in the best possible way: there were more than two people who loved me, and with every passing year, it seemed like I gained more people to love.
If that was what getting older was, I would take it. Varicose veins and all.