Chapter 1

On the day I tried on my wedding dress, I caught my fiancé flirting with my little sister.

Sasha is standing in front of him, giggling, and his fingers are at her throat, tying the ribbon of a sample veil she pulled off the rack.

The stylist breezes past me like I'm a coat stand and heads straight for my sister.

"Bride, this way please."

Sasha doesn't correct her. Neither does Julian.

Cole, my childhood best friend and our wedding photographer, brushes past my shoulder without a glance. His shutter clicks. Click. Click. Click.

I look at the monitor. Ninety-nine shots. I scroll through every single one.

Sasha laughing. Julian laughing. Sasha twirling. Julian's hand on her waist, steadying her.

Not one frame of me.

Something cold drops through my chest, slow and final, like a coin sinking in water.

I should be used to this. I have been used to this my whole life.

"You're the older sister, Elena. Just let her have it."

"Be the bigger person. She doesn't know any better."

"A good big sister doesn't keep score."

That was Aunt Nora. Uncle Robert. Every aunt, every uncle, every neighbor at every Thanksgiving since I was four years old. Let her have the bigger slice. Let her pick first. Let her, let her, let her. I learned to swallow before I learned to speak.

So when Julian started looking at Sasha a beat too long at family dinners, I told myself I was imagining it. When he stopped calling my quiet "cute" and started saying women should be "lively, with opinions," I told myself I was being insecure.

When I finally worked up the nerve to ask, "Could you not be so close with Sasha?" he just ruffled my hair like I was a child.

"She's your sister, babe. You want me to be enemies with my future sister-in-law?"

I went quiet. I always go quiet.

"Elena, sweetie." Julian finally notices me. He walks over, gently lifts the bouquet out of my hands, my bouquet, and carries it back to Sasha. "Why don't you go pick the invitation samples? I'll be there in a minute."

Cole peeks out from behind his viewfinder. "Hey, Elena, scoot a couple steps? You're blocking my light."

I step back. And back. Until I'm against the wall.

I pick up my purse off the bench. The little bell over the door chimes when I push it open.

Nobody calls my name.

I turn around once. Sasha is twirling in front of the mirror. Julian is behind her, tying a bow at her waist. Cole's shutter is going off like applause.

In the car, my phone lights up. The wedding planner.

Hi Elena! Have you decided on the invitation style?

A second message, three seconds later: Or your sister can pick! She has such great taste. 😊

I sit there in the silence, listening to myself breathe. Counting. I don't even know what I'm counting anymore. Maybe how many times I've been erased this week. This month. This life.

I type three words back. Let her choose.

She will anyway. Julian will agree with whatever Sasha picks. He always does.

Got it! the planner replies in two seconds flat. Relieved. Of course she's relieved. No more pestering the indecisive bride.

The group chat blows up. Cole is uploading the photos in real time. Sasha glowing in white. Julian's hand on the small of her back. They look like a Vera Wang ad.

I laugh. It comes out broken.

When I was a little girl, I used to play wedding in the backyard with Cole and Sasha. They were always the bride and groom. I was the flower girl. I scattered the petals. And after they ran inside for snacks, I was the one left in the grass, picking every petal back up alone.

Nobody ever asked if I was tired.

I drive back to my apartment. There's a Post-it on the fridge in my own handwriting: Wedding, 7 days.

I peel it off, crumple it into a tiny ball, and drop it in the trash.