“Thank you!” Jules grinned. “And Aunt Camellia, you’re still making the lotions as the wedding gifts, right?”

“The lotion will be pink with a black label,” Aunt Camellia said, “and it’ll smell like roses. I’m going to call it Motorcycle Grease.”

“I love it!” Jules gushed. “Wait ’til I show you my wedding dress! My wedding dress designer—her name’s June and she’s on the Oregon coast—is almost done. But don’t ask about it! It’s a surprise!”

“What’s Mack going to wear?” Aunt Iris asked.

Jules was confused. “His leathers. Of course. Plus!” She put a finger up in the air. “A bow tie. Like in the invitation that lost.”

I smiled at Jules, and she smiled back. “Hello, maid of honor sister-love! You look beautiful as always. When are you going to buy a motorcycle?”

“When my alpacas start to talk. When my butt gets smaller. When the goats stop escaping. When I start to want to run instead of only running when I have to. When my boobs get bigger. So your answer is: Never. I am never getting on a motorcycle.” I had enough scary things going on in my life. I limit my life to safe pastimes only. A little blue house in the country by the ocean. A bookstore. Tea. Cake with thick icing. Reading at night on my porch. Caring for my animals. Having a nutritional slice of pie each night.

“I wanted you to ride in on a motorcycle down the aisle, gunning it, soooo loud. Growling.”

“Oh, hell, no.” Jules wasn’t kidding.

“You could learn to ride for the wedding,” Aunt Iris said. “I could help you. You would only need to know how to ride for twenty feet. Until you arrived at the gazebo.”

“No.”

“Maybe we could get her a fake motorcycle?” my mom asked. “Like a kid motorcycle?”

“No.”

“Evie has enough going on without getting on a motorcycle,” Aunt Camellia said.

“Yep,” I said.

“Okay,” Jules said. She brightened. “How about if Mack rides you in on a wheelie?”

“No. Double no. Hear me quiver with fear.”

We talked about the wedding, the plans, and hung up, but not before Jules told us all she loved us. “Especially you, Evie!” She grinned.

“Especially you, Jules!” I said back.

Which is what we had said to each other our wholes lives, starting when we were little.

“I’m coming over to the island soon to help with the rest of the details!”

We waved and blew kisses.

“We can’t wait to see you!” Aunt Camellia called out. “May blessings follow you always.”

“Always remember we love you!” my mother said. “Be safe on your bike. Don’t go too fast. Remember that a happy body eats vegetables.”

“On a practical note, start making lists of everything you need to do for the wedding, and scratch them off when you’re done,” Aunt Iris said. “Don’t let wedding details slip through the cracks, or you’ll want to crack a week before the wedding like the other brides we’re dealing with now. They’re all crackpots.”