“Am I supposed to apologize for going to college? For pursuing a professional soccer career?” I snap.

“Plenty of people seem to manage that and also keep in touch with their family.”

“Less than you’d think,” I mutter. It’s true. Giving your all—absolutely everything—requires just that: everything. Not worrying about others’ feelings. Not coming home for holidays. Sequestering every ounce of energy and bit of brainpower. “And I’m not interested in being ‘plenty of people.’ I want to be the best.”

Hallie doesn’t say anything. No matter our shared experiences—growing up motherless, our father’s virtual abandonment, and a small town that loves to gossip—we’ve got a lot less in common than what distinguishes us from each other. I’m willing to look past it all in my quest for something else.

Soccer is my escape.

Hallie wants to fix it all, make peace with our past. She married the perfect guy to be a father. She’s the perfect mother. She showed our hometown a Scott woman can be reliable and genuine. She talks to our father and extended family.

I fled as far and fast as I could.

We enter the aisle of the church, and it’s majestic. Ethereal. I didn’t grow up devout. I could count on one hand the number of times I’ve been in a building with any sort of religious connotation, but the varnished wood, stained glass, and symmetrical pews conjure a presence even the most agnostic can’t ignore.

The scents of incense and fresh flowers mingle in the air, swirling around our strides toward the altar. Garlands of daisies, peonies, and ranunculus hang along the end of each pew we pass.

“Looks like we missed the decorating,” I state. “Bummer.”

“I’m sure there’s still work to be done,” Hallie informs me. “Let’s go hang up our dresses.”

I heave out a sigh but follow her out of the aisle toward the back of the church. We run into our father on the trip down the hallway.

“Oh, good. I wasn’t sure what time you girls were going to arrive.” He gives me a nervous glance that seems to be my only greeting.

“I told you we’d be here by one, Dad,” Hallie replies.

“Well, something always seems to go wrong at weddings, and nothing has yet.” My father frets, glancing around like he’s expecting the roof to cave in at any moment.

“That’s a good thing,” she says soothingly.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” my father admits. “There was a time I swore to myself I never would again.”

“It’s good that you’re doing it,” Hallie assures him. “No one wants to be alone forever.” I know she doesn’t mean them to be, but it feels like the words are a jab at me. “And Sandra is wonderful.”