“You are not a burden,” she says firmly. “Do you feel like I’m a burden when you’re baking all those pies? Do you feel like your dad’s a burden when you’re taking care of him? Do you feel like Nick’s a burden when you’re staying late to clean up?”

I snort. “Of course not.”

“Well, then, trust me,” Annie says, looking smug. “You’re not a burden to anyone. Not even a little bit. Now.” She claps her hands. “Let’s make some poms!”

“You can’t make the poms!”

“I’m going to help you,” Annie points out. “And you did say you were going to do a better job of letting people help you.”

“I didn’t say that, but okay, I’ll let people help me more. But not with this. It’s your wedding; you can’t be making your own poms.”

Annie waves me off. “This looks fun, and you know I’m crafty.”

“No one has ever called you crafty.”

Annie picks up the remote and scrolls through Netflix before settling on While You Were Sleeping.

“No. I am not going to sit through this movie again.”

“It’s my wedding!” Annie uses my own words against me. “I get to choose the entertainment.”

Together, we coast through making the poms. Annie’s much better at pom-making than Don and Tyler were, and after a couple of hours, we have more than enough poms for our wall.

“Turns out this is way easier when I’m not doing it by myself and attempting to bake a pie at the same time,” I say.

“Who knew?” Annie holds up her latest pom to admire it. “So what are you going to do about Nick?”

“Oh, no,” I say. “I do not want to talk about that.”

Annie puts the pom down and gives me a stern look, and with an uncharacteristic no-nonsense tone in her voice, she says, “Well, you showed up in the driveway cold and crying, so tough shit. You have to tell me about it.”

“Geez,” I mutter. “The film industry has turned you into a real potty-mouth.”

She spins a finger at me. “Start talking.”

“I don’t know, Annie. That’s the whole problem. I . . . well, I . . .”

“You love him,” she says simply.

“Dial it down.”

“You like him.”

“I’m not a child.”

She thinks for a moment. “You could see yourself falling in love with him someday. Is that right?”

I know that’s not how to describe the way I feel about Nick, that I’ve been lying to myself about it for weeks, months, maybe even years. My first impulse is to keep it to myself, to keep this as another personal issue that I don’t want to burden Annie with. But maybe she’s right. Maybe I should try to let someone in.

“The truth,” I say quietly, focusing on the pom in my lap, “is that, despite everything I’ve told Nick, I have some very strong feelings for him.”

Annie smiles, but it isn’t smug. “Do you think you should, I don’t know . . . tell him?”