“It’s raining,” I said. “You promised it wouldn’t rain!”

“It’s going to be a beautiful afternoon,” Jesse said. “Trust me.” He patted Sheila on the back. She was staring into her cup and looking miserable.

“It can’t rain on your wedding, Jess,” Sheila said. “It…can’t.”

We’d all driven to the airport to pick up Sonia the night before. When Sonia and I went to bed, Sheila was at the table with her calligraphy pen, writing the words to Dad’s song, “You Are My Sunshine,” on squares of thick paper, one for every guest. One of Dad’s high school friends was going to play his guitar while Dad and Jesse walked down the aisle, and everybody would sing the song together. Sheila had it all planned out.

Now there was a neat stack of paper squares on the table. She must have stayed up really late.

“Maybe we can do ‘Singin’ in the Rain’ instead,” I told her.

“Not funny!” She pretended to throw her toast at me.

“Where’s Mission?” I said.

“At my place,” Sheila said. “He’s meeting us at the restaurant.”

—

We don’t call Jesse the weatherman for nothing. By three o’clock, everything was sunny and dry and felt just-washed. When we got to Beatrice, I could see myself reflected in the restaurant’s front windows, and Sonia next to me. Dad had said “my guests” could come early to help, and Angus and Lizette were already standing by the door, next to a huge box.

“It’s the cake!” Lizette said, pointing at the box. “We’re guarding it. My grandma’s parking the car.”

Sonia and I decided that since we were the maids of honor, we were allowed to peek at the cake. It was three layers, beautiful and creamy-looking, and the cake smell tickled my nose.

“It actually smells like 7 Up!” Angus’s eyes were huge, like maybe he’d just seen a unicorn. He started taking deep breaths with his head half inside the box. Lizette laughed.

“Don’t breathe on it!” Sonia elbowed Angus a few steps to the side, and Lizette carefully lowered the top.

“Anyway, it’s not done yet,” Lizette said. “My grandma is bringing all these edible flowers to decorate it. She likes to do that part at the last minute, so they’re fresh. Just wait till you see it finished.”

Angus made a face and said, “I don’t want flowers on my slices.”

Lizette laughed. “What do you mean, slices?”

“Doesn’t everybody get one slice from every layer?”

Lizette shoved him, and Angus pinwheeled his arms, pretending to lose his balance.

“Nobody better sit on my cake!” Lizette’s grandma was jogging toward us, wearing a fancy hat and dragging a suitcase on wheels. I wondered if it was full of flowers. (It was.)