Magda went behind Anna, stood on tiptoes, strained precariously forward, and managed to gently and with ceremony, place the veil on Anna’s head. Then the seamstress stepped to one side, allowing Anna a full view of herself in the mirror. Tears spilled from Anna’s eyes and her shoulders trembled, but she was smiling. Magda and Dodo nodded their frowny faces at one another with what I guessed were expressions meant to convey satisfaction. Dodo reached into an apron pocket and handed Anna a packet of tissues.

“Gracias,” Anna said. “Usted es tan amable. You are so very kind.”

It had been a long time since I’d heard Anna speak her own language. It made me miss her even more. She dabbed at her eyes like the soap opera actresses and turned her gaze from the mirror to where I still sat, pins in hand. She was even more beautiful than the time my mother had given her the makeover. She glimmered like one of the saints in the 3-D postcards, her long neck arched and graceful. She was a swan, an angel.

Just not my angel. Not anymore.

I turned away, my cheeks burning, my throat swelling, about to burst into tears of my own.

“So, Jackie? Do you approve?” she asked.

I squeezed my eyes together and covered them with my hands.

“What’s wrong?” Anna bent down, her veil draping over me.

“It’s a migraine,” I said. “It runs in my family. On my mother’s side.”

On the morning of the wedding, I crawled out of bed, crept from my room, and peered over the stair railing. Staff dressed in starched white shirts and pressed black slacks scurried back and forth carrying trays. A multi-tiered white wedding cake—a caterer’s bowed legs sticking out from under its base—marched out of the kitchen and into the dining room. Two giant white tents had been staked on the beach.

From my window, I watched the guests arrive to the strains of Bach played by a string quartet of four UCLA music majors struggling to sit upright while the legs of their folding chairs sank unevenly in the sand.

Though I had never met anyone in Anna’s family, I spotted her relatives right off the bat; the women in narrow high heels, flouncy festive dresses and matching hats; the men shorter, in somber suits but with shoes so shiny as to reflect the sun. They stood out in striking contrast to the other guests in their beach-chic beige linens and pastel chiffons. Not only was Anna marrying Daddy she already belonged to a whole family that did not and would never include me. I fit into this picture exactly nowhere.