How to Be a Sister by Eileen Garvin (icecream ebook reader .TXT) 📗

During the wedding itself, I didn’t hear Margaret at all. She sat quietly with her date, looking pretty in a pale yellow dress with small red flowers on it. Then again, there was quite a ruckus going on anyway, so I might not have noticed if she was being noisy. First of all, Brendan and I got married on an antique ferryboat on Lake Union in Seattle, and the regular boat traffic was going by during the ceremony. We had recruited a large yellow Labrador retriever named Honey to bear the rings, and the dog was so excited by all the people and the smells that she kind of detoured around for a while, attempting to greet everybody, and had to be coaxed back to her job. The amateur bagpipers, whom we hadn’t really screened very well, seemed to have trouble getting started at the same time and wheezed along jerkily as we marched down the aisle. At one point there was a spontaneous a cappella performance from the Balkan men’s quartet from our soccer team, who showed up in their eye-catching skirts.

Also, we couldn’t get our unity candle to light for several long minutes, which caused a lot of nervous laughter. When we finally did get the damn thing lit, Brendan was so relieved that he put down his still-burning taper and nearly set fire to the fancy tablecloth under the candle. Then he snatched up the taper and blew it out, extinguishing the unity candle all over again. Our kind and exasperated minister pushed us out of the way and whipped out one of those huge plastic barbecue lighters, which she used to relight our wick. I try not to think about the symbolism of this part of the ceremony and its possible spiritual implications for our marriage. The point is that it is possible I just didn’t notice any outburst from my sister. I had reconciled myself to some kind of Margaret-sized contribution, but I didn’t hear a peep.

When it came time to cut the cake, however, I did notice a big, adult-sized finger swipe in the frosting on the front of it, but no one else saw it, and I just moved a flower to cover it up. Our friends and family gathered around the cake table listening to toasts, and Margaret hovered at the edge of the crowd, nervously twisting her fingers but waiting patiently for us to get down to business. I was so proud of her at that moment, and I really wanted to acknowledge what she’d done, even if nobody else would really understand. So before we served anyone else, I took the microphone and explained with a catch in my voice that my big sister got the first piece of cake because she had waited so quietly, so tolerantly until we were ready to serve. Everyone clapped as Margaret grabbed the plate out of my hand, saying, “Thank you, Eileen!” But before too many hearts were warmed by this scene, she was back, spitting out a bite of lemon poppy seed cake, setting her plate down with a clang, and demanding a piece of chocolate.

OUR BROTHER MICHAEL didn’t invite Margaret to his wedding when he got married the following year. But he didn’t invite children, either, or dogs or bagpipers, for that matter. Michael’s was a lovely, elegant ceremony on the patio of a small Italian restaurant in San Francisco, and it was just what he wanted. He did not want to stand up there, facing his gorgeous bride in front of the intimate crowd and wonder when his big sister might run up and give him a big spanking. So he didn’t invite her, and she didn’t spank him, and everyone was the happier for it. I doubt that Margaret’s life was severely diminished by not attending this wedding. Sometimes we just don’t get to go.

Our brother Larry got married the same year as Michael and did invite Margaret to his wedding. But for one thing, Larry got married in our hometown. For another, Larry and Heidi had met volunteering during the Washington State Special Olympics and knew many adults with disabilities. Several of the young athletes were invited to the wedding. A particularly gregarious pair of young men showed up two hours before the ceremony and sat in the back of the somber church on the Gonzaga University campus, the same place where Ann had been married. Every once in a while, as we bustled around getting ready, one of them would call out “Hiiiiiii, Laaaaaarry!” from their pew. Needless to say, Heidi and Larry were both prepared for some dynamic behavior. Margaret was there for photos, but only for a few, and she did just fine. It was the rest of us, bridesmaids and groomsmen, who suffered through two hours of posing in the hot sunshine.

Michael, Ann, and I each had a role in the wedding, so Ann’s friend Lori, the same one who had been Ann’s bridesmaid, volunteered to sit with Margaret so that my parents could concentrate on their son’s sacred union. Margaret was safely ensconced next to her before the rest of us Garvin sibs marched up the aisle. Even so, we couldn’t help but watch her as we stood up at the altar of the church, which was as hot in the summer as it had been cold in the winter. During a quiet moment of the ceremony, we all saw Margaret reach out quietly with her right hand and try to pinch Lori under the chin. Lori appeared not to notice and kept looking straight ahead and didn’t blink an eye. I flinched in empathy; Margaret had occasionally nailed me before in that same soft spot, and it hurt like hell. Plus, you couldn’t see it coming.

Oh, no, I thought, Here we go. But then, wham! Lori caught Margaret’s wrist with her hand, and wham! she anticipated the left sneaking in