My mom trots into the hotel
dressing room, eyes skimming the sea of lavender-swathed bridesmaids, all
dressed to the nines. Her glance searches impatiently, doesn’t find. “Where’s
Ann?” she calls. I look up at her, sitting less than five feet from her, and
raise my hand pointedly. She does a double take. “Ann! I didn’t even see you,
hun. You look so much older! And so elegant.”
