Mystic Summer by Hannah McKinnon Page A

offered it when we got engaged, but even with tents we can only manage one hundred. Save-the-dates for one hundred sixty already went out.”
    And then it hits me. “Wait a minute. If you’re going to move it outside of Boston altogether, why not just keep moving south?”
    Peyton is shaking her head “no” already. “Like where? Providence?” She purses her lips.
    â€œHear me out. What about a Connecticut wedding? At home?”
    â€œIn Mystic?”
    Peyton is still shaking her head, but Erika is listening.
    â€œThink about it,” I go on. “Not just Connecticut countryside, but seaside. You’ve got the historic village with all its clapboard houses. And the marinas full of sailboats. You can take pictures at sunset at one of the piers—just imagine it!”
    Erika nods. “It would let me keep the summer date.”
    I’m getting excited just talking about it, myself. “There’re plenty of hotels and cute B-and-Bs in the area. And beaches.”
    â€œAnd tourists,” Peyton groans.
    Erika’s nose wrinkles.
    â€œTrue,” I concede. “But also fresh seafood. And salt air. And gorgeous weather.”
    â€œI don’t know—that sounds like starting over. New venue. New decorations. New caterer.” Peyton is ticking the list off her fingers.
    â€œNot exactly starting over,” I remind them. “The dress is done. The band will travel. I’m sure that Boston florists leave the city to handle destination weddings all the time. The rest we will help you with.”
    Erika closes her eyes and leans back against the couch cushions. We sit in silence, awaiting her answer.
    â€œMy mother always wanted me to get married close to home,” she says, finally.
    â€œExactly!”
    â€œBut it would have to be at our yacht club,” she says, sitting up straighter.
    â€œWe’ll call them first thing tomorrow,” I promise.
    â€œAnd we’d need to get a local photographer. Someone who knows all the best spots for sunset pictures,” she adds.
    â€œOf course.”
    Peyton’s head is snapping left and right between us. “Are you sure?” she asks. “Mystic is so far from Boston.”
    I throw her a look. “It’s not like we’re trekking to Manitoba. Besides, half of the guests are from that area anyway. It’s her hometown.”
    Finally Peyton concedes with a shrug. “I guess we could do a nautical theme.”
    â€œWe can go to Mystic this weekend!” Erika says. “My momcan set something up with the club, and we’ll make a girls’ weekend out of it.” It’s the happiest she’s looked all night, and neither Peyton nor I are going to argue with this.
    â€œI could use a weekend away,” Peyton says. She looks to me for backup.
    â€œPerfect. School ends this week, so I’m free.” Potentially indefinitely so, I think with a sense of dread.
    Erika stands, a sea of white tissues cascading off her lap like the skirt of a bridal gown. She dabs her nose one last time and looks at us. “I can’t thank you guys enough for your help tonight. You have no idea what this means to me.”
    It’s been a long day. My Darby worries have faded somewhat, dim with sleep deprivation and wedding planning. Right now we all need to call it a night. “Get some sleep,” I tell Erika. “Everything will work out. We’ll make sure of it.”
    The relief on her face is palpable. Before she shuts her bedroom door, Erika holds up her pinky finger, and I raise mine back. “Promise?”
    I nod.
    â€œWhat’s with that little thing you two always do with your pinkies?” Peyton whispers.
    â€œNothing,” I say. But seeing Erika flash it, I feel the same way I did when I was ten years old. It’s still everything.

Eight
    W ith Erika’s wedding safely relocated to Mystic, and just two days left until the end of