Alex shook his head and gave my sister an adoring glance. “Thanks, Mr. B., but Di and I need to check out a few things with the florist.”

Mom shot Di a horrified look only the mother of the bride could produce with conviction. “What? Is there something wrong with the arrangements? The reception centerpieces we chose? That flower guy promised me — ”

“Nah, nothing like that,” Di said. “We just wanted to make sure they had the right number of corsages and boutonnieres for the ceremony Saturday.”

Mom brought her palm up to her heaving chest. “Oh, good.” She motioned for Alex to sit down. “Eat then. Now. We’ve got pecan pie and vanilla ice cream for dessert when you’re done.”

Alex took one look at our mother’s anxious expression and, apparently, didn’t dare disobey. He picked up his fork and dug in.

Mom used this opportunity to whip out her encyclopedia-sized planning calendar. “What else is left to check on today? Ellie already called about the final dress fittings. I talked with the musicians yesterday, and everything is set there. The photographer is okay. The videographer is fine, too. Di, you got ahold of the Reverend?”

“Yep,” Di said. “And Ellie and I also double-checked the cake order over the weekend.”

“That’s right…the cake,” Mom said. Then, “Oh, God! Ellie, the caterers! Did you — ”

“Everything’s under control,” I told her, trying to sound reassuring. “I sampled the entire menu again on Monday, and chicken Marsala with broccoli almondine never tasted so good. The wedding dinner will be great. Don’t worry.”

“You can be sure it will if Ellie’s in charge of it,” Angelique piped up. “Remember Di’s bachelorette party? The food was delicious. I’m still salivating over that scrumptious teriyaki salmon.” My cousin directed her comments to my mom, but she winked at me.

“Yes, yes that was good,” Mom admitted.

“And the mashed potatoes were super fluffy,” Angelique’s daughter Lyssa added, proving the ten-year-old was as sweet as she was smart.

Nadia laughed. “Forget about the food. Awesome as it was, let’s not overlook the entertainment Ellie chose for us that night!”

This got a big laugh from the ladies present. Dad, Leo, Alex, Gregory and his sons, however, appeared less amused.

I blushed, although I’d done nothing more perverted than hire a fun-loving male dancer, whose sole job was to show us some cool moves and give us a crash course in new millennium hip-hop (while keeping on every stitch of his clothing, mind you). Even Mom got into the fun. But we’d all made a pact afterward not to tell the men what had really transpired that night, for which none of the guys had forgiven us.

Di grinned at me and said, “Yeah, that wild sister of mine really knows how to plan a party. I’m a lucky bride.” Then, as I tried to shrug off her compliment, Di turned to our parents and added, “Thanks for giving me Ellie.”

At this, Gregory jumped up. “Hey, what about me? Don’t I count?” He tried to strike an indignant pose, but it didn’t quite work.

Di said, “Oh, sorry, bro. Mom, Dad, thanks for giving Ellie to Gregory, too.”

Our family laughter was interrupted by the doorbell ringing for the second time that Wednesday.

Mom said, “I’ll get it. I’m expecting an extra package of wedding favors. That Mary-somebody said she’d FedEx over another box today.”

While Mom signed for her box, Dad, Leo, Gregory and most of the males headed downstairs to watch the first basketball game, bowls of pie and ice cream in hand.

Angelique, torn between wanting to see the game and wanting to chitchat with the women, shoved one of the triplets at Leo, put Lyssa in charge of another one and chased the third one around the living room.

Alex gobbled up the rest of his lunch and, before he could pull Di out the door, was promptly handed dessert.

“Eat this,” my mother said. Alex sat back down again and let Di feed him a huge spoonful of ice-cream-drenched pie.

Little Clifton toddled over to me and threw his chunky little arms around my knees. I grabbed him for a bear hug and he wriggled and giggled, making me laugh with all of his squirminess.

Over the past few months I’d tried to puzzle out which of Di’s ex-boyfriends he looked liked. If pressed, I’d have to say the only male he really resembled was our brother. The Barnett side had strongly marked his young features, and Clifton seemed to know this clan was where he belonged.

Alex, however, appeared to have no recollection of Clifton not being biologically his, which pleased me to witness. When Di got up to flip through the big wedding planner, Alex waved his spoon at her son and said, “Want some ice cream, Cliffy?”

My nephew wavered between the two of us.

“Aw, c’mon, kiddo.” Alex chuckled and winked in my direction. “I know no one’s more fun than your Auntie El, but Daddy’s got ice cream here…”

Clifton finally made his decision and, with a parting squeeze of those stubby, sticky fingers, waddled over to Alex, mouth open and ready.

Di caught my eye, embracing me in a glance with her heartfelt contentedness. And I could imagine her joy at being part of that happy trio, even though I’d never experience the same.

There was nothing like thinking you’d lost someone for good to put petty disagreements into perspective. Alex cast his pride aside and came running back when he thought Di might’ve moved on without him. Di reached true forgiveness only when she realized the love she had for Alex was much stronger than the passing fancy she’d felt toward other men.

And I’d gained a clarity of heart once I finally decided to search for myself, even though, in the process, I had to face the fact that this understanding had come too late. That I’d lost any chance of ever getting together with Sam.

Those early weeks after finding out about his engagement had been hard. So much so that I’d finally confided in Di (in person) and Angelique (via long-distance telephone) about my strange and assorted history with him. I needed advice, and Jane, who was so wise and generous in every other situation, refused to give counsel when it came to “that Wickham, Sam Blaine.” Though my news surprised both my sister and my cousin, they surprised me more by being amazingly sympathetic.

“Your soul mate could not be genuinely happy without you,” Angelique had said when I’d first called her about it. “If Sam has moved on, after everything you’ve told me about your relationship, then he was never really your man. You deserve someone whose eyes light up when he sees you across the room. Someone who’ll rub your shoulders when they’re aching just because he wants to relieve your pain. Someone whose heart never stops beating for you. And that man is out there for you, Ellie,” she assured me. “It’s worth taking your time to find him.”

Di’s advice directly contradicted this and was somewhat less poetic. “True love sucks,” she’d said one day, “and there’s no such thing as soul mates, no matter what Hollywood or Angelique says. It’s all work and building trust and fighting for commitment, day after day after day. And both people need to want to make it happen. Bad. Otherwise, fuck it.”

Months later, the memory of Angelique and Di’s words of wisdom still made me grin. My philosophy on romantic love fell somewhere in the middle of their extremes, but the familial devotion and appreciation I felt flowing from my closest relatives, even from those who weren’t aware of my heartache, had given me the courage to expose myself to dating again.

The results had been less than inspiring so far, but I was giving it a shot. At the start of the year, I’d written Sam a heartfelt and personally cleansing note of congratulations on his upcoming nuptials. It said:

Dear Sam,

I heard the news of your engagement through the Glen Forest grapevine — congratulations. I guess there’s a side of me that’ll always remember our friendship as it’d been during those emotional, unforgettable high school years…it’s hard to believe we’re so grown up now. I don’t think I ever told you how much those memories meant to me, though, or how glad I am that — despite everything — you were a part of my life back then.

Anyway, I know we haven’t seen each other in half a decade, and when last we did, well, it was awkward. I didn’t want to leave things between us like that. So, please know, I’m thinking of you fondly and wishing you and your fiancée well as you begin your life together.

Best,

Ellie

Yes, the whole message consisted of no more than six complex sentences but, as I wrote those words and sincerely wished him happiness with the woman he’d chosen, I also silently released him from my mind.

It was long past time to let Sam Blaine go.

Likewise, I’d recently begun to let go of the soul-mate, fairytale fantasy I’d clung to for ages while still striving to stay open to romantic possibilities. I had to turn my attention — realistically — toward the future.

I knew I could support myself financially and that my goofy family would support me emotionally when I needed a boost. I had the love of my parents, my siblings, my cousin and my friends (including Jane), all of whom would be there for me no matter what the circumstance.

And if the only happily-ever-after ending I would ever get in this life would be one I had to create for myself, so be it. I was capable of making come true any dream I wanted.

If I felt the need for a large backyard and an English flower garden, I could sell my modest townhouse and buy something bigger.

If the maternal instinct got too strong, I could go to a sperm bank and order up my own baby. I could!