Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants

Under the tent in the backyard, Carmen’s father
hugged her for a long time. When he pulled away his
eyes were full. She was glad he didn’t say anything. She
could tell what he meant.
Lydia hugged her too. It was pure duty, but Carmen
didn’t care. If Lydia loved her father that much, all the
better. Krista pecked her cheek and Paul shook her hand.
“Welcome back,” he said.
If anyone noticed the fact that she was wearing jeans,
they didn’t say so.
“Bridal party! Time for formal pictures!” called the
photographer’s elderly assistant, taking no note of the
fragile air. “Bridal party! Please gather under the magnolia!”
she cried into Krista’s ear. It was as though there
were hordes of them rather than just four.
Carmen headed for the drinks table, but her father
caught her hand. “Come,” he said. “You belong with us.”
“But I’m . . .” She gestured toward the Pants.