"Don't say that! I'm not going to be a bridesmaid. I was justhelping. I am a boy, and boys aren't bridesmaids." Chris stomped his footgirlishly. He felt proud of himself. It was time he stood up to Molly.Molly looked at Chris and laughed. Chris suddenly felt very vulnerable.She was looking at him and laughing as if his resistance amused her.Chris realized he had said the wrong thing. He had a strange desire forsomeone - no, make that Johnny - to be there with him to protect him. Before he could react, Molly grabbed his hand tightly and began tosqueeze.She said, "Listen sissy, one of us is going to be a bridesmaid in thewedding. Do you think it should be me or you?" Chris tried to pry his hand out of his sister but he couldn't. "Please,"he whimpered, "please let go Molly, you're hurting me!"Molly only squeezed harder and continued. "You are the one who watchessoap operas and helps Staci pick out outfits. You are the one who crieslike a baby and fights like a girl. You are the one. So, we sat staring around the room, avoiding eye contact, surrounded by enough people to afford an unusual kind of privacy in the little coffee shop. I gazed in fascination at the iced tea glass in front of me, beads of condensation flowing steadily into my fingers. I glanced back at my mother, she seemed to have found a favorite of the many orange and avocado paintings on the chipping walls. By that time the coffee shop had begun to annoy me in earnest, its efforts to deliver a ramshackle, bohemian air to a Yuppie coffee shop on Stevens Creek were giving me a bone-crushing headache. ‘How are you?’ she asked, trying to sound unaffected and casual, as if minutes hadn’t passed since we last acknowledged each other. She sounded small and beaten. I pitied her then, for the first time in years. Poor Mom, always trying to keep it together. ‘I’m fine. I’m fine.’ Even to myself, my voice sounded lifeless, as if unconvinced by my own statement. I looked up at her, found her looking at me.
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