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my hand away as I lifted the towels and bent down to peek under.
    “Well, as long as there is a huge vat of jambalaya on that long table of dishes.” I rubbed my stomach.
    “You know I’d never forget the jambalaya. Now get!”
    “Okay, okay, I’m going,” I said with an accommodating smile. “Are you about ready to leave?” I asked Tami as she came in the doorway and she stacked her dishes in the sink.
    “Yup,” she said. “Is Megan gonna be okay with you today, Marney? I don’t want her to be in the way.”
    “She is never in my way, honey, don’t you worry. You two go and have fun.”
    “Floral shops, rental companies, and caterers. Yippee!” I exclaimed, clapping my hands wildly.
    The roads were damp from a spurt of rain that had drifted across the area as daylight dawned. The air was hot and the wind was dull and almost nonexistent as we drove through the various back roads toward Lafayette. As we drove, I couldn’t help but feel comforted by the sporadic glimpses of the bayou between the planted brush.
    Tami talked about Bradley and Megan, interweaving the bad points with the good and changing her tone from anger to pleasure as she spoke. I listened with a receptive ear, grinning and adding a few words of encouragement, smiling largely at the joys of Megan as she recalled them. I was interested, though my mind wondered at points as I stared out the car window and thought of my own life. It was simpler than my sister’s; I had an impressive collection of friends in Seattle, and by most accounts, little to complain about.
    As Tami talked, my insides began to tremble. I had already come out at least partially. I had been on a few dates, done the rounds at the local gay bars, played pool and done my best to fit into the culture. But when it had come time to actually be with a woman, it hadn’t happened. My sister’s life with Bradley had been plagued by disappointment, but I had missed the experience of snuggling into a warm embrace and having someone look at me in a way that was reserved only for me. In a small way I was jealous of Tami. Her life had hit a snag, but she had someone, no matter how far it strayed from the ideal.
    “What kind of flowers is Mom thinking this year?” Tami asked, switching subjects.
    “Tulip and lily combination.”
    “Lilies? Aren’t those for funerals?”
    “Maybe we are supposed to see the subtle symbolism,” I joked.
    “Mom lives for these parties.”
    “How does she do it every year? It’s so much work, the people, the preparation. I just don’t see how she has kept it up all these years, especially since Daddy died.”
    “Why does she do it? That’s a better question.”
    “You know she thinks it’s her duty. She has to keep herself loyal to the tradition. I just don’t know if I’m gonna be able to do it.” The words caught in Tami’s throat and she stammered, “Maybe it’s that I don’t know if I want to.”
    “There’s nothing that says you have to.”
    “I do have to. You won’t do it, and as the oldest, the responsibility falls onto me.” Her voice rose sharply.
    We turned off the interstate at exit 167 and merged onto Main Street before parking a few doors from Archilon Florists. A cowbell rang out as we pulled opened the door. I stepped just over the threshold, and the aroma of roses, potting soil, and soaked floral foam flew into me as I inhaled, laying to the back of my tongue until I let out a cough to clear my throat.
    “Well, ladies, what’s on the list for this year’s party?” Wilma asked as she shoved the last stem of baby’s breath into an arrangement of African daisy and primrose.
    She was a sweet woman somewhere in the later stages of life. She walked with a whittled cane of teakwood, dragging her limp left leg over the floor behind her as she walked. Her smock was bright orange and as floral as her many vases and bouquets and as chromatic as her friendly disposition. She was a widow, childless, and the stress of running