9/7/13: 10:30 a.m.

Louisville

A marching band might as well stormed through my door. It might have been less disruptive. The second I had it open wide enough, two women ambushed me with hugs and squeals, both a few years younger than me, one a tattooed Snow White, the other a blonde Amazon.

“It’s the big daaaaaaay!” Rochelle sang out, planting kisses on both my cheeks.

“Morning, girls,” I said with as much enthusiasm as I could muster in the absence of caffeine, half-muffled by Lindie’s boobs.

The two took off down the hall, Lindie in the lead. I assumed she remembered the house pretty well from her weekend here earlier in the year. In their wake, two garment bags had been laid hastily over the back of the living room couch, a gym bag tossed to the floor and an enormous wheeled train case -- full of all the various cosmetics Rochelle planned to use to beautify everyone in this house, I figured -- parked next to it.

“Sure. Yeah. Make yourselves at home,” I mumbled. “Pancakes in the kitchen.”

I turned back to the front door, where Howie stood in a wrinkled T-shirt and jeans, sunglasses still covering his warm brown face, holding a Starbucks cup and shaking his head.

“They both did espresso shots just now,” he said. “And I assume they got more sleep than me.”

“Probably more than me, too,” I admitted. I hugged Howie, and he returned the hug with one arm and a peck on the cheek, holding his Starbucks cup a safe distance from me. “How was the bachelor party?”

He grinned. “Like old times. Fourth Street, stupid human tricks and a lot of Halo. You can ask him the rest later. He was out cold when I left.”

“Well, come on down here and hang out for a minute. Mom’ll want to shovel pancakes down your throat.” I turned and padded down the hall toward the kitchen, hardwood chilly against my bare feet, still in the T-shirt and bogarted boxers I’d slept in.

“Is Baylee ready to go?”

I threw a skeptical look at Howie over my shoulder as he hung his sunglasses from the neck of his T-shirt. “I’ll let you be the judge of that.”

In the kitchen/dining room, the place to be was around the huge pine table, eating chocolate chip pancakes and turkey sausage off square white dishes. My mother, charming, birdlike, bathrobed, graying chestnut-brown pixie cut sticking up in a million directions, was chatting brightly with Rochelle and Lindie as she forked pancakes and sausage onto plates for them from the granite island in the adjacent kitchen. My best friend, Alicia, sat in front of an empty plate streaked with maple syrup, elbows on the table, listening to the conversation. Baylee sat at the far end of the table in an Adventure Time T-shirt newly stained with syrup, eating, with great gusto, a sausage wrapped in a pancake.

“You’re not ready,” Howie said to him.

Baylee gave him a shitty grin. He was so his father’s Mini-Me. “Nope.”

Howie walked up behind him and ruffled his newly short blond hair. “School haircut?” Baylee nodded, his mouth full. “Nice. Manly.”

I crossed my arms and smiled at them. “He’ll be shaving before we know it.” He was a couple months shy of 11, but the haircut made a world of difference. My little buddy wasn’t a little kid anymore, not that I had ever really known him as one, I supposed.

Baylee rolled his eyes, swallowing hard. “I’m never gonna shave,” he informed us. “I’m gonna grow a great big beard like Duck Dynasty.”

Mom finished waiting on the girls and walked over to Howie. “I’m terrible with names. Remind me,” she said cheerfully.

I gestured between the two. “Connie Fuller, Howie Dorough.”

Howie shook Mom’s hand firmly and gave her a charming smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Fuller.”

“Please. Connie. And the pleasure’s all mine.” Mom waved a dismissive hand, a gesture she seemed to have practiced in the mirror, and I could barely squelch a smile at the starstruck look in her eyes, as if it was just hitting her this weekend, after all this time, whom exactly I associated with.

“You two could be sisters.” Howie said to Mom, shooting me a wink. Behind him, Baylee rolled his eyes.

“All right, well, go on, then,” Rochelle said, shooing Howie away as she settled in next to Alicia. “We’ve got the ultimate girls’ day ahead. Sorry you have to be part of it, Baylee,” she added.

“Yeah, I guess I’ll send your Uncle Kevin back over here in a little while.” Howie pointed a stern finger at Baylee. “You better be all showered and ready to go. He’ll crack the whip.”

I walked Howie to the front door. “Thanks for bringing the girls over,” I said as I opened the big, white wooden door. “You have done your duty, good and faithful bandmate.”

“Y’all have fun primping.” He turned and hugged me again. “I’ll see you this evening, Mrs. Littrell.”

I made a big show of looking around. “Wait, when did my mother-in-law get here?”

Howie rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“That’s not even my name yet. And as far as my readers are concerned, it never will be.” I leaned against the cool doorframe, enjoying the breeze against my bare legs and the little wave of nostalgia that swept over me as I said, “Seriously, though. You were the first person to pick up on what was going on, you know that? I think even before me.”

Howie nodded. “And you remember what I said then? I said be good to my brother.”

“And now what do you say?”

He shrugged, but his eyes were warm. “Be good to my brother. Be excellent to each other.”

I smirked. “Is that your big wedding-day advice?”

His eyes widened. “Oh, shit! That reminds me.”

He darted out to his rented SUV, and I followed him. He reached into the backseat and produced a little white jewelry box, tied with a purple ribbon, with a square, folded piece of hotel stationery tucked under the box.

I smiled at the sight of the little box. Leigh and Kevin’s wife, Kristin, had told me to expect an unspecified “something borrowed” from each of them. They had designated themselves Backstreet nannies for the day as we all got ready, but both of them had told me privately they wanted to do something just for me. It was a beautiful thought, this friendship, this sisterhood into which I was being welcomed.

Inside the box was a little vintage hair comb of white silk flowers and pearls. The note read, in loopy script:

My mother wore this on her wedding day, I wore it on mine, and I hope it brings you luck on yours. You guys are in our prayers for a beautiful day & a beautiful life! See you tonight!

xoxo,

Leigh

It was so lovely that a little squeak escaped me in spite of myself. I patted Howie’s shoulder. “You guys are better than I deserve,” I managed. “Every one of you.”

Howie smiled. “We’re pretty damn excited for you, Mrs. Littrell.”

“Not yet.”

“Close enough.” He winked, and then he got into the SUV and drove away, leaving me standing in the damp grass, with seven hours and 45 minutes until I married Brian Littrell.