From the moment Ashlee asked me to be a bridesmaid, I understood what my wedding gift needed to be. It wasn’t the set of tumblers I shipped her from 14th Street, daffodils and dandelions climbing the sides. It wasn’t helping her angel of a mother practice her speech, making pencil marks for pauses and every deep breath. No, my gift to Ashlee started when she told me Cate from college would be a bridesmaid, too. Cate, the only person on my Facebook feed who was a real, live, red-hat-wearing, rally-going, Fox News–loving, 100 percent-would-vote-for-him- again Trump supporter. This was around the time of “shithole countries,” after “grab ’em by the pussy,” “very fine people,” and Mexicans are “rapists.” I had just taken a job writing appeals for a refugee-aid group, my head filled with names and ages of who the Muslim ban was separating. Remember, you like Cate, I told myself over and over, months before the wedding. Which — to be fair — was true. I’d always liked Cate. Still, this could get dicey. I could see her saying something crass about a specific sect of humanity and me going off on hate crimes rising and trans rights in the military and what the actual fuck is wrong with you? In my head this could awesomely, epically escalate, with me knocking over tables, wineglasses flying everywhere. In the name of facts! In the name of crown thy good with brotherhood! Ashlee would of course be watching us in her mother’s wedding gown, those eighties sleeves fluffed to life only to be splattered with red wine. There’d be no glasses of gold bubbles lifted to the happy couple, no forks clanging for them to kiss. Just the sound of me going ballistic with an egalitarian vengeance no deejay could drown out. This is why I was on extra-good behavior when I saw Cate in the bridal cabin the day of the wedding. I was so nice, in fact, that she asked if I would hold her baby while she got ready. This is how I ended up cradling a Trump supporter’s infant. Rocking and whispering to him softly in the living room. Taking this opportunity to have ourselves a little chat about the power of diversity and being a nation of immigrants. We bounced as we went over some key information he might not have been aware of: how women’s rights are human rights and empathy makes us great. We had a few more minutes, so we reviewed the dangers of misinformation. How just because someone is the loudest it doesn’t make them right. I like to think I held that marvelous mini-human for forty-five minutes, but can’t be sure. However long, it was enough. To get me through curling irons and hair spray. To pose for the photographer both at a beach and in a forest. To ride to the church. To spot my seat beside Cate, her baby, her husband (and his conservative parents!) at the reception. To hear them talk about guns at the bar. To make it the day I successfully stood with my friend. Her white dress glowing. My spine up straight.