You know what's the perfect thing to do when your wedding is in one week? Crash out on your sister. Obviously.
The entire week after the reunion, I have been helping my sister non stop for the wedding preparations. I also had to run errands to Derek, my sisters fiancé, to check if he agrees to whatever we selected.
Derek is a nice guy.
He feeds me.
And now, my sister is currently crashing out on me.
Like, full meltdown mode.
She's pacing the living room in fuzzy socks and curlers, clutching her phone like it personally betrayed her. The seating chart is pulled up on the TV.
Again.
For the fifth time today. I'm sprawled on the couch, surrounded by swatches of fabric, ribbon samples, and a half-eaten sandwich Derek dropped off earlier like a peace offering.
"I told Mom not to invite Aunt Rosa's bridge friends," she says, gesturing wildly at the screen. "They don't even know Derek."
Aunt Rosa's friends were SHARKS. They would try to embarrass them and bombard them with questions.
"They know of Derek," I offer. "Which, according to Mom logic, is basically the same thing."
She stops pacing and glares at me. "This is not funny, Roxy."
"I know," I say quickly. "Sorry. Crisis tone engaged."
She exhales sharply and collapses onto the armchair across from me, burying her face in her hands. "Everything is going wrong."
I sit up a little straighter. "Okay. Pause. Nothing is on fire. No one has run away. The dress still fits. The venue still exists."
"The flowers are the wrong shade of ivory."
"There are multiple ivories," I say gently. "This is a known scam."
She looks up at me, eyes glassy. "What if it's not perfect?"
There it is.
I sigh, pushing myself off the couch and grabbing the sandwich Derek left behind. I split it in half and hand her a piece.
"Eat," I say. "You can't spiral on an empty stomach. That's illegal."
She sniffs, but takes it. "Derek always feeds you."
"Because Derek understands priorities."
She manages a weak smile, then takes a bite. Silence settles between us, the good kind—the kind that only exists between sisters who've seen each other at their worst.
"I'm scared," she admits quietly.
I lean back against the coffee table. "Of the wedding?"
"Of everything after," she says. "What if I mess it up? What if we change? What if I wake up one day and realize I wasn't ready?"
I study her for a moment. My big sister. The one who used to braid my hair before school. The one who covered for me when I snuck out. The one who always seemed so sure of herself.
"You know," I say slowly, "if you weren't nervous, I'd be more concerned."
She laughs softly. "That's not comforting."
"It kind of is," I argue. "You're not walking into this blind. You're choosing it. Big difference."
She nods, chewing thoughtfully. "You always say things like that. Like you've got it all figured out."
I snort. "Absolutely not. I just panic quieter."
Her phone buzzes. She glances at it, then groans. "Mom again."
"Let it ring."
"I can't."
"Yes, you can."
She ignores me and answers. I tune out, letting my gaze drift around the apartment. Wedding magazines stacked on every surface. A veil draped over a chair like a ghost. Our childhood photos framed on the wall. Us at the beach, us covered in paint, us laughing like the world hadn't figured out how to complicate things yet.
My phone buzzes.
Are you alive or buried under tulle?
I smile. It was Mayven
Currently referee-ing a bridal meltdown. I reply
Hot. Call me later.
I tuck my phone away just as my sister hangs up, looking marginally calmer.
"She wants to add another table," she says flatly.
"Of course she does."
"She says it's for 'energy.'"
I make a face. "That's not a seating strategy."
She laughs again, real this time. Then she looks at me, expression shifting.
"You've been… different lately," she says. "Since the reunion."
I stiffen slightly. "Different how?"
"Lighter," she says. "Like you stopped carrying something heavy."
I don't answer right away.
"I think," I say carefully, "I finally stopped trying to follow the rules again, and try to be who I really am. A rebel."
She nods, like that makes sense. "Good. I always liked that version, anyway."
I raise an eyebrow. "Rude."
"Honest."
There's a knock at the door before I can retaliate. Derek lets himself in, arms full of grocery bags.
"I brought reinforcements," he announces. "And dessert."
I stand immediately. "You are a saint."
He grins. "I try."
He sets everything down and kisses my sister's forehead. "You okay?"
She exhales. "I think so."
He squeezes her hand. "One week," he says softly. "Then we get to stop planning and start living."
I look away, suddenly feeling like I've walked into a moment I shouldn't intrude on.
"Roxy," Derek says, turning to me. "You're coming to the final fitting tomorrow, right?"
"Wouldn't miss it," I say.
"Good," my sister adds. "I need you there."
There's something about the way she says it. Steady, sure, that makes my chest tighten.
Later, when the apartment finally quiets down and I crash on the guest bed, I stare up at the ceiling, thoughts buzzing.
A week.
A wedding.
A future unfolding whether you're ready or not.
I think of the dance floor. Of Mason. Of Felix. Of the girl I used to be and the woman I'm still becoming.
My phone buzzes again.
Felix: Hope the wedding chaos isn't too brutal.
I smile, thumbs hovering.
Me: Survivable. Barely.
Felix:That's high praise.
I set the phone down, heart steady.
One week until vows are exchanged. One week until everything changes.
And this one week, we had to make sure that EVERYTHING is perfect.
No pressure.