Adam was being dramatic when he said everything was fucked, but not by much.

We’re a ragtag group, standing in the lobby of the Big House while people rush around us like water around river rocks. I’m pinching the gap in my dress. Jamie has her bridesmaid dress on, a floaty yellow number, but is bare-faced, her mass of curls pushed back by a terry-cloth headband with cat ears. Adam’s mom, Laurie, who met us as we pulled into the parking lot with a placating, “Don’t panic,” has a blond head full of heatless rollers. And Grace, who hobbled down into the hotel lobby green-faced, looks stunning with her hair and makeup done, but she’s wearing a pale pink satin sleep set and Adam’s flannel shirt, her feet shoved into old Adidas slides. It’s Party up top, Progressively Panicked the rest of the way down.

It’s only Eli who’s perfect in his suit. He looks calm and determined standing next to Adam, and it makes me feel that much more unraveled.

I’m done not saying them.

My stomach dips. Saying what?

“This is what we’ve got going on,” Laurie says, wrapping an arm around my waist. “Last night, the wind pulled a Big Daddy branch down onto the deck. The damage is contained to a corner, so it’s still usable. We’ve got people working on shifting the chair and aisle setup.”

“Okay, well, that’s not so bad,” Adam says, shooting a hopeful look at Grace, who looks green again.

“I’m not done.” Adam sighs. “Right.”

She goes on to say there’s another storm system on the way that could hit during the ceremony, but Cole ran out to buy as many umbrellas as he can find for guests. The power has been going in and out all morning and the bakery’s delivery van won’t start, so they’re scrambling to find an alternative vehicle to get the cake here.

“There was also a mix-up with the florist and they went to Meadowcrest instead. They’re here now, but we probably lost about two hours of setup time.”

My heart drops. Shit. That was a task I’d taken on despite Aunt Julia’s offers to split the list. “I— no, I double-confirmed the address with all the vendors yesterday.”

But even as I say it, I remember getting distracted when Jamie popped into the office to let me know she and Blake were back from their grocery run for the party, and I had to dig up the cottage keys so they could drop the bags off. And then again when Eli returned from his therapy call and he kept drifting past the open door, eyes locking with mine.

Seeing my stricken look, Laurie tightens her hold on me. “Hey, don’t worry, sweetie. It might’ve been a wires-crossing situation.”

No wires were crossed. This is all on me.

Adam runs a hand over his mouth. I can’t read the expression on his face, whether he’s angry or disappointed or numb. Any of the options make my head throb. “Are they going to be able to get everything done on time?”

“Yes.”

Everyone’s attention flies to Eli.

“It’s going to be fine,” he says, his eyes focused on me. It’s a soothing thing on top of steel. “We have five hours and a dozen hands. We can make up a couple hours easily.”

Adam eyes him for a beat, then raises an eyebrow, glancing at me again. “All right.”

His tone is even, but I’ve known Adam for sixteen years and can sense some emotion underneath those two words. I feel naked, stripped down by Eli’s words an hour ago, by the way I can still feel the phantom touch of his hands all over my body. And Eli is stripped down, too, unapologetically. It’s not just a friend trying to soothe a friend; the timbre of his voice is heavy with a different kind of care.

So much for being discreet. Thankfully Adam seems too caught up in everything else to fully digest the tone, but anxiety ricochets through me.

Silently, I manifest an escape hatch.

“Blake and I can go see if the florist needs help,” Jamie steps in smoothly, hooking her pinky through mine.

“Absolutely,” Blake agrees. “We’re happy to put ourselves to work.” “I should really fix my mis—”

Julia bustles in, looking harried. “Your officiant just called. She’s got severe food poisoning and can’t make it.”

Adam blinks. “You mean the person who was going to marry us?” He turns on his heel to pace away from us. “Right, of course.”

“Okay, that’s bad,” Grace whispers.

Julia holds up her hands. “Don’t panic.”

“Not listening to that, Aunt Jules,” Adam calls back, chin up to the ceiling. “I told you all the curse was real, and this—” He releases a sharp breath. “Okay. We need to check on all of our necessities—make sure Grace’s wedding dress isn’t ripped to shreds, check on the caterer, call the band and confirm they haven’t been swallowed by a sinkhole.” His attention snaps to me. “You have our wedding bands, right? They haven’t been snatched by some Gollum-looking dude?”

“Is this thirteen-year-old Adam who thinks Lord of the Rings is real speaking?” He gives me a flat look and I hold up my hands. “Kidding. Yes, I have them—”

The words die in my throat. I picture my Wedding Go Bag sitting on the desk in my hotel room. The one I meant to grab as we were rushing out the door, but got distracted from in the midst of my panic. It has my makeup bag in it for touch-ups, various toiletries in case of emergency, a pair of flip- flops for when my feet finally mutiny against these five-inch heels.

And Adam and Grace’s wedding bands. Along with my best woman speech.

Oh shit. Oh shit.

Adam steps forward. “I don’t like that look, Georgia, what is that look?” “No look! I have them.” It’s not a lie; I do have them. Just not here. “Great, well then, if that’s all—”

Cal strides in, interrupting Adam’s sarcastic quip. “The bakery just called and said it’ll be faster if someone drives over to pick up the cake.

One of the employees will ride along to make sure it stays stable in the car.” “Please. In curse-speak, that means the cake is getting fucked up,” Adam

groans.

In his eyes, it’s one more problem, but in mine, it’s a way to check three items off my list: I can jet over to the hotel and get my bag, make up for the vendor snafu by taking this task off everyone’s plate, and put myself out of Eli’s reach. God knows what he’ll say if he gets me alone for a few minutes. Escape hatch manifested. I’m already backing toward the lobby doors,

calling out, “I’ve got it. I’ll be back before you can even miss me.”

 

 

The bag is sitting on the desk just as I left it, Adam’s and Grace’s rings nestled inside. The breath my throat refused to let go of the entire two- wheeled drive over expels in a relieved whoosh.

I look around, half expecting the room to look hurricane-struck. I feel wind-swept after Eli’s cut-off declaration, so everything else should, too.

But it’s quiet and still, calmly holding signs from our morning together

—the razor and washcloth still on the countertop alongside the towel he laid down to set me on, the mussed-up bed and his cologne on the nightstand. I can smell the spice of him. Feel his breath on my neck when he confessed that he’d think of me alone in our apartment while he was alone at his office. It’s a split-screen image in my mind: Eli at work, me at home. Both of us thinking of the other.

God, the absolute, heart-crushing waste of it.

Even feeling the phantom pain of that time hurts so badly I have to curl away from it. I don’t ever want to feel the concentrated version of that heartache again, yet Eli seemed determined to make us remember. To make us talk about it, when what good will it do?

I’ve spent all week—actually, fuck it—many years not saying things and regretting it. I’m done not saying them. I—

There’s a list of declarations that could come after that, because if I wanted the reckoning, they’d be on my list, too: I want to talk about New

York. The night you told me you were done. Why we didn’t fight for each other. Nick and Miriam’s wedding. My job. This week. What we’re doing. What are we doing?

Suddenly, I don’t know. When we made our agreement, I justified it. I was distracted by him and thought giving into it would satiate me in a way I could control. But my need has always been too big, too greedy, too capable of creating messes. Now I can see that the agreement was built with flimsy scaffolding, an excuse to live in a fantasy for a bit. To be, in our own words, a little bit stupid. What would’ve happened if Adam didn’t interrupt earlier? Would I be wrecked right in the middle of the most important day of our best friends’ lives? Would Eli?

It’s safe to say the agreement is dead, and all I have left is the list of reasons I can’t have him beyond this week. We’ll leave Blue Yonder and the spell we wove there will be broken, and though my heart doesn’t want that, my rational brain knows it’s for the best. In reality, we aren’t the twenty- year-olds who loved each other but hadn’t said it yet. We’re the twenty- eight-year-olds who said it hundreds of times and still broke each other’s hearts.

Maybe he’ll go to LA and let go of this determination. Once we’re away from each other, maybe everything won’t feel so consuming. I’ll love him still, but my heart won’t be as utterly exposed as it feels right now.

We just have to get through this day and tomorrow morning and then we can forget about agreements and lists and reckonings.

My phone trills, startling me.

“Get your head in the game, Georgia,” I mutter, pulling my phone out of my bag.

I assume it’s Adam with a well-deserved text asking where the hell I am, but that’s not the message that greets me. It’s from Eli.

Call me if you need me.

I do. I can’t. I stare at it for a handful of seconds I can’t spare. No more distractions. No more disasters. No more mess.

All good! I write. Be back soon.

And then I slip my phone into my bag, ignoring the tight squeeze of my heart. When the door closes behind me, it’s with a near-silent snick, separating me from all the memories and wishes held in that room.

 

 

At Icing on the Cake, I’m presented with a gift from the universe: there’s another baker in Tai’s place, which means I don’t have to face her and remember the tale Eli and I spun. I hold my breath while the box is loaded into the minivan I borrowed from one of Adam’s cousins, only releasing it when they get it into the back seat without incident. The high school employee who’s riding along with me snugs in next to it and then we’re good to go.

It feels too easy given everything else that’s happened, but I decide to take it without question.

You good??? Adam texts as I shut the door. You’ve been gone for a

while. Nothing’s wrong right?

NO, I text back with clammy fingers, running around to the driver’s side. My heels slip on the pavement, slick from a quick-moving shower while I was inside.

My phone buzzes in my hand again. Reassuring, is Adam’s response.

“Shit, shit, shit,” I mutter, turning the ignition and glancing at the dashboard clock, which broadcasts a very worrying time.

I spend the duration of the drive back to Blue Yonder cycling through a mantra of, it’s fine, it’s fine, the cake is fine, you are fine, everything is fine and will be fine. I picture myself gliding down the aisle, smiling at Adam and Grace as they get married under a miraculously materialized blue sky, dancing to Isla’s band with the stars peeking through the tent-top, enjoying a slice of this cake. Having a perfect night and not thinking about anything that makes my heart ache.

I’m nearly calm by the time we pull into the parking lot. I sling my bag over my shoulder, then help get the box out of the van. I continue my mantra to the beat of my careful, staccato footsteps as we make our way up the Big House stairs, balancing the cake. People give us a wide berth out into the courtyard, which is suddenly looking extremely wedding-like—the deck is set up for the ceremony, and the final touches are being put on the tables inside the tent. Grace and Adam wanted rustic, kaleidoscopic color, and it’s everywhere—in the flowers, the table runners, the rainbow breadth of the bridesmaids’ dresses, the green of the land.

Everything is fine. Everything is perfect.

But then I catch sight of Eli standing at the end of the path with Adam and my heart trips. He’s nodding, but looking around distractedly, his eyes wandering—

Locking with mine. I feel his breath on my neck again, the heat of his body, hear those words: I’ve spent all week—actually, fuck it—many years not saying things and regretting it. I’m done not saying them. I—

STOP, I silently yell. I can hear all the words he didn’t say unraveling behind it, and I just got them out of my head.

The box bobbles, and the bakery employee gasps.

“Sorry,” I gasp back, my heart pounding. “We’re good. It’s fine.”

But Adam’s and Eli’s eyes widen in tandem and then they’re striding up the path, their broad shoulders bumping in their haste to get to me.

“I’ve got it,” I call out. “Just tell us where to pu—”

Eli’s close now, so I see the moment it hits him, seconds before it hits me that the sole of my shoe is sliding on the wet pavement. That my feet are slipping right out from beneath me.

And that I—and, more importantly, the cake—am falling.