Page 91 of Bridesmaid to Bride

“Skye.”

“Don’t interrupt me—I’m levitating!” She cries out.

“You’re firmly planted on the floor.” I inhale the scent of expensive lavender blueberry perfume and burning incense.

“I’m micro-levitating. I was about to transcend.”

“Sorry not sorry.” My face crumples. “Grumpy butt.”

She shimmies out from under the pyramid frame. “What’s got you more wound up than a Jack-in-the-box?”

I go to answer her, but as I stand, the weight in my chest grows heavier. And as though Skye can read my thoughts, she says, “Oh, hon. Sit.” She guides me over to her velvety soft couch.

Once I’m seated, I say, “Skye,” and it’s whisper soft. “So, you know everything at the wedding—the tension with my dad? It all made me come face to face with a piece of myself and my past that I buried.”

“I can imagine.”

“You know how my mom died?” My voice is barely above a whisper.

Her expression softens, and she reaches over to squeeze my hand. “Of course, Eva.”

I go to say the words out loud, but they won’t come.

“I know,” she whispers.

“Right.” I clear my throat. “So you know I was in the car with her,” I say, the memory surfacing like a ghost. “And she saved me, but I don’t exactly really remember it. Just the parts that come up in my nightmares.”

Skye nods, her usual vibrancy muted.

“I was hoping you’d help me work through it.”

“Of course. I’m thrilled to help.” She rubs my back. “And your dad—Eva, I’m so sorry. You know you’re not to blame, right?”

“Logically, yes.” I swallow hard. “But illogically, I always feel responsible. Responsible for Paige, who wouldn’t speak—wouldn’t eat—after Mom died.” My throat tightens, the words catching. “And Dad, he was so lost he became someone else. I feel responsible for that too.”

“He always kept your mother’s death trapped inside. That’s why we couldn’t work,” Skye whispers, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“I don’t know how to stop it, but I want to.”

“Sweetie, you had more than an adult can handle, much less an eight-year-old.” Skye’s voice is gentle, but her grip on my hand is firm, grounding.

I nod, feeling sorry for the eight-year-old me who had to handle all that too. “All I could do is become the reliable one, and that doesn’t come with an off switch. You can’t just stop caring because it’s hard—you have to keep going, keep holding things together. Because if you don’t, who will?”

“Sometimes the hardest thing is to let yourself fall apart. Maybe it’s time you give yourself permission to feel all the messy, scary stuff. To be vulnerable.”

“Vulnerable,” I echo, rolling the word around in my mouth—bittersweet. I know Skye’s right, so I say, “Yes—it’s time to face my fears instead of burying them under a mountain of responsibility.”

She brushes a wisp of hair from my face. “It’s time to stop being the rock and start being the diamond.”

My lips quirk up. “Stop being the rock and start being the diamond,” I echo. “I’d love that.”

“Excellent. Let’s get you there. And with that said, I have a possible first step. If you’re open to it.”

“Sure, of course.”

“Good. Glad you said yes because it would’ve been awkward if you’d said no.” She punches out a text, and a minute later, Riley, with her growing belly—much bigger than it was the last time I saw her—and Sophie appear from the hallway, and they have weird looks on their faces.

“Oh my God!” I run up to both of them and pull them into hugs. “I’ve missed you both so much.”

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