Page 70 of Passing Ships

“They really need a rug or something under this sofa,” she declares when she catches her breath.

I burst out laughing.

“Maybe we should buy them one as a wedding gift,” I suggest as I flip us, and her weight lands on top of me.

“That’s a good idea. Maybe they’ll forgive us for the scratches.”

I kiss the top of her head. “Feel better?”

She snuggles against my chest.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever feel better,” she mutters.

“One day,” I say as I kiss her forehead.

I thread my hand through her hair as one of her fingers absentmindedly draws circles on my skin.

She moans as I massage her scalp, and her eyes flutter shut.

Within minutes, she’s asleep.

Not wanting to disturb her, I grab one of the decorative pillows and shove it behind my head, tug the blanket that’s draped on the back of the couch over us, and settle in.

She mumbles and weeps in her sleep.

I hold her tight as her sadness leaks out onto my chest.

And I don’t sleep a wink.

Amiya

Where did the month go?

I swear it seemed like the engagement time crawled at a snail’s pace until I made it to the island, and the past three weeks just whizzed by at warp speed.

Now, we’re ten days from the big event, and everything feels rushed.

Admittedly, I lost several days after the trip to Atlanta. I was in a fog. But I know for a fact that my grandmother would be so angry with me if I let her situation keep me from being present for Avie. So, I pulled up my big-girl socks, as she would say, and got my ass back in gear. Throwing the most epic coed bridal-groomal shower of all time. The Bloody Mary and bougie beer bars were a hit.

Even Naomie enjoyed partaking.

Next up on the agenda is today’s bridal luncheon for the bridal party, mothers, Nana, and Ida Mae, hosted by me and the bridesmaids: Lisa, Savannah, and Eden. Followed by the pièce de resistance—the bachelorette party—on Friday night.

I have a meticulously planned day and night in store for Avie and the girls, and I can’t wait.

Eden picks me up at eleven, and we head to the wharf. Employees from the Boathouse Restaurant are already setting up the tables under the tent that has been erected near the water.

The ocean breeze plays with the white lace of the tablecloths as we stand at the edge of the deck, looking out at the shimmering liquid horizon. The sky is painted in soft blues and swirled with white clouds, blending seamlessly into the calm sea. Everything looks perfect, just as I imagined it would. Yet a knot of nerves sits heavy in my stomach. I want every detail to be flawless.

“It’s gorgeous,” Eden squeals.

I take a deep breath, letting the salty air fill my lungs, and then slowly release it.

Today is about Avie. My best friend, the person who’s been with me through everything. And if there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s that she deserves nothing less than perfect.

We walk over to survey the setup. The long table, draped in pale lavender linen, is nestled under the shade of the white canopy. Delicate arrangements of peonies, hydrangeas, and daisies spill from tall crystal vases, their soft pinks and creamy whites reflecting the wedding color palette. The silver cutlery glints in the light, and the champagne flutes are lined up in neat rows, waiting to be filled.

The staff is still moving around, adjusting things here and there, but everything is almost ready. Just in time.

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