The Chaos Coven(because Calliope named things the way she did everything else, loud and without asking permission)
Calliope:Official ruling: Jett is in. No takesies backsies.
Raven:Seconded. He stays.
Sierra:Agreed. Welcome, Jett. You’re stuck with us now.
Jett:You guys know I can see this, right?
Calliope:That’s the point, darling. Transparency is key in all healthy relationships.
Raven:Transparency would be picking up the phone. This is theater.
Sierra:Speak for yourself. I’m in my room.
Jett:Same.
Calliope:Well, I’m having a moment down here and it’s VERY sapphic and you’re all missing out.
Raven:Calli. You are alone in a basement.
Calliope:Existing in proximity to myself is inherently sapphic when you’re this gay.
Sierra:I’m going to bed before this gets weirder.
Jett:Same. Night, everyone.
Calliope:GOODNIGHT, SWEET PRINCE. MAY FLIGHTS OF ANGELS SING THEE TO THY REST.
Raven:She’s been drinking her mom’s wine again.
Calliope:LIES AND SLANDER.
I would look at the thread later when I needed proof. I had people now. Loud, ridiculous, looked-me-in-the-face-and-didn’t-flinch people.
I fell asleep with the phone still in my hand. Lighter than I’d been in months. Safer than I’d been in years.
The strong part would come later. I’d already started.
Chapter three
The flower arch leaned to the left like a guest who’d hit the open bar too early.
Not dramatically. Just enough to bug the bride six months from now when she’d be looking at her photos and notice the asymmetry. Three years in this business had taught me one thing for sure: brides always caught the asymmetry.
“Marco!” I waved across the rooftop. “It’s leaning left. Forty-three minutes.”
Marco was one of my favorite vendors and one of the few ones who could read me at this distance. He nodded and jogged over with his assistant, a kid I didn’t recognize who was carrying the level the wrong way. I let them handle it.
The venue was doing its job. Converted warehouse, the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the bridge, string lights, Edison bulbs throwing the warm amber glow that every bride wanted in her photos, and most of them couldn’t have named. White linens. Gold chargers. The peonies and eucalyptus I’d personally re-ordered yesterday after the florist sent over afirst batch that looked like it had survived a war.
Everything held.
“Jett!” The bride’s sister rushed over in her dusty rose dress. She was the maid of honor. I committed her name to memory because bridesmaids could either be your best ally or your worst nightmare. “The DJ says he can’t find the outlet for his equipment.”
Outlets. Everywhere. I’d labeled them myself during setup. “I’ll handle it. You go check on Emma, make sure she’s not having a meltdown.”
“She’s actually weirdly calm.”
