"That's either for emergencies or for me," Poppy says, eyeing the whiskey from her chair.
"It's for whoever needs it first." Erin crosses to her and kisses her cheek, one hand smoothing down her hair with the gentle calmness that Erin brings to everything. "How are we feeling?"
"Unstable."
"Perfect. Right on schedule."
We fall into the rhythm of getting ready as we talk about Poppy's beautiful future to distract her nerves. About the home they're building and the nursery she's already designed in her head, the color she wants for the walls and the rocking chair Will is going to build her.
Her voice is bright when she talks about babies, but I catch the flicker underneath. The grief she carries quietly, the months of trying that haven't worked yet, the hope she refuses to let go of even when it hurts.
I don't say anything. I just listen and hand her a tissue when her eyes get too shiny and believe, in my heart, that she and Ramsey are meant to be parents. That they'll have the children they want so desperately, one way or another. Some things I just know.
I end up on the windowsill with my champagne, knees pulled up, watching them. My girls.
The morning light is pouring through the window and catching dust motes in the air, making the whole room look like something from a painting. They're talking about something, laughing about something, and I'm sitting here watching them.
They belong here. They'll be together, raising families side by side, growing old in this town that holds them so gently.
The countdown isn't just about Callahan. It isn't just about Will or the apartment or the big window or the cold harbor mornings. It's about this. These two women in a room full of morning light, getting ready for a wedding I won't be here for the anniversary of. I'll be in their lives. Always. But I'll be far away. And far away is a different thing than here.
"Lily." I glance over and find Erin watching me from the bed. "Come sit."
I uncurl myself from the windowsill and cross the room, settling beside her on the edge of the bed. She puts her arm around me without hesitation.
"Don't you dare cry before the ceremony," she says, her tone light but her grip firm. "I have a very specific crying schedule and we are not ahead of it."
"I'm not crying."
"Your chin is wobbling and your eyes are shiny."
She pulls me closer. "And if you start, Poppy starts, and if Poppy starts, we'll all be a mess and we don't have time to redo our makeup."
"I can hear you," Poppy calls from her chair, mascara wand paused mid-air, "and I'm already on the edge. Do not push me."
I've been like this for weeks, a tap that won't stop leaking, tears surfacing at the smallest provocation. Erin pulls me closer against her side and I lean into her warmth, and hold it together because today is not about me.
Today is about Poppy and Ramsey and the life they're building. I'm a bridesmaid. My job is to hold the bouquet and fix the train and give a speech and be steady. I can be steady.
My dress is sage green, the color of new leaves in May. I stand in front of the mirror and think I'm about to hold flowers and cry at a wedding and pretend the tears are about the bride.
The dress is beautiful. Simple and long, a cut that skims without clinging, elegant in the understated way that Poppy insisted on for us. Erin's is the same, and when we stand side by side in the mirror, we look matched and coordinated, like pieces that fit together.
"Ready?" Erin asks.
I nod. My throat is too tight for words.
The door to the bathroom opens and Poppy steps out. Her dress is very much Poppy. It has a deep neckline and lace that looks like it was grown instead of sewn, organic and wild and somehow both delicate and fierce. The train pools behind her like water, like something living, and she stands there in the middle of the room looking like she stepped out of a dream.
"Well?" she says, her voice uncertain.
Erin presses her fingers to her mouth. My eyes fill and I don't fight it.
"Poppy," I breathe. "Oh my God."
"Is that a good oh my God or a bad oh my God?"
"It's a you-look-like-an-actual-bride oh my God."
