Page 130 of Sparks Fly

Certainty.

I wasn’t counting the hours anymore. I wasn’t wondering where I stood or trying to convince myself to want less. Sawyer had become part of my life in a way that felt steady instead of fragile.

Somewhere along the way, I stopped apologizing for wanting more time with her. I stopped pretending I didn’t miss her. Stopped acting like caring this much was something I needed to manage.

It wasn’t dramatic or rushed.

It just felt real.

By the end of those two weeks, planning my days around Sawyer didn’t feel strange anymore. It felt natural.

Things were good.

Really good.

I had no idea how quickly that would start to matter.

* * *

The weather was the first thing that gave it away. Summer never ended all at once. It never does. But one morning I stepped outside and the air felt thinner, cooler, the kind of chill that made me pause before leaving without a jacket. Leaves along the sidewalks had started to turn at the edges, green bleeding slowly into yellow as the city eased itself into fall whether anyone was ready or not.

The wedding was a week away.

Suddenly everything sped up. Group chats reignited. Vendor confirmations came through in bursts. Seating charts shifted three different times. Final dress fittings filled the middle of my afternoons, and last-minute details appeared out of nowhere— the kind of details that only mattered because they mattered to Lilly, and because I had promised years ago that I would make sure her day was perfect.

And I wanted to. I wanted it to be perfect for her.

And I was good at this part. Logistics. Coordination. Smiling through stress and answering questions before they fully formed. I handled it the same way I handled everything else in my life, with competence, composure, and very little visible strain.

But there was one question that kept surfacing no matter how often I redirected the conversation.

So who are you bringing to the wedding? Someone asked.

You can’t show up alone to something that fancy. Another had said.

Even distant relatives had opinions, and friends I hadn’t seen in ages when I ran into them at the grocery store. You must have a date lined up.

I always gave the same answer. Oh, no one. Or, I’m in the wedding. I’ll be busy.

Both were true. Just not the whole truth.

The truth was that I wanted to bring Sawyer. I could see it clearly in my mind, her in a suit that fit just a little too well, carrying that quiet confidence she slipped into whenever she cleaned up. I imagined the way she would keep a hand at the small of my back like an anchor, the way she would pull me onto the dance floor without asking, the way we would slip outside for air when the room got too loud.

I could see us laughing in the corners of the reception hall when things inevitably became overwhelming.

But I still couldn’t say it out loud.

* * *

Sunday dinner at my parents’ house arrived with its usual weight, obligation disguised as routine. I arrived on time with a bottle of expensive wine in my hand and my smile already practiced into place.

The house smelled like roast chicken and rosemary. Candles were lit along the table, the place settings perfectly arranged. Everything looked warm and inviting in a way that felt carefully constructed rather than spontaneous.

My mother greeted me at the door, her eyes scanning me automatically like she was taking inventory.

“You look tired,” she said as she stepped back to let me inside.

“Busy,” I corrected while setting the wine on the counter.