Chapter 30
Gwen
She’d left the office garage with no luggage, just her blazer and her phone. At the airport, she bought a ticket for the first flight to Traverse City without even checking the price. When the agent asked if she had any bags to check, Gwen just shook her head.
She’d cut it close — sprinting down the terminal with her shoes slapping against the carpet as the final boarding call echoed overhead.
She collapsed into her seat, heart pounding, and texted Pete and Danica with the bluntness of someone who couldn’t sugarcoat it: On my way to Michigan. I know I’m crashing the wedding.
Danica had immediately sent a string of exclamation points, followed by YES in all caps. Pete replied with a promise of free rein in her closet, which had almost made Gwen laugh out loud at the absurdity.
Her layover in Dallas had been exactly forty-two minutes — just enough time to find a sandwich she barely tasted before boarding the second leg.
Then Traverse City, an absurd minivan rental car, the drive north with Google Maps droning at her.
She’d broken at least half a dozen speed limits on those winding roads, gripping the wheel hard enough to leave dents in the leather.
Then she’d been standing in the doorway of the lake house, chest heaving, blazer wrinkled from travel, Maggie staring at her with wide eyes.
It had been… heartbreaking, in a way she hadn’t expected. Maggie had crumpled at the sight of her, like Gwen’s presence had torn down all her defenses.
Their friends had joked for a moment, but then the air shifted and suddenly everyone seemed to remember something urgent to do in the kitchen. Within seconds, the room had emptied.
It was just the two of them.
Gwen let out a breath she’d been holding since Austin.
Maggie shifted against the pillows, her eyes flicking to Gwen’s and then away, like it was too much to look straight at her. “You didn’t have to come.”
“Yes, I did.” The words left Gwen before she could edit them, sharper than she intended.
Maggie scoffed lightly, though her voice wavered. “No, really. It’s such a hassle for you to get here.”
“It really wasn’t.”
Her head snapped toward her. “But—”
“Maggie.” Gwen reached for her hand before she could overthink it, covering her fidgeting fingers with her palm. “Shut up.” She said it with a smile, soft enough to break the tension.
Maggie’s shoulders eased, the faintest laugh escaping her. For the first time since Gwen walked in, she looked a little less braced for impact.
“What do you need? Ice? Tylenol?” Gwen asked.
“Well,” she said, gesturing weakly at the open box of champagne flutes, “if you’re going to be here, then help me with these stupid cups.”
Gwen took the plastic stem from her hand, snapped it into place, and set it neatly in the box. “Done.”
Maggie smirked, shaking her head, but she didn’t pull her hand away.
For a moment, Gwen let herself believe this was what showing up felt like — quiet, ordinary, and right.
The rest of the afternoon blurred — tasks traded hand to hand, laughter ricocheting across the yard, Maggie perched on the couch like a reluctant monarch while Gwen fetched, carried, and quietly logged her pain med doses in her phone under a note called Mags Meds.
She typed the timestamps like they were sacred, as if recording them could keep her from slipping through Gwen’s fingers again.
Pete had insisted Gwen borrow something from her suitcase. Ten minutes later Gwen was wearing a faded neon T-shirt that read I Survived Girls Gone Wild, Key West 2004. Pete had tossed it with a grin. “Iconic,” she’d said. Maggie’s laugh when she saw it made the whole thing worth it.
By late afternoon, the tent was glowing with strings of lights, tables laid with mismatched vases of dahlias and roses cut from Danica’s mom’s garden. The air had the sharp bite of October, and more sweaters and thicker jackets appeared one by one as the sun slid lower.
That was when Lillian showed up.
She came up the drive with a tote bag slung over one shoulder, her easy grin widening the second she spotted Gwen. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite architect,” she said brightly, setting down the bag to pull Gwen into a hug.
And Gwen hugged her back — because she was genuinely happy to see her, because Lillian had been kind and uncomplicated in Vegas when everything else had felt thorned.
But the minute she pulled away, her eyes flicked to the couch, where Maggie was smiling up at Lillian and accusing her of pulling an Irish Goodbye on their last night.
“I heard it was tradition for the group to have someone disappear,” Lillian joked.
Pete gasped. “All of the travel curses live on.”
Dinner was less “rehearsal” and more “family cookout” — platters of grilled fish and corn on paper plates, bottles of wine sweating on the tables, kids darting in and out from the dock.
Danica’s mom flitted like a benevolent general, her stepdad beaming over an elaborate salad no one had the heart to say wasn’t needed.
By the time everyone had a plate, Pete stood with her glass raised, Danica rising beside her, cheeks flushed pink from wine and happiness.
“We just want to say how thankful we are,” Danica began, her voice catching.
“For every single one of you — for showing up, for laughing with us, for putting up with swans and family chaos and Michigan weather. It isn’t Bulgaria,” she added with a wry smile, “but we are truly honored to celebrate with you anywhere.”
Pete slipped an arm around her, nodding. “Yeah. Family isn’t just blood, and this…” She gestured at the long table, the mismatched plates and noisy cousins and friends pressed shoulder to shoulder. “This is our family. Every one of you. Even when it’s messy. Especially then.”
Her gaze landed on Gwen for a heartbeat — pointed, not sharp, but steady. Then to Maggie, then down to Izzy and Kiera tucked together at the end of the table, sharing a blanket.
“To family,” Pete finished softly.
Glasses lifted. To family rose around them, uneven but whole.
Gwen lifted hers too, the stem trembling slightly between her fingers. And when Maggie’s boot nudged her ankle under the table, whether by accident or not, Gwen let the warmth of it sit with her.
She didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, but tonight, at least, she wasn’t on the outside looking in.
By the time the plates were cleared and the last bottle of wine was uncorked, Maggie shifted in her seat. “I’m done,” she announced, voice pitched casual but eyes half-lidded with fatigue. “The day has defeated me. I need sleep before the swan comes back for round two.”
There was a ripple of laughter, but Gwen was already moving to her side, offering an arm without comment.
Maggie didn’t protest. She leaned into Gwen’s shoulder as they made their slow way inside and to the bunk room, crutches awkward under one arm, blanket trailing.
Gwen got her settled into the bottom bunk with a handful of pillows to prop up her ankle and tugged the quilt over her.
When Maggie sighed — long, content, too tired to fight — Gwen felt something loosen in her chest.
“Night, Mags,” she said softly.
“Night,” Maggie mumbled, already half under.
For a moment, Gwen let herself linger, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest. Then she slipped back out, shutting the door with a quiet click.
The fire pit was glowing by the time Gwen returned, Adirondack chairs pulled close, smoke curling up into the night sky. Danica sat on Pete’s lap, Kiera and Izzy leaned into each other, laughing at some story Lillian was relaying.
When Gwen settled into an empty chair, blanket wrapped around her shoulders, Kiera leaned forward suddenly, eyes bright.
“I’m so glad you came,” she said, earnest in the way only tipsy people could manage.
“Really. It’s…” She gestured helplessly at the circle of chairs, at the laughter and the crackle of the fire. “It wasn’t the same without you.”
Izzy nodded. “She’s right.”
Danica smiled across the flames. “We mean it, Gwen. We’re glad you’re here.”
Even Pete, who usually preferred her sentiment wrapped in sarcasm, lifted her glass in a small salute. “To the whole crew back together.”
The warmth of the fire pressed against Gwen’s face, but it wasn’t just that. For the first time in what felt like forever, she let herself sink into it — the laughter, the easy chatter, the simple fact of being wanted. Not as a title. Not as a function. Just as Gwen.