Chapter 17
AMELIA
Turns out, a bachelorette party feels different when it’s your own. Especially when you’re already legally wed and experiencing mild separation anxiety from your husband after three hours apart.
Yes, I’m married and acting like we just started dating and I haven’t seen him in a week.
However, if I have to be forcibly separated from my soulmate for an afternoon, this is the place to do it in.
The library Gage built for me is flooded with soft afternoon light and warmth.
The windows are open just enough to let fresh air in, and the scent of books and lavender floats through the air.
My favorite armchairs are here. So are all my favorite books, some annotated with color-coded flags poking out of the pages.
When Tim suggested an afternoon of separate bachelor and bachelorette parties, Marin immediately took charge of mine. Even if I’d wanted to stop her, I don’t think I could have.
She started planning weeks ago and hasn’t stopped texting the group chat she created for us girls.
Daily updates. Mood boards. Voice notes at midnight about flower symbolism and “feminine expansion.” Half the time, we didn’t even know what she was talking about.
So we sent wild responses just to see what she’d say.
At one point, she sent us all a document titled The Sacred Spiral of Sisterhood: A Pre-Wedding Activation.
Olivia opened the doc and said she didn’t know what half the words meant, but that she supported the energy.
Maddie asked if Marin was going to turn it into a slideshow, and Kristen, who’d had a few glasses of wine, announced she’d only attend if we had our very own girl gang Notion board, complete with gifs.
Yes, the daily updates and OTT-ness of it all have been a lot.
The group was operating in a state of loving exasperation by day three.
Kristen tried to mute the chat more than once.
She also tried to leave it. Marin added her back every single time.
With a new custom nickname. And while I pretended to roll my eyes and complain about it all being too much, the truth is .
. . I loved it because I’ve never had this before.
A girl gang. A group of women who want to spoil me just because they love me.
I didn’t even know how much I’d been craving it until it showed up in the form of moon phase reminders, voice notes, and a group chat I never wanted to leave.
These are women who never let me spiral alone. Who keep tabs on each other’s emotions. Who show up before I even know I need them.
No drama. No expectations. Just love.
By the time today rolled around, Marin was vibrating with intention, florals, and the kind of energy that suggests she might accidentally summon a goddess just by lighting a candle too close to a crystal.
She’s in her element—barefoot, chaotic, beautiful.
She set the whole thing up while we were all taking a quiet break after lunch.
She said it was “vibrationally urgent” and couldn’t wait for anyone’s help.
There are crystals laid out on a small velvet cloth, a deck of cards that looks like it was illustrated by a forest witch, flower bundles tied with silk ribbon resting on the window ledge, and candles flickering in vintage holders along the mantle.
And then there’s the spray. Marin called it a “ceremonial mist”, but it was basically lavender and rosewater in a spray bottle with a quartz crystal taped to it.
Still, she spritzed each of us as we entered the library like we were being blessed. And now, halfway through the party, she’s just pulled the spray out again.
“Okay,” she announces. “Moon water for everyone. Spritz with intention. And then draw a card. We’re activating your next feminine era.”
Kristen side-eyes the water. She’s not big on witchy stuff or manifestation, even though she plays along with most of Marin’s ideas. This, though, appears to be where she’s going to draw a line. “Just so we’re clear, I’m emotionally unavailable for activating anything.”
Marin ignores her. Spritzes her anyway. Twice.
Olivia takes a sip of her martini before asking, “What exactly does ‘your next feminine era’ mean?”
Marin, not missing a beat, says, “It means unlocking the next version of your highest self. Spiritually. Sensually. Cosmically.”
Olivia deadpans, “So . . . a rebrand.”
Kristen snorts. “Please do not encourage her.”
“I love a rebrand,” Maddie says.
“I knew you would,” Marin says, spritzing her next.
Kristen sighs. “Okay, if I let you mist me willingly, will you leave my aura alone?”
“No,” Marin replies sweetly. “But I’ll respect your boundaries while gently violating them with flowers and crystals.”
I’m laughing before I can stop myself. And then I’m thinking about just how safe this space feels.
Olivia sets down her drink and looks at me like I’m about to be handed a mission brief.
“Okay, if we’re unlocking new versions of ourselves, let’s help Amelia unlock the version of herself who survives her wedding day.
” She glances around the room with a smile.
“Most of us have been there and might have some advice.”
“Yes please,” I say and sit back. “I will take any advice you have. Though, mostly, I think I may need help surviving Tim.”
Everyone laughs and nods in agreement.
“Okay.” Olivia sits up straighter, folding one leg over the other and turning serious as if she’s about to deliver a keynote speech at a wedding prep summit.
“You need snacks in your bridal suite,” she says.
“Like actual food. Sandwiches, not things like almonds. Hydrate early and constantly. You need electrolyte tablets. I’ve brought some for you.
In labeled baggies, color-coded for before glam, after ceremony, and post champagne.
Lipstick will disappear from your lips. Accept it.
Assign one person to carry mints, tissues, blotting sheets, bobby pins, and safety pins.
Another person handles your phone and to-do list. You’re not allowed to touch your phone unless you’re calling for rescue.
“People will cry. One of them might be you. Do not put pressure on yourself to feel a certain way. Just be in it. And above all—no wine before the ceremony. That’s how you end up with a headache and regret.”
Marin fans herself. “This is my favorite flavor of Virgo.”
Kristen raises her glass. “I second all of that.”
“Also,” Olivia says, “do not wear new shoes unless you’ve broken them in. If you get blisters, someone will cry and it’ll be you. Walk in them now. Like, right now.” She narrows her eyes at me. “Do we need to go get your shoes?”
“No.” I shake my head. “I’ve worn them in. That’s something I already learned the hard way.”
“Okay,” Kristen says. “My turn. Do not, under any circumstance stand in front of a mirror for too long. You’ll start to spiral about details no one will notice, including imaginary frizz. Step back. You look incredible. If you have to, assign a mirror bodyguard.”
I snort out a laugh. “Tim would die to be my mirror bodyguard.”
“He will be too busy,” Marin says. “I am assigning that task to myself.”
“Okay,” Maddie says, “here’s my advice. Wedding photos will take longer than you think.
Make sure you eat beforehand. And tell your photographer that you’re allowed to be done whenever you say so.
Be very bossy with him. And if he tries to argue with you over anything, send him my way. I’ll sort him out for you.”
Kristen laughs. “I hope Ethan needs to be sent your way for a sorting out. I’d like to see that.”
I laugh too, while my chest squeezes with love.
Gage and I asked Ethan to be our wedding photographer, but we told him we’d understand if he just wanted to enjoy the day.
Ethan made it very clear he’d fight off any other photographer we hired just to keep the honor for himself.
I know that meant everything to Gage. And while I felt the same, what I loved most was witnessing brothers love each other like that.
Ingrid is smiling like this is everything she’s ever wanted to be a part of. “The most important thing to remember,” she says softly, “is that the perfect wedding is a lie. You’re not aiming for perfection, my darling. You’re aiming for presence.”
She pauses, and when her eyes meet mine, there’s so much love in them I can barely hold it. “Don’t rush through the day ticking boxes or trying to manage everyone’s expectations. Be in it. With us. With him. Make memories that aren’t about the photos. Make them about the feelings.”
And now I’m crying.
She reaches for my hand and squeezes it before adding, “If something goes wrong, which it probably will, don’t panic. Laugh. Breathe. Let someone else handle it. Preferably not Tim.”
The room erupts in laughter, mine tangled up with tears. I know Ingrid adores my brothers, as does everyone. I also know Tim has a gift for pushing everyone’s buttons. Lovingly, of course.
“You’ve got us now,” Olivia says. “You don’t have to carry it all.”
“Thank you,” I say, my voice only just above a whisper because I’m having trouble speaking through all the emotions I’m feeling.
And then, like emotions always do, they start stacking.
Gratitude. Love. Belonging. And somewhere underneath it all .
. . the quiet ache of absence. Because my parents aren’t here today.
They had a social engagement last night—a gala they RSVP’d to after getting our wedding invitation.
The invitation that said: Come for the whole weekend. Be part of it all.
They chose something else.
I told myself it was fine. That I didn’t need them here for the pre-wedding stuff.
That it didn’t matter. But in this moment, surrounded by women who are loving me so fiercely, so freely, I feel it.
The space where my mother should be. And the ache that comes with knowing she never even tried to fill it.