I'll Be Seeing You

Twenty-Three.

Sunlight poured through the slats of the window blinds, warming the hardwood floors and casting long stripes across the bed. I blinked awake slowly, feeling more rested than I had in weeks. The smell of coffee and bacon drifted up from the kitchen, and faint voices echoed through the house—happy, energized, full of purpose. It was Friday. Two days until the wedding.

Mark was already out of bed, the sheets beside me cool and empty. I could hear his laughter mixing with Tommy's somewhere downstairs. I stretched, smiling to myself, and rolled out of bed to throw on some leggings and a hoodie.

By the time I made it into the kitchen, the place was buzzing. Abby was flipping pancakes, her hair in a messy bun, while Rene danced around her, pouring orange juice into mismatched glasses. Dave was manning the griddle with Tommy, and Lana was holding baby Arianna, bouncing her gently on her hip while sipping her coffee. And then—chaos in the best way.

The front door flew open, and in barreled Scottie and Kyle, dragging their luggage behind them like twin tornados. Scottie had his sunglasses perched on his head and a box of donuts in his hands. Kyle dropped his bags with an exaggerated sigh.

"We have arrived!" Scottie announced like he was storming a castle. "Let the wedding madness commence!"

"Please tell me that's coffee in that box," Rene said, snatching a donut without breaking stride.

"Oh, and donuts," he said, handing it over. "But no coffee. We're not that thoughtful."

The room erupted with laughter as hugs were passed around and chairs scraped back from the table. Someone found champagne and popped it open—because why not? It was a celebration. We all sat down for a massive brunch, elbows brushing, stories flying, laughter overlapping. I looked around the table, overwhelmed for a moment by how much love lived in this room. It was the kind of morning you wish would never end.

After brunch, we cleaned up quickly, changed into beach-appropriate clothes, and made our way down the path to the ceremony site to meet with the tent company. The sun was already high, the air thick and salty. The beach crew was setting up the massive white tent, anchoring it deep in the sand while we walked the perimeter, visualizing everything—the arch, the chairs, the little string lights, the tables that would soon be filled with food and flowers and laughter.

"This is really happening," I whispered, mostly to myself.

Mark came up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. "Yeah, it is."

Later that afternoon, the girls and I—Rene, Abby, Lana, Chelsey and Michelle—piled into a couple of cars and made our way into town to check in with the florist. The little shop smelled like heaven, with bursts of eucalyptus and fresh roses everywhere. Buckets of delicate white and blush blooms lined the walls, and the arrangements for Sunday were well underway.

"Just wanted to make sure we're still on track," I told the woman behind the counter, who smiled and nodded with confidence.

"Everything's set," she said. "Your bouquet is coming together beautifully. You're going to love it."

Abby leaned over and whispered, "If you cry when they hand it to you, I will too."

"Oh, I'm already halfway there," I laughed, dabbing my eyes with a tissue someone mercifully handed me.

We left the shop with everything in order, our arms full of samples and our minds full of excitement. Tomorrow was the rehearsal. Then... the big day.

Saturday afternoon, the sun had started its slow descent, casting a warm, golden light across the beach. The ocean breeze was soft and steady, a gentle hush like the world was holding its breath just for us. The tent was finally up, the chairs arranged, and the floral arch stood proudly in the sand, just waiting for tomorrow's vows to be spoken beneath it.