Page 84 of Passing Ships

“What are we going to do if the weather doesn’t improve by tomorrow?” I hear her asking Rupert.

“Naomie, stop looking so worried!” I call, waving my arms around dramatically, the wind nearly knocking me off-balance. “It’s just a little wind!”

“It’s not the wind I’m worried about,” Naomie mutters.

This weekend is about Avie and Sebastian, about the life they’re about to start together. My role is simple—be supportive, be excited, and most importantly, make sure everything goes to plan.

It’s a good distraction. One I need after the phone call I had this morning with Grandma’s nurse. The three to six months they estimated she had left has gotten significantly smaller. Now, they are thinking it could be a matter of weeks.

Thunder rumbles above us, the sound pulling me from my thoughts.

I shake off the creeping melancholy. No, this isn’t about me. I’ll deal with my own shit later—when I’m back home, alone in my apartment. Right now, I’m here for Avie.

The officiant clears his throat, and everyone starts to gather around. Sebastian jogs over from where he was talking with his groomsmen, his laugh loud and carefree. He wraps an arm around Avie’s waist, pulling her close and planting a kiss on her cheek. She laughs, tilting her head back, and I feel my heart lighten just a little.

“All right, everyone!” the officiant begins, his voice straining against the wind. “Let’s get started before the bottom falls out on us.”

We all line up—bridesmaids, groomsmen, everyone in their designated places. Mine is right behind Avie.

She reaches back and grabs my hand, squeezing it tight. She doesn’t say anything, just holds on for a moment, her fingers warm against mine. I squeeze back, and when she turns to face the officiant again, she’s holding back tears.

That little squeeze—it’s her way of saying thank you. For everything. For being there.

And just as the rehearsal for the ceremony begins, it happens. The first fat raindrop lands on my arm, cold and unmistakable. I glance up at the sky, and as if on cue, the heavens open up. The rain pours down in sheets, drenching us in seconds.

There’s a collective gasp, followed by running. Nana takes Leia’s hand and sprints for the reception hall. Naomie and Rupert and Sebastian’s parents are right behind them.

Avie looks at me and starts to laugh, spinning in the rain like a little kid, her dress sticking to her skin. Sebastian wraps his arms around her, pulling her close, and the two of them start slow dancing, completely unbothered by the downpour.

I stand there, staring at them, my hair plastered to my face, my dress soaking wet and clinging to my body.

They’re happy. So damn happy.

“Come on, Amiya!” Avie calls, reaching out her hand toward me. “Dance with us!”

I roll my eyes, but I step forward, taking her hand, and she pulls me into their little dance circle. The three of us twirl and spin in the rain, laughing like nothing in the world matters.

Lennon stands to the side, watching us, a smile on his face.

The rest of the wedding party scatters—some running for cover, others joining in the impromptu dance party. The officiant tries to shout instructions, but no one’s listening anymore. It’s chaos—beautiful, messy chaos.

For a few blissful moments, it’s just us—the rain, the sand, and the sound of our laughter mingling with the crashing waves. I close my eyes and let go, the rain washing away all the worries, all the what-ifs, all the lingering doubts and guilt. Right now, this is perfect. Not the picture-perfect wedding rehearsal we all imagined, but something better. Something real.

Eventually, the rain slows to a drizzle, and the unscripted dance session winds down. The storm rolls out as quickly as it blew in.

Avie’s dripping wet but radiant. “So, what’s the plan now?” she asks.

“Same as always. Drink cocktails and be sexy,” I reply.

Avie and I pull our wet hair up into a knot on top of our heads and pat ourselves down with hand towels from the caterers before joining the buffet line in the reception hall.

The barbeque is a hit.

Naomie and Rupert invited Avie’s aunts and uncles and their families to join the wedding party for dinner, and they all rave over the food and desserts.

Lennon takes a seat next to Anson, and one of Avie’s cousins takes the one beside him.

He’s soaked. Raising his hand, he runs it through his glistening hair. When his eyes find me, his lips quirk up.