7️⃣

ORM

Two days before the wedding, I find myself at Josie's parents' house, surrounded by the warm scent of grilling meat, fresh grass, and the faint briny tang of the ocean carried in on the breeze.

This isn't a formal rehearsal dinner. No, the Thanomchais wanted something casual, something easy and relaxed. A backyard barbecue, complete with string lights, picnic tables, and mismatched lawn chairs scattered across the yard.

It's charming, cozy even, but my brain can't stop cataloging every detail, every tiny thing that might go wrong. My fingers are twitching to rearrange the drink station and double-check the stack of plastic plates.

I know I need to relax, but my mind is a hamster wheel.

The smells of charcoal and grilled meat drift in from outside, and through the kitchen window, I can see Josie's dad, Uncle Joe, standing at the grill next to my dad. My father drove up from San Diego this morning, accompanied by his new girlfriend, Natasha—a tall, chatty woman in her mid-forties who keeps laughing a little too loudly at Uncle Joe's jokes.

It's strange seeing my dad with someone new. It's been years since my mother passed, and he's been alone for so long that I almost forgot he was capable of being... well, with someone.

I shove that thought aside and focus on my task, unpacking hamburger meat and hotdog buns onto the kitchen counter. I'm in full Maidzilla Mode, as Josie likes to call it.

Behind me, Josie, radiant in a white sundress and glowing with bridal joy, stares out the window at Elijah, who's setting up string lights along the fence.

"You're not supposed to be helping," I remind her without turning around.

"And why not?" she quips, hands on her hips, her tone mock-defensive.

"Because you're the bride." I sigh, stacking hotdog buns neatly and then moving on to check the fridge.

Everything is perfectly in order. Vegetarian options—check. Condiments—check. Potato salad—check. I'm trying to focus on the tasks at hand, but no matter how much I try, my brain keeps drifting back to last night.

To Lingling Kwong.

To her sharp words, her piercing gaze, and the unbearable tension crackling between us in the corner of the Siren & Sword.

She was so... so herself. Guarded, composed, sharp-tongued.

I know she recognized me the moment she saw me outside the florist, yet she played it off like I was a stranger. And now here she is, orbiting this wedding like some immovable celestial body, and I can't stop thinking about her.

Ugh.

"Elijah is helping," Josie points out, pulling me back to the present.

"Hm?"

"You said I shouldn't be helping because I'm the bride, but Elijah is the groom, and he's stringing lights."

"Right."

She snorts. "Are you okay? Did you drink too much last night?"

"No." I sigh. "As maid of honor and co-owner of Meridian Events, it would've been unprofessional for me to—"

"Blah, blah, blah," Josie interrupts, smirking as she grabs a blender from the counter. "Relax, Orm. I'll make you a margarita."

"I don't want—"

She keeps talking, ignoring me entirely. "And Aunt Rachel was so kind to bring us a bottle of tequila from her recent trip to Mexico. It would be rude not to use it."

"She's not my aunt," I mutter, folding my arms across my chest.

Josie laughs and starts measuring ingredients into the blender, her easy happiness somehow making me feel worse.

I hate that I'm letting last night's encounter with Lingling ruin my mood. She doesn't deserve that kind of space in my head.

But she's there anyway.

The sharp pop of the tequila bottle being uncorked jolts me from my spiral, but Josie's next question sends me straight back into it.

"So... who was that woman you were arguing with last night?"

I spin around, my reaction far too quick to be casual. "What?"

She raises her eyebrows, amused at my lack of subtlety. "That woman? Super sharp jawline, beautiful black hair, dressed like she walked off the set of a high-end fashion show? Liang or something? No, wait—Ling?"

"Lingling," I mutter before I can stop myself.

Josie snorts in triumph.

"How?" she demands.

"What?"

She sets the tequila bottle down with a loud thunk. "How do you know one of Elijah's friends from Caltech when I don't?"

"I don't know her."

It's a terrible lie. She knows it. I know it.

"Orm," she says flatly. "Don't think I didn't notice the two of you in the corner last night, looking like two feral cats ready to tear each other apart. The tension was palpable."

"There was no tension," I insist.

"Oh, sure. You're totally calm right now."

She's not going to let it go. She's relentless when she wants the truth. With a heavy sigh, I decide to give her just enough to satisfy her curiosity without delving too deep.

"Fine. We went to happy camp together."

She blinks, her brows knitting together. "Wait... what? You mean Camp Hannefort? That camp you went to when you were fifteen?"

"Sixteen, yes."

She stares at me, mouth slightly open, as the pieces click into place in her head.

"How do you even remember her? You were, like, a kid."

"Because," I reply with a sigh, "she's impossible to forget."

Her head tilts slightly, her eyes narrowing as she studies me. "You make that sound like a bad thing."

"It is a bad thing."

There's a long silence between us, broken only by the hum of the fridge and the distant chatter from the backyard.

"But it's fine," I add quickly. "It's been twelve years. We're practically strangers now. She'll be gone after the wedding, and we'll go back to our normal lives. End of story. I'd much rather focus on the tasks at hand, like making sure we have enough ketchup and mustard. People always go crazy with condiments at barbecues."

Josie gives me a skeptical look. The kind that says she wants to believe me, but doesn't.

"Right. Ketchup and mustard. Priorities."

"Exactly."

Two hours after Josie's light interrogation about Lingling, the barbecue is in full swing. Uncle Joe's sprawling backyard is packed with wedding guests. The air carries that distinct scent of summer—charcoal smoke from the grill, sunscreen mingling with the faint salt of the ocean breeze, and the heady sweetness of lilac bushes in full bloom.

The familiarity of it all calms me, even as I dart from task to task, making sure everything is running smoothly and pausing to chat with anyone who tosses a smile my way.

I might not be the bride, but I can't help feeling like I was born for this. Hosting, organizing, managing chaos—I love it all. Even as a child, I'd beg to be given responsibilities at family gatherings, insisting I could handle the "big jobs." Josie was the same way. It's why we started Meridian Events after college.

The sun begins its slow descent, casting a golden glow over the lawn as I help Mrs. Navarro and Aunt Carol bring out the dessert spread: strawberry shortcake and Gigi Lee's famous snickerdoodles. Even with the grilling finished, the party shows no signs of slowing down.

"There's gotta be, like, at least a hundred people here," says Mabel Lee as she shoulders her way out the back door, balancing an enormous platter of her mother's baked goods with a practiced grace. I follow closely behind, clutching six tubs of whipped cream.

"I know!" I laugh. "And to think there'll be twice this many people at the actual wedding."

"It's the event of the decade!"

I smile at her words, though there's a knot of nervous anticipation in my stomach. This has to go perfectly. I'm not after praise or glory, but if the Josieandelijah wedding goes down in Mermaid Shores history as one of the most beloved events ever, I'll sleep easier for months.

After ensuring Josie and Elijah are still basking in their pre-wedding glow, blissfully unbothered by logistics, I follow Mabel to deposit our dessert supplies at the massive buffet table set up under the shade of the lilac trees.

"Hey! Need my help with anything?"

I turn at the familiar voice and find Eric Kendall grinning at me. He looks effortlessly polished in a light blue button-down, linen trousers, and brown boat shoes. He fits in well with the guests who look like they summer in Nantucket every year, though his easy demeanor makes him feel more grounded than most of them.

He's handsome, objectively so. But despite his good looks and warm smile, I feel... nothing.

"No, it's okay, Eric," I assure him. "Go enjoy the party."

"Nonsense." He steps forward, taking the tubs of whipped cream from my arms and carrying them the last ten feet to the table. Mabel raises an eyebrow at me from across the table, her expression so obviously saying 'Is this a thing?' that I have to bite back a laugh. I shake my head subtly.

"Are you having a nice time?" I ask him as I start arranging the dessert table.

"Oh, yeah!" He grins, all easy charm and bright enthusiasm. "Best barbecue I've been to in years. This casual vibe—it's genius. Was this your idea?"

"Not really. Josie and Elijah wanted something low-key before the chaos of the wedding day."

"Smart," he agrees, nodding like I've just delivered some profound insight. "And I had a great time last night at the Siren & Sword too. Although, it would've been even better if I got the chance to talk to you for longer than a minute or two."

I force a light laugh, the kind that doesn't quite reach my eyes. "Yes, well... Maidzilla duties."

He tilts his head, smirking. "Maidzilla?"

"Oh, it's nothing." I glance around, subtly looking for an escape route. It's not that Eric is unpleasant—he's perfectly nice—but he seems far too invested in this conversation for my liking. I don't have time for drawn-out flirtations.

As if reading my mind, Mabel steps in, her voice light but firm. "Orm? Carol mentioned needing more ice for the punch."

"I'm on it!" I say a little too quickly, relief washing over me.

"I can get it," Eric offers automatically.

"No." I hold up a hand before he can step forward. "Really, I've got it. Don't worry about it."

When he looks like he's about to insist, Mabel places a hand on his arm, her signature playful smile lighting up her face.

"Hey, you're new around here, aren't you?" she asks, leaning just close enough that I can practically see his brain short-circuit at the attention. "Come with me—I'll introduce you to some locals. You absolutely have to meet Joshie and Roy. They have the best gossip in town."

I could kiss Mabel Lee right now.

As she steers Eric away with practiced ease, I turn and make my escape toward the house. The ice is stored in Uncle Joe's industrial freezer in the basement—a piece of equipment that once held popsicles, ice cream sandwiches, and juice boxes for me and Josie when we were kids.

I bypass the crowded deck by slipping around the side of the house to the basement door, propping it open with a smooth river stone.

The basement is cool and dark as I descend the wooden stairs, the faint hum of the industrial freezer vibrating in the still air. I let out a long, relieved sigh. It's oddly nice to have this small pocket of solitude in the middle of all the chaos.

As much as I love being around people, sometimes the endless chatter, the expectation to smile and charm, starts to feel a little suffocating.

Using my phone flashlight to guide me, I hop down onto the concrete floor and make my way to the freezer.

[Twelve Years Ago]

"Yesterday in our group session, we were talking about the importance of having healthy mindsets," says Dr. Sans, his wrinkled hands folded calmly on his lap. "Does anyone want to share any thoughts about that after we've let those discussions marinate overnight?"

I stifle a giggle. That's one of Dr. Sans' favorite words:marinate. He likes it when we sit with our feelings, like all my emotions are a big bowl of soup broth and I'm the meat and potatoes.

Dr. Sans nods at me. "Yes, Orm?"

"I thought what you said about mindsets was really interesting, and I wholeheartedly agree with it. Having a positive outlook can change everything."

There's a quiet scoff on the other side of the circle. Beside me, Trina groans quietly.

And then she speaks up.

Lingling Kwong. My nemesis.

It doesn't matter that she's ridiculously athletic and strikingly confident. She's also super annoying. And, for whatever reason, she really doesn't like me. The only time she ever speaks up in these group sessions is to disagree with me.

"Having a positive outlook doesn't change anything," she says, without even bothering to raise her hand. Hello, rude. "In fact, too much positivity in a difficult situation can become toxic."

"Toxic?" I snap back, sitting upright in my chair. "Seriously? How can looking on the bright side ever be considered poisonous?"

I feel Abby's hand on my arm, a silent reminder that I once said arguing with Lingling Kwong in group therapy isn't worth it. But it's impossible not to rise to the bait.

She's just so... ugh.

"It can be harmful to force positivity in a situation where being pragmatic is more helpful," Lingling replies, her voice low and steady, like she's lecturing me. "Like, if we were in the middle of a zombie apocalypse, it wouldn't help anyone to be like, 'Hey! At least the sun is shining!'"

Beside her, her friend Bow stifles a laugh.

"Well, we're talking about postivity," I snarl back at her. "Not zombie apocalypses."

"It was an example."

"A bad one."

"I think everyone else got my point."

"Oh? Should we ask them? Trina, do you think what Lingling said made literally any sense at all?"

Trina gapes at me for a moment, her wide eyes flickering nervously between me and Lingling. She wants to side with me, I can tell, but she's too shy to know what to say. I flinch, hoping she can see the apology in my eyes.

Dr. Sans steps in quickly, his calm, steady voice slicing through the tension.

"Alright, alright," he croons, waving his hands as if clearing away invisible smoke. "Let's make room for these turbulent emotions and handle them with openness. And remember, it's okay to disagree with your friends."

I snort humorlessly. Lingling is not my friend.

We glare at each other across the lopsided circle of chairs. For a long moment, everyone else remains quiet, waiting to see which one of us is going to start hissing first. Even Dr. Sans shifts nervously in his seat.

Abby clears her throat quietly. "Um, I think Orm makes a good point..."

At that, Lingling rolls her eyes. She doesn't even look like she's listening to what Abby actually has to say. She's just annoyed that she agrees with me.

Typical.

Really, she is just so annoying.