Danica had taped a color-coded schedule to the fridge, complete with little boxes to check off like the most polite Bridezilla of all time. Maggie hobbled in on crutches, still bleary-eyed, and read it twice before muttering, “Scheduled to the minute mark? Unfair.”
“Organization,” Danica corrected sharply, sweeping by with a garment bag over one arm. “Hair and makeup in the dining room. Florals delivered at eleven. Pete’s tux steamed by noon. Pictures at three sharp.”
The dining room, formerly a place for pot roast and mismatched placemats, now looked like the backstage of a Broadway show. Curling irons, hairspray cans, lip glosses, and enough eyeshadow palettes to paint a mural were spread across the table. Danica’s mom, already in a silky robe, sat with hot rollers in her hair, gossiping with Danica’s aunt. Annie — the neonatologist colleague Maggie had heard about but hadn’t officially met until yesterday — was perched on achair with a mimosa in hand, laughing at something Danica’s mom had said.
The whole house smelled like hairspray and perfume, layered over coffee and blueberry muffins.
Meanwhile, Pete, Lillian, Izzy, and Gwen had been “banished” to town for massages. Maggie knew the real purpose was to keep them out from underfoot, though she had to admit the thought of Gwen lying face down on a massage table while some stranger dug elbows into her back was more amusing than it should’ve been.
She was halfway through sipping her coffee when Danica’s mom appeared in the doorway, eyes warm. “Maggie,” she said, clasping her hands to her chest. “I just think it’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard. Your wife flying across the country to be here with you? To take care of you?”
Maggie nearly choked on her muffin. “Oh, I — well?—”
Her aunt joined in, fanning herself with a curling iron instruction sheet. “Truly. Like a movie. You should’ve seen the way she was looking at you last night. Oh, my heart.”
Maggie forced a smile, cheeks heating. “She, uh… yeah, it was sweet.” She waved her crutch vaguely toward the chaos of curling irons. “But let’s not get distracted. Today is about Danica, not about me.”
The diversion worked — for about thirty seconds.
From across the room, Kiera piped up dryly, eyes glinting. “Didn’t look very divorced to me.”
Danica, sitting with a stylist brushing through her curls, smirked into the mirror. “Agreed.”
Maggie gaped at them. “Oh, you two aremenaces.”
“We prefer the term ‘meddlers,’” Danica corrected with a prim little shrug. “Lovingly.”
“Lovingly, my ass,” Maggie muttered.
By midday,robes were discarded for dresses, and the energy in the dining room shifted from frantic to giddy. Maggie leaned on her crutches by the mirror, smoothing the fabric of her dress down over her hip.
“I’m just saying,” she argued, pointing at her ankle. “I don’thaveto wear the boot. It doesn’t go with the outfit.”
Danica spun in her chair, half a curl pinned to her head. “You absolutely have to wear the boot.”
“It ruins the aesthetic,” Maggie protested.
“It prevents further injury.” Danica raised one eyebrow. “Nonnegotiable.”
Maggie groaned. “You think your big fancy med school degree makes you a medical expert?”
“Yes, in fact, it does,” Danica answered firmly but with a sweet smile.
“Fine. But you’re letting me take at least one picture without it.”
Danica considered, then sighed. “One. Just one. And if you so much as twitch wrong, it’s going back on.”
“Deal.” Maggie grinned in triumph.
As the florals arrived, Danica was pacing in her robe, wringing her hands. “What if it rains? What if the tent collapses? What if Pete changes her mind at the last second?”
Kiera set down her mimosa, calm as a mountain. “You’re fine. It’s fine.”
Maggie leaned against the table, tapping her crutch like a gavel. “You’re nervous because you’re in love. That’s normal. If you weren’t jittery, we’d be worried.”
Danica shot her a wide-eyed look. “Really?”
“Really,” Maggie said firmly. “Also, you’re marrying Pete. The only thing she’s going to change her mind about is whether or not to wear socks with her dress shoes.”
