"I'm not an expert, but I do know that if love isn't messy," he said, voice quieter now, "you're not doing it right."
"I shouldn't be doing it at all." Piper stared into the fading fizz of her soda. "That's the point."
Something in her chest tugged at the edges, stretching too wide to ignore. Maybe love was supposed to be messy. Maybe that was the point. But her brand of messy felt less like fireworks and more like the aftermath of a bad storm with scattered debris, flooding, and sirens.
The bar door creaked open twenty minutes later. Aspen strode in, her lipstick intact and concern flickering in her expression.
She scanned the bar once, eyes locking on Piper, then Brek.
Her heels clicked against the hardwood floor as she approached, her presence abrupt and inevitable, as if drawn in by Piper's bad luck. Or, more likely, a cryptic text from her bartending brother.
"I've had time to think today and while I appreciate your thoughts," Aspen said, sliding onto the stool beside her. "Only I get to choose who gets promotions at my company."
"Aspen…"
"That promotion is yours," she continued. "And if you can't do weddings, then we'll figure it out. Hopefully, things will change. But if tomorrow and next week you feel the same, I'll accept it."
Brek slid some kind of fizzy beverage in front of Aspen without even asking what she wanted.
"I'm sorry," Piper said, eyes fixed on the corner of the bartop. "I shouldn't have left like that. I'm sorry."
For walking out. For probably giving the junior planners nightmares about their own career trajectories.
But Aspen smiled that kind, steady smile of hers. "We all spiral sometimes, Piper. Only difference is whether we spiral alone or with people who'll catch us."
"Is that why you're here?" Piper asked. "To catch me?"
"I'm here as your boss because I want to know what happened that made you try to give up your well-earned promotion. I'm here as your friend, because I'm worried," Aspen said.
Piper explained it all. Everything. Just threw it all up like it wasn't messy and gross. Like shame didn't cling to every sentence. Aspen listened, never flinching, not even when Piper's voice cracked on Zach's name, or when she admitted she left her phone at home because she didn't want to hear that Anna and Drake were truly done.
Her throat burned by the end, lips trembling from too many unspoken things finally said aloud.
Aspen took it all in with grace she'd never admit to possessing.
"That is a lot for one person to carry," Aspen said, finally.
The bell above Brek's door hadn't even finished its jingle before Babushka swept in. She descended like an Eastern European snowstorm dressed for brunch at the opera. People instinctively leaned out of her orbit, either from respect or mild fear.
She wore a teal trench coat bedazzled with rhinestone roses and carried a reusable grocery bag that smelled aggressively of dill and lavender tea. Her lipstick was a violent shade of coral that worked for her, and her earrings swung like miniature chandeliers with each determined step.
"Piper," she announced, loud enough that one man across the bar dropped his peanuts. "You are not cursed. You are dramatic."
Piper blinked. "I—what?"
"I have spoken to Anna. I have spoken to Zachary. They explain everything. So, I come find you." Babushka marched behind the bar with purpose, barely acknowledging Brek, who wisely stepped aside.
"You think your life is some terrible soap opera because a couple people yelled by pool?" She plopped her bag down on the bar, then pulled out a tarnished silver flask, a handful of wrapped candies, and what looked alarmingly like laminated flashcards scrawled in hand-written Russian. "Drake and Anna, they fight, then they make up. Now they are sorry for you. Do not vorry though, there is no curse."
"I thought you believed in curses and luck and all of that," Piper managed, sitting up straighter.
"I believe in tradition." Babushka barked, as if that were the same thing. She used the bottle to fill her flask and Brek said nothing. But he did try not to smile.
He failed.
Piper frowned. "But, at the venue walkthrough, you said the wedding would be cursed if we didn't include certain traditions. Your exact words were 'do this, or the love will suffer the eternal bad luck.'"
Babushka waved a dismissive hand. "Of course, I said that. It is how I get vhat I vant."
