I miss Mom. I think of her as I weakly brush my hair. I loved when she brushed and braided my hair, and not just because she did hair for a living and was amazingly good at it. There was something sweet, comforting, and intimate about her caring for me that way.

I sweep my long hair to the side and limply manage a loose braid, Mom’s words about family emerging in my thoughts, unwanted. That’s just more people to disappoint you.

That won’t be Ashe.

He returns, peering into the room, unsurely. My smile brings him in.

He holds up Doritos. “Had a craving for chips. Feeling better?”

I take a breath. “A little.”

Returning to his chair, he bypasses the mess he’s made of my suitcase. He tosses the Doritos on the table, grabs his coffee, and pulls out his phone. “Everyone’s been chill about the wedding, and your IG’s been lighting up. I helped Mom make a post this morning.”

“Aw, let me see.”

He scrolls to the notifications under my handle, MarnieLovesSunny’s.

“Everyone’s so sweet,” I coo, reading the comments on my last post, a Happy Valentine’s Day edit featuring our deals on heart-shaped cakes, cookies, and bouquets. In the caption, I added a winky face with the message: Wishing you a happily-ever-after as Ashe and I begin ours.

It hits me as bittersweet now.

Ashe and Cora’s post yesterday afternoon was a muted beige background with fancy lettering thanking Seagrove for its support during this difficult time and asking for their prayers for “our sweet Marnie’s quick recovery.”

Nothing about the wedding, not that I expected it.

My account has nearly 3,000 followers, practically the entirety of Seagrove, the ones on social media anyway. The hundreds of messages wishing me well make me tear up. Seeing our town so invested in us is wonderful—it’s a far cry from my nomadic childhood, when I never stayed in one place long enough to make friends.

“My phone’s in the paper bag,” I say. “Can you see if it works? It probably needs charging.”

“Sure thing.”

Miraculously, the screen looks workable, minus a crack along the top. He prompts it with no luck, and then digs through my exploded suitcase for a charging cable.

“Oh, I may’ve left it on my nightstand,” I say.

“No problem,” he says, perking up. “I’ll run to Best Buy for a new one.”

He’s nearly out the door before I call out, “Wait, Ashe. Don’t worry about the phone right now.”

“It’s just around the corner. I’ll be fifteen minutes. Tops.”

Then, he’s gone.

His antsy behavior isn’t new. Ashe rarely sits still. Our dating life has been filled with mini-adventures. Weekend getaways. Surfing. Kayaking. Arcades and mini-golf. Clubbing. Boating. Jet skis. His contagious energy has no end, and I love being his playmate.