The rooftop glows like a promise. String lights hum above linen-draped tables, laughter rising in soft bursts from every corner. My mother’s voice rings out, teasing my uncle about his wine choices. GreenLee’s brothers are mid-story, hands flying, eyes bright. It’s the kind of night that pretends nothing’s wrong.
I swirl the drink in my hand, watching the door.
They’re late.
Not fashionably. Not politely. Late like a warning.
GreenLee’s across the table, radiant and restless. Her smile is practiced, but her fingers tap the stem of her glass like a metronome. She feels it too—the shift in the air. The weight of tomorrow pressing in.
The wedding. The reveal. The moment the other families see her not as a girl in mourning, but as the Donna.
I lean back, scanning the crowd. Every laugh f
