Mackinaws was on Voyager Drive in Green Bay—a restaurant built from huge pine logs and beams with massive vaulted ceilings and six stone fireplaces and impressive animal mounts—the two largest of which were a bear and an eighteen-point buck. My stepmother, Jeanine, had booked their loft for the party. It sat up to a hundred, which seemed like a crazy amount of people for a birthday party, but Candace and Crystal would have no problem filling the space. Whereas I tended to have one or two close, intimate friends, my stepsisters were perpetually popular and kept a big crowd of friends, some hailing all the way back to elementary school.

I stepped inside, holding two of the six arrangements Jeanine ordered a month ago. Bouquets of snow-white roses, lilies, and mums, filled out with wispy baby’s breath and silvery dusty miller and plastic pearl sprays. I hated working with baby’s breath, mostly because it smelled like cat pee. But Jeanine had cast the vision, and when she cast a vision, nobody could change her mind. So here I was, carrying these two elegant winter-esque arrangements inside a restaurant that screamed north woods.

Upstairs Jeanine was a bustle of activity, simultaneously checking in on guests and micromanaging the two teenage servers arranging the food—trays of smoked salmon, bacon-wrapped chestnuts, fruit, vegetables, cheeses, a taco bar. I wondered how much debt she was racking up on her credit card for this particular soiree. My stepmother was cursed with a rich woman’s appetite and a middle-class budget—a common source of contention between her and my father when I was growing up.

She spotted me setting the two arrangements on the nearest table and came over, her face bright. She looked entirely too young to be the mother of thirty-year-old twins. Mostly because she went to the salon every six weeks to hide all traces of gray, worked out an hour each day to keep her physique, wore an entire cosmetic aisle of makeup, and I suspected did Botox, but I wasn’t exactly sure on that last one. She gave her hands a few excited claps beneath her chin. “The flowers are here!”

“The rest of the arrangements are in the car.”

She rearranged a few of the roses. “The baby’s breath looks a little wilted. We better get the others before it gets any worse.”

I gritted my teeth and smiled, then told her she could stay here. I’d get the flowers. After two more trips up and down the loft, I escaped into the restroom. All the people in attendance were either strangers or old acquaintances from my days living in Green Bay. The only two who wouldn’t be strangers or acquaintances were William and Bridget, but I couldn’t be around them tonight. I had no idea how to act cheery or congratulatory when I felt so far from either. I was a lousy faker. And as much as I wanted to unload the heavy burden resting on my shoulders and tell my brother the truth about his fiancée, Jeanine would absolutely throw a fit if I did it before Candace and Crystal’s party.

I took my time washing and drying my hands and studied myself in the mirror. I looked more wilted than the baby’s breath. “An hour, Amelia. You can handle an hour.”

With that, I joined the growing crowd. William and Bridget had arrived during my bathroom break. Jeanine stood next to them by the food table. She fussed over Bridget’s ring, then wrapped William in a big hug. The sight set off a pang of sadness in my heart. Even all these years later, I missed my mom.

As if sensing my thoughts, William made eye contact with me over Jeanine’s shoulder. They came apart, and he thrust his hand up in the air to wave. He grabbed Bridget’s hand and made his way toward me. Thankfully, one of Jeanine’s friends intercepted them before they could get very far, and I made a beeline to the other side of the room, where the crowd was thickest. My mature plan of action? Avoid William and Bridget until I knew how to handle the situation.

I squeezed between two groups of people and tapped a gentleman’s shoulder to get past. He turned around, his eyebrows going from neutral to high up on his forehead. “Amelia!”

I nearly choked. “Matt?”

“Wow, it’s been such a long time.” His attention flickered down and up—a quick, innocent check out. “You look great.”

“Um, thanks. H-how are you?”

“Good. I just got married, actually.” He put his free hand on the small of a woman’s back, pulling her away from her conversation. “I’d love for you to meet my wife. Man, it sounds weird saying that.”

The petite, dark-haired, blue-eyed, beautiful-skinned woman beside him slapped him playfully in the stomach, then slipped under his arm, where she fit perfectly. “You better get used to it, buddy.”

He smiled. “Chelsea, meet Amelia. Amelia, meet Chelsea.”

My name made Chelsea’s entire posture perk. “Amelia, as in the Amelia? I can’t believe I finally get to meet Matt’s college sweetheart!” There wasn’t a trace of phoniness in her tone. She sounded and looked genuinely happy. “I know your sisters and I are friends, but it’s great to actually meet you. I feel like I ought to give you a hug.”

And so she did. She wrapped one arm around my neck for a brief, friendly squeeze.

I tried not to feel awkward. And reminded myself—on repeat—that they didn’t know I’d been spying on them this past Saturday. “Congratulations on the wedding.”

Chelsea beamed. “Thanks!”

“Are you two not going on a honeymoon?”

“Oh, we are. I made this guy promise me that.” She squeezed his waist. “Right, Matty?”

“We had to delay it a bit because of work. We’re leaving on Monday.”

I pulled at the collar of my shirt. “Where to?”

“California’s wine country,” Chelsea said. “I’ve always wanted to tour a vineyard. Italy was too far for a week, so we decided this would be the next best thing. Have you ever been?”

Matt laughed, a jovial glint in his eye. “When we dated, Amelia hadn’t even been on a plane.”

“Well, that was six years ago, Matty. I’m sure she’s been on a plane by now.”

My ears caught fire. Because, no, I hadn’t. Thankfully, I was saved from responding by my stepmother, who raised her voice to gather everyone’s attention. Apparently the birthday girls had pulled into the parking lot. This many people couldn’t exactly hide, so we all became very still and silent. Then Candace and Crystal appeared—identical twin Barbies alongside their handsome Ken husbands—and everyone let out a resounding, “Surprise!”

I had to give Jeanine credit. Her daughters looked truly taken aback.

Candace set her hand against her chest. Crystal’s mouth fell wide open. And then they both started laughing and playfully reprimanding their spouses for keeping such a secret. Jeanine got to them first, enfolding them both in a great big hug, dabbing tears from her eyes when she let go. “My babies are thirty. I can’t believe my babies are thirty.”

I searched for a way to get to them. The sooner I could extend my birthday wishes, the quicker I could get home to my cat.

I stepped inside my quiet, two-bedroom cottage, leaned against the door, and let out a long stream of breath. Exhaustion had etched itself into the base of my neck in the form of a throbbing headache. I’d gotten roped into staying longer than planned. Two hours of small talk with people I barely knew had taken a toll. As had the stilted conversation I’d had with William and Bridget. Judging by the odd looks my brother kept giving me, he suspected something was off.

Baxter jumped down from his favorite spot in the bay window and rubbed up against my leg. I gave him a pet. “Did you miss me, Bax?”

He weaved figure eights around my ankles, arching his back and curling his tail.

“I missed you too.” I set my purse on the small table in the entryway and slipped out of the ballet flats I’d changed into after work.

Baxter followed me into the kitchen, where I popped a couple of extra-strength Tylenol and turned on the burner beneath the teakettle. I scooped up Baxter and brought him with me to the kitchen nook, where I often left my laptop. I petted a purring Baxter in my lap and waited for the computer to boot up and the teakettle to whistle.

The kettle whistled first. I poured myself some chamomile tea, then opened up my inbox, hoping to find an email from Rachel.

Unfortunately, I didn’t. But there was something from Nate Gallagher.

From: gallagher24@gmail.com
To: amelia@forget-me-not.com
Date: Tue, Sep 15, 2015 5:42 p.m.
Subject: Re: so very sorry for the mix-up

Dear Amelia,

Your mea culpa is not necessary. You’re not bothering me at all. Which I wouldn’t say if it weren’t true. You don’t know me, but if you did, you’d know I don’t say false things to make people feel better.

You’re actually doing me a service. I’ve been searching for ways to procrastinate, and this is the perfect excuse. People say I’m good with advice. So maybe it’s not an accident at all that the e-mail meant for your Fiji-traveling friend, Rachel, ended up in my inbox instead.

Can I help?

Best,

Nate

PS: I actually own a flip phone. My friends all like to poke their fun, but I think they’re just jealous that I haven’t succumbed to technology’s allure.

“There are far, far better things ahead than any we leave behind.”
—C. S. Lewis