Things were falling into place.
She sat at the island as soft music played on the Bluetoothspeaker. She closed the notebook and exhaled, letting her gaze drift back to the sunlit backyard and the laughter that echoed through the screened patio door. Then she opened the Pinterest app and began scrolling through images on her iPad. The decorations needed to reflectJoie’s essence—warm, sophisticated, and inviting. They needed to blend in with the tasting room’s soft lighting and the earth-toned, soft peach walls.
The winery’s outdoor space was just as beautiful as the inside. In the garden flowers and vegetation were in full bloom—lupine, poppies, and wild irises. Even a few California fuchsias were beginning to pop up. She envisioned decorating the garden area with high-top tables draped in flowing white tablecloths, soft candlelight, and strings of white lights overhead. Every detail mattered.
She imagined how the evening would come together. The late-afternoon sun would stretch across the garden. Guests would move from table to table, wineglasses in hand, laughter rising. Each station would offer something different—a crisp Sauvignon Blanc, a velvety Pinot Noir, and of courseJoie’s signature wine—the sparkling rosé with notes of strawberry and citrus—would be the centerpiece of the tasting. The wine would be paired with small bites. Not just a tasting but an experience. An introduction to the world.
Her phone buzzed. It was a message from Camille, her marketing lead:Final draft of the invitation is ready. Want to review before we print?
Remi typed a quick response:Yes, email it to me.
When her phone buzzed again, she thought it was Camille texting back. Instead, it was Leo, sending a photo that he’d snapped of her during their daycation at the beach. In the photo, she was looking away—somewhere in deep thought. She smiled and typed:When did you sneak this one in?
He replied:While you were far, far away.
Remi smiled.
Bianca quietly walked into the kitchen, fully dressed. She’d been closed up in her room for days—tiptoeing on the edge of depression. When Remi saw her appear, a flicker of relief softened in her chest, grateful for the small sign that she hadn’t given up. She had started to worry.
“Glad to see you.” Remi gave her a smile.
“Thought I might cook something. Cooking always lifts my mood.” Her voice was soft but steady.
“Well, by all means, cook,” Remi said with a small laugh.
“Mind if I borrow the car? I want to pick up a few ingredients. Seafood and fresh vegetables.”
“Of course. You feel okay to drive?”
“I think so.”
Remi paused, then said, “Maybe I’ll tag along. Give you a hand.”
Bianca glanced at her, the faintest trace of a smile forming. “I’d like that.”
The drive was quiet at first, but not in a heavy way—just comfortable. The windows were down, letting in a breeze. Remi allowed her to drive. She wanted Bianca to feel as if she could do normal things again. She warned that if she felt fatigued, she would take the wheel. Bianca kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting in her lap. Remi watched the way her expression softened when the wind caught her hair, how the sunlight danced across her face. Her hair was beginning to fill in again—just a little bit.
Remi’s heart saddened at the thought of how they’d gotten to this place. How their friendship had evolved into such a bad awkwardness. How betrayal had torn them apart. Their sisterhood had been such an important part of her life, andnow she didn’t even recognize Bianca, or her own life for that matter. Things were so different now. It was as if they were becoming reacquainted when they’d known each other so intimately their entire lives. Had Bianca not gotten sick, they would not be in this car together, nor the same house. They wouldn’t be in the same space at all. It was as if the universe had other plans, though.
At the market they grabbed a cart and wandered into the produce section. Bianca moved with more purpose than Remi expected, scanning the bins for heirloom tomatoes and bright bundles of herbs.
“These look good,” Bianca said, holding up a bunch of asparagus.
Remi nodded. “What are you thinking?”
“Grilled asparagus. Maybe some seared scallops, and a citrus salad if I can find good oranges.”
“That sounds amazing,” Remi said, picking up a bunch of basil and holding it up to her nose. “You feel like doing this? Cooking?”
Bianca shrugged lightly. “Figured it’s better than lying in bed.”
They continued down the aisles, grabbing lemons, garlic, crusty bread from the bakery, and a chilled bottle of sparkling water for the ride home.
As they walked toward the checkout, Remi nudged her gently. “Glad you got out today.”
Bianca didn’t look at her, just smiled a little and said, “Me too.”
Remi watched as Bianca moved around in the kitchen as she’d done so many times before. She watched her rhythm—chopping, slicing, arranging. Bianca didn’t speak much, but her silence wasn’t withdrawn; it was focused. She zested a lemon.