The day Ava called me screaming that she was engaged, I burst with excitement. Since middle school, we’d been best friends—sharing secrets, swapping dreams, and navigating life’s messiest moments side by side. So when she asked for my help planning her wedding, I didn’t hesitate.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you, Chloe,” she said, hugging me after our fourth dress appointment. We’d finally found the gown.
“That’s what best friends are for,” I said—and I meant it.
Over the next nine months, I became Ava’s unofficial wedding planner. When her photographer nearly backed out over a payment issue, I quietly transferred $500 from my savings to keep the booking. When her mom canceled hosting the bridal shower because it was “too stressful,” I stepped in and threw a garden party that had guests talking for weeks.
I stayed on the phone with Ava during 2 a.m. meltdowns about napkin colors and flower budgets. I reassured her through every spiral of wedding stress.
Through it all, Ava knew I’d been with Mark for three years. She’d celebrated when he proposed three months earlier and even helped me pick through bridal magazines for my own upcoming ceremony.
“I’m so happy we’re doing this together,” she told me once over coffee. “You’ll see all my mistakes before your big day!”
So when she gave me a plus-one, I was thankful but not surprised. Mark and I had been looking forward to the celebration.
The morning of her wedding was sunny and crisp. Mark looked incredible in his charcoal suit. I wore the burgundy dress Ava had specifically approved.
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