The first time someone mentioned Amber’s wedding, I laughed.
“Wait, Amber who?” I asked, sipping my coffee, my attention more on the giant slice of cheesecake in front of me than on the conversation.
The table went silent. Four pairs of eyes blinked at me like I’d just confessed to a crime.
“Are you serious, Ivy?” Lauren finally asked, setting down her fork. “Amber. Our Amber.”
My stomach dipped. “No way. She would have told me. You’re messing with me, right?”
Jack shifted uncomfortably, almost knocking over his coffee. “Ivy, she… she sent the invitations weeks ago. Almost a month.”
I nearly dropped my cup. “That can’t be right. Mine must have gotten lost in the mail. Or maybe she’s waiting to tell me in person. That would make sense, right?”
But it didn’t make sense. Amber and I had spent our entire childhood dreaming about being each other’s bridesmaids, helping plan each other’s weddings, standing side by side through everything. So why was I left out?
Weeks passed. More invitations were sent. Friends posted online about it, tagging Amber, celebrating her big day.
“We can’t wait to celebrate you!”
“You’re going to be the most beautiful bride, Amber!”
“Bachelorette party weekend!!”
Even Lauren, who had first told me, kept mentioning the wedding.
“I got this gorgeous midnight blue dress, Ives,” she gushed over the phone one day. “And my grandmother’s earrings will go perfectly with it. Have you decided what you’re wearing?”
“Lauren,” I said, my voice flat. “I’m not invited.”
Silence. Then a nervous laugh. “Oh, uh… right. I forgot.”
I waited for Amber to say something. I gave her every chance to tell me herself. But she never did. Even when we went to get our nails done together.
I wasn’t sure I wanted to spend time with her after everything, but curiosity won. I needed to see if she would bring it up. And to my surprise, she agreed to go.
She sat across from me, smiling as if nothing was wrong. “I’m going with a neutral color,” she said, flashing her nails.
I glanced at her hand. No engagement ring.
“Beautiful,” I murmured. “I’m going with fiery red.”
Had I hurt her in some way? Was she angry with me? Did she think I would object at her wedding and run off with her groom?
Something was wrong, and I could feel it deep in my bones. She was avoiding me. And I needed to know why.
So, on the day of the wedding, I crashed it.
Lauren had kept me updated, sending me screenshots of Amber’s posts. I hadn’t seen them myself—Amber had blocked me.
“Sorry, Ives,” Lauren said one afternoon, passing me her phone while we ate ice cream in the park. “I don’t know why she’s acting like this. Have you talked to her?”
“We got our nails done a few weeks ago,” I admitted. “But I didn’t ask directly. She wasn’t wearing a ring. I don’t think she wanted me there.”
And now, here I was, standing outside the venue, watching guests file inside, their laughter filling the air.
I knew most of these people. Amber’s family had practically been my own.
So why wasn’t I welcome?
I thought back to the last time we spoke before any of this wedding talk had started. We had been at her apartment, sitting on the floor, splitting a bottle of wine, wedding magazines scattered around us.
I had circled a dress I knew she would love. “What about this one? It’s so you.”
She had been quiet. Tense. I had brushed it off as work stress.
“Why do you have so many wedding magazines, anyway?” I had asked, sipping my wine.
“It’s for work,” she said quickly. “I’m designing a wedding dress. If I get this right, I’ll get more clients.”
Had she been lying? Was she planning her wedding back then?
I replayed her expression, the way she gripped her wine glass too tightly when I asked about her dream dress. It got worse when I asked about her dream groom.
“We’ve grown past dreaming about movie star husbands,” I had joked. “So, what do you picture when you think of yours?”
“You live in your head too much, Ivy,” she had muttered, brushing me off.
I should have known something was wrong.
Now, I walked through the venue doors like I belonged there. No sneaking, no hiding. I just blended in.
The hall was breathtaking. Soft golden lights. Elegant décor. It was perfect, every detail screaming Amber’s style. She had poured her heart into this wedding.
Guests mingled, sipping champagne, finding their seats. Romantic music filled the space.
For a moment, I convinced myself this was all a mistake.
Then, I stepped into the main hall.
Silence.
Heads turned. Some whispered. Others looked at me with pity.
My stomach clenched.
Then, I saw her.
Amber stood at the front, frozen in her white dress, looking like she had seen a ghost.
And then I saw him.
The groom. The man standing beside her, arm around her waist, smiling stiffly.
My father.
The same father who abandoned me when I was ten.
The same father I hadn’t seen since.
The world blurred. My ears rang. I tried to speak, but no words came out.
Amber had known.
She had known this whole time. That’s why she hadn’t invited me.
She had been hiding this from me.
Then, my father spoke.
“Ivy.” His voice was deeper than I remembered, but it still made me feel like a ten-year-old girl, standing at the window, waiting for someone who never came back.
But I wasn’t that girl anymore.
I stepped forward, my heels clicking against the floor.
The room held its breath.
“You,” I said, my voice steady despite the storm inside me. “You’re going to stand there like nothing happened?”
His fingers twitched. “I… Ivy—”
Amber rushed forward. “Listen, I was going to tell you—”
“When? After the honeymoon? Or maybe when you were pregnant with my half-sibling?”
She flinched. “I didn’t know how to—”
“How to what? Tell me you were marrying my father? The man who left me?”
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
I turned to him. “Why now? Why her?”
He exhaled. “I know I owe you an explanation.”
I scoffed. “You owe me more than that.”
Amber wiped her eyes, looking guilty.
“Congratulations,” I said bitterly. “You’re family now. I hope it was worth it.”
I turned, walking straight for the door.
“Ivy, please. I don’t want to lose you again, darling.”
I stopped but didn’t turn around. “Please, Philip. You lost me years ago. You just never cared enough to look.”
I walked out of my best friend’s wedding.
Out of my father’s wedding.
Out of their lives.
That night, sitting in my car, I saw a text from Amber.
Ivy, I’m so sorry. Please talk to me.
I stared at it. Then, slowly, I deleted it.
For the first time in years, I stopped waiting by the window.
I was done.
