James and I go way back, Amber would have begun.

We basically met when we were toddlers. She runs her would-be speech through her head for the nth time as she grips the wheel and steps on the gas.

Your old-school sandbox-playdate-turned-lifelong-friendship.

Now the accelerator.

Stuff of dreams these days, I'm sure you're all jealous. She remembers the part in the script that cues the laughter. Instead, the offbeat sound of a roaring engine leaves her clutching the leather wheel tighter as she takes a deep breath.

Now past the freeway and close to Santa Monica Boulevard, the memorized words compete with the sheer adrenaline navigating her through the unfamiliar streets.

He's the person whose happiness I'd fight tooth and nail for.

There’s a tear rushing down her cheek as the red light forces Amber to stomp on the brakes. She looks beyond the hills, asking the sun to stay a while longer or the stoplights to switch a bit faster. But it's a sunset wedding. And the sky is already bleeding.

This might be my line of work talking, but I've always known for a fact that the happiest of endings should go to him. A few minutes covers miles at her speed. She curses under her breath as she makes a sharp u-turn out of a wrong street, tires skidding just loud enough to disrupt the quiet neighborhood she’s driving along. She’s getting close.

He's always deserved it.

Two right turns, then a left at the fourth corner. Wait, where was it again?

And that's why two months ago, I cancelled all my pending projects back in Korea to fly home to LA in a heartbeat when I heard that I was being commissioned for my biggest project yet.

Los Feliz, the sign read.

James asked me the great honour of planning his wedding.

A few more turns.

And the greater honor of being the one by his side at the altar. 

Well, and her heart aches as she continues the voiceover in her head, his right side.

She hits the breaks in front of a white cross-crowned building. There can't be too many churches in one area, right? This should be the place.

And now I'm his and Sierra's best woman.

She takes one last sharp breath before opening the door.

The orange sunlight paints her silk sleeves peach as the first step out her car marks what feels like the longest march of her life. The beating of her heart rings like a stream of thuds and silences loud enough to render her deaf in her own mind.

But soon enough the bronze handles greet her at the entrance.

3...

2...

1...

 

Here goes.

And the brightness beyond the double doors breaks through as she pulls them open.

“I OBJECT!”

She shouts, eyes blinded by the incandescent light battling the dim outdoor twilight.

A beat.

“Stop the wedding!” she adds bravely, voice cracking somewhere in between the panting and the visual frenzy of bright lights and vague figures of colorful fabric behind brown church pews. Suddenly, it’s silent enough to hear herself heaving.

And gradually her vision adjusts to the sight- to the hall of unfamiliar eyes fastened onto her, jaws all agape, most faces confused, others horrified.

It then traces the aisle and stops where the velvet carpet ends. Funny enough, she doesn’t remember agreeing on (tacky) velvet carpet for any of the weddings she has ever planned. Not even for this one that she's probably just ruined.

Even funnier? The fact that she can't make out the couple behind the altar.

She knows James' figure like the back of her own hand. And god knows how many times she's imagined his face standing right there, looking back at her.

But that's not James, and beside him isn't Sierra. And the sun has already set outside.

And finally, there it is. The main event of Amber’s evening. On an outstretched banner beneath the wooden cross on the wall at the end of the building is the beginning of the rest of her life.

Her eyes widen in shock and her heart skips a few beats as she reads what's written.

“Congratulations,” it says...

“Henry and Krystal!”