A Vow By Chance

The mail thumped onto the kitchen counter as I stepped into my tiny apartment, echoing through the silence like an accusation. The late-afternoon light slanted in through the blinds, catching the dust motes dancing in the air. Summer, my tabby with the kind of imperious grace usually reserved for queens and supermodels, stretched lazily on the windowsill before hopping down to wind herself around my legs.

“Hey, trouble,” I murmured, scratching behind her ears. She purred, loud and smug, as if she owned the place which, considering I was three weeks behind on rent, she might very well inherit before I did.

I set my bag down, toeing off my scuffed flats, and began sorting through the usual pile of bills, advertisements, and “urgent” notices. A red overdue stamp glared at me from the corner of my gas bill. I pushed it aside like that would somehow make it disappear.

Then I saw it.

An envelope thicker than the rest, creamy white, sealed with a neat circle of gold foil that caught the light. There was no printed label, just handwriting: looping, elegant, the kind that made you imagine quills, candlelight, and women in empire-waist gowns exchanging secrets.

I grabbed my old penknife from the junk drawer and slit it open.

The card inside was heavy, embossed with a delicate floral border. My eyes skimmed the neat script.

Dear Alyssa,

I hope you are doing well in New York! I am writing to invite you to a very special occasion my wedding!

I am thrilled to be tying the knot with my partner, and we would be honored if you could join us on our special day. The wedding will take place on June 9, 2024, in Bournemouth, UK. We have planned a beautiful ceremony and reception, and we would love for you to be a part of it. We have also arranged accommodations for our out-of-town guests. If you will be attending, RSVP on or before June 4, 2024. We’ll be glad to see you there.

Yours faithfully,

Johanne Steve

I stared at the words, my brain snagging on them like fabric on a nail. Johanne my sister Marina’s best friend since forever. Last I’d heard, she wasn’t even dating anyone. Now she was marrying someone?

What's next Marina sending her wedding invite? By postal mail, apparently.

For heaven’s sake, it was the twenty-first century. We had iPhones, DMs, and an app for everything. But… there was something about the gold foil, the way my name was written, the crisp feel of the paper that tugged at something inside me. It felt… romantic. Not in a hearts-and-flowers way, but in the sense of being seen. Remembered.

Still, Johanne had no way of knowing if I’d received it. I could just… pretend I didn’t. Focus on more pressing puzzles like how to juggle rent, utilities, and groceries without setting off the financial equivalent of a house fire.

My phone buzzed on the counter.

Marina ️

I sighed and picked up. “Hey, sis.”

“Alyssa? You sound half-dead. What’s wrong? Are you sick?”

“What? No. I’m just tired,” I lied, leaning back against the counter. “Up late working on a project.” The truth that I was juggling two jobs and still coming up short would only open the door for one of her I told you so lectures. Marina had always insisted I shouldn’t have left home without a college plan. But when you’ve spent your entire life being the family’s afterthought, sometimes rage makes your decisions for you.

“You know,” she said, her voice sharp enough to cut glass, “if you need money, you can just ask. I don’t know why you’re so stubborn.”

“It’s called learning, sis,” I said, keeping my tone light. “Anyway, how are Mom and Dad? Do they miss me?” She snorted. “Call them and find out.”

Translation: No, they don’t.

I changed the subject. “So… Johanne’s wedding invite. Ever heard of email? Quick. Reliable.”

Marina groaned. “She sent it? I told her I’d just call you.”

“Well, she did. And honestly? I kind of like it. Feels like something from the 18th century.”

“You weren’t alive then, Alyssa.”

I laughed. “Not the point.”

“So… we should be expecting you?” Her voice dipped into something softer hesitant. She wanted me there but wouldn’t say it outright.

“I don’t know, Marina. Flights are expensive. And I’d need a dress.” My gaze flicked to my cramped wardrobe. The nicest thing I owned was a black cocktail dress I’d worn to a work Christmas party three years ago.

“Check your Venmo after this call,” she said flatly.

“What? No. Marina, I don’t want”

“I’m your big sister. I’ve kept my mouth shut for three years, but this isn’t negotiable. You’re coming home. One week. End of discussion.”

And she hung up.

I stared at my phone, a mix of irritation and guilt twisting in my chest. “Oh, great. What am I supposed to do now?”

The screen lit up: Money received.

Enough for a flight. Enough for a dress. Enough to take the edge off my bills.

Summer hopped onto the counter, inspecting the invitation like she was considering attending herself. I thought of home the salt smell of the Bournemouth coast, the sound of gulls, the way the air felt heavy with sea mist. I thought of the last time I’d been there, the fight I’d had with my parents, the way my father’s voice had gone cold. My stomach knotted.

There was one person I needed to talk to.

I hit dial. “Hey, babe. Done with your shift? Want to grab dinner?” He said yes.

I grabbed my jacket, locked the door, and headed out, ignoring the unease coiling in my gut. Because here’s the thing my boyfriend didn’t know I was going to the wedding yet. And the last time I’d mentioned my family, he’d gone very, very quiet. And if the way he’d been acting lately was any clue…

…I wasn’t entirely sure he wanted me to go.

Or worse

…I wasn’t sure why.