A/N: So a while ago I mentioned the last chapter for this story and how I had it written. Well, with the show ending and there likely being a lot of people moving on... it seems like time. And honestly, though I know what happens next with Amy and her dad and Karma and all, I don't really have the heart for that much angst anymore, not with this story, at least. This started off with a little angst and a little funny and a lot of love so I think it's time it went back there. So, bad news (if you're still reading) the story's almost done. Good news: almost. Turns out the last chapter was a bit longer than I would have thought and there were things that needed a little more to wrap up. So this isn't it, not yet. I'm thinking three or four chapters, probably. Hopefully y'all like it and stick around long enough (I promise no more months between updates). This is set ten years from the end of the last chapter and the rest I think you can get as you go. Feel free to comment, like, flame me, whatever :)

Amy's freaking out.

Not that that's anything all that unusual. She spent the better portion of her teenage years in what seemed like one long perpetual freak out. Not without reason, but still… she'd thought by now she'd be over it. She thought she'd be over it years ago. Twenty or maybe twenty-one, that was the cut off for overly emotional totally random extreme wig outs, right?

She'd thought (and by thought, she meant hoped or wished or, really, prayed) that by twenty-six, she'd be over it all, that she'd be ready for whatever life threw at her. After all, life had chucked its fair (or more than fair) share at her already.

Sudden discovery of your sexuality? Piece of nut free cake. Falling in love with and then being rejected by your best friend? Been there, done that, got the t-shirt, then shrunk it in the wash and passed it on to Lauren. Dad disappearing then reappearing and oh, bringing along another sibling (and did we mention said sibling was also of the queer persuasion)? Walk in the fucking park.

If she could handle that, Amy thought, then there was nothing she couldn't handle.

Even a wedding. Even her wedding.

Silly silly girl. (Woman.) (26 and all.)

It's T-minus eighteen hours until her wedding, the wedding she's waited her entire life for. And yes, she has waited that long even if she hasn't been Karma (or Lauren) (especially Lauren) and planned it all for years, making notes and sketches and diagrams and mock seating charts and color coded flower layouts and exacting specifications for the perfect dress.

Amy's waited. She hasn't gone insane.

And so, yeah, maybe she didn't really start thinking about it as early as Karma (eight) or Lucy (ten) or Lauren (in the fucking womb) and maybe when she did start thinking about it, it might have featured someone else (a certain redhead) standing across from her and maybe then she had more detailed imaginings of the entire thing.

(Or, really, mostly of the food.) (And the honeymoon.) (And the food on the honeymoon.)

But now, she's got the right girl (woman) and the food is being handled (Lauren) and the honeymoon is taken care of (even if it is a secret) (and Reagan's loving every second of knowing and not telling) and maybe it's only been ten years since she really, honest and true started thinking about it.

She's been thinking about it and thinking about thinking about it (and trying to pretend that she wasn't thinking about it) since she mentioned china patterns and joint checking and ooooh… maybe someone got them that whole house stereo system (cause of course Reagan registered for it), never mind that they don't have a house just yet (just Reagan's condo) but that's on the list (their list, not one of Lauren's lists) (not the kind that takes an entire three-ring binder) (just a piece of note paper, taped to the fridge.)

Wedding. House. Dog (a second one.) Yard (for the dog.) Kid. (Not for the dog.)

Usually, imagining the list and everything on it soothes Amy. Usually, it's her happy place, the place she escapes to when her father's pissing her off (every Wednesday at three) or Reagan's stressing about all the money she's pouring into Planter's (all of it) (everything they have) or Lauren and Karma are… being Lauren and Karma. Usually, five minutes envisioning the list puts Amy's mind at ease.

Usually she's not less than a day from her wedding and usually the list is far off and not something that might become reality any fucking day now and that's all settling in now and so, yeah, she's freaking out just a little.

And by a little, she totally means totally losing her shit.

"Two hours," she says, resting her elbows on the table and her head in her hands. "I've got two hours to decide and I don't have the first fucking clue."

Lauren and Reagan are sitting on either side of her around the big wooden table at the back of Planter's. It's the only original one left, the only one that survived the fire. Amy's always taken that as an omen of sorts. It was this table that they all sat around together that first time, the night they all graduated. It wasn't a party, not really, more like a dinner, a family dinner (that was what Reagan called it) (under her breath) (and promised she'd kill Amy if she ever told anyone, so of course Amy announced it to the entire table.) It was her and Reagan and Karma and Lauren and Theo (the fucker) and Liam (bigger fucker) and Shane and Lucy. And then there were her parents (all three) and Martin and Glenn and Nana too.

It was crowded and it was loud and there was hardly room on the table for all the food and Lauren and Liam barely spoke and Lucy kept staring at Karma like she was the most beautiful and wondrous thing in the world (it's gotta be in the genes) and Amy's pretty sure Nana dumped her entire plate of cheese fries in Jack's lap on purpose.

It was the happiest night of her life.

And so even if she's not quite as 'hippity-dippity' (Jack's words) as the Ashcrofts, Amy's still of a mind that if a fire that damn near gutted the place left only one table unscathed and it was their table?

Gotta be a sign of something.

And maybe, she's often thought, she's not the only one to think so. After all, Lauren even caved and agreed to let Jana host the rehearsal dinner (after Amy threatened not to have one at all), though she did draw the line at the reception, which, as it turned out, was only the first of Lauren's 'lines'.

The flowers, Lauren said, had to be pink. The flowers, Amy replied, definitely needed to not be pink and, quite frankly, really didn't need to be (like as in at all) but Reagan stepped in (as she always did) and negotiated them both off that ledge and so the flowers will be and they'll be in a lovely shade of purple.

The bridesmaid dresses (as in the three) (Karma, Lauren, Lucy) had to be… well… dresses.

"I can pull off a suit," Lauren insisted. "I can pull that shit off like nobody's business. But… no."

Amy had intended to draw her own line there but then Karma and Lucy had lined up right behind Lauren and... yeah… her sisters and her best friend?

Amy never stood a chance.

"It is my wedding, right?" she asked Reagan and Reagan said that of course it was.

(Right after she got done laughing.) (Or maybe while she was laughing.) (The laughing went on for a while so it was hard for Amy to tell.)

They'd… discussed… the reception and the menu and the music. Lauren thought fancy (the fanciest) (Reagan had money now, even if it was all getting pumped into the repairs and even if, technically, the family of the bride was supposed to pay, but there were two of those, so…) and fine dining (there were things on the menu Amy couldn't pronounce and even she drew her food line somewhere) and she had the perfect little band all picked out.

"Felix and Oliver, you remember them right? From senior year?" Lauren asked, oblivious to the way the color drained from Amy's face. "They've got this adorable little jazz fusion ensemble and they do swinged up versions of all the classics and a lot of modern stuff and why the fuck are you laughing Reagan? I'm serious."

In the end (which was like eight months ago and Amy can hardly believe it's been that long already) they compromised (read: Reagan chose.) Reception at a fancy hotel downtown, but not the fanciest. A menu full of things Amy can actually say but still might not eat. And a DJ, one of Reagan's old friends from the circuit.

(And not the only two boys in all of Austin to have crushed madly on Amy Raudenfeld.)

(And, if by some strange happenstance, a fried bacon doughnut burger with extra cheese - but light on BBQ sauce cause dress - arrives on Amy's plate at the head table?)

(Lauren knows nothing, she's Jon fucking Snowing that shit.)

But that was all then and this is now and this is Amy freaking out.

"Two hours," she moans again. "How can I be expected to make a decision like this in two hours?"

"Technically," Lauren says as she flips through a small pile of index cards, reviewing and re-reviewing last minute details. "You've had two years." Amy glares at her from across the table, a stare fierce enough to make Satan cringe (she's learned a thing or two from her sister and her girlfriend over the years) but Lauren doesn't blink. "You've been engaged for two years, Amy. Deciding who's going to walk you down the aisle probably should have come up before now."

"It has," Reagan says quietly. She's nursing another beer (Lauren's not sure if it's number three or number four but she's still about two more sips from cutting Bride #2 off.) "It really has."

Amy doesn't look at either of them. Instead she turns back to her own notes, piled neatly on the table in front of her. There's two stacks, both laid out in a very clear and organized fashion and Lauren can't help but feel a little pride.

Stack #1: The pros of Bruce. (Lauren's fond of that one.)

Stack #2: The pros of Jack. (No one, save for maybe Amy, is fond of that one.)

(Jack's stuck around and Jack's worked hard and Jack's explained it all - and Jack brought them Lucy, which is like the best thing ever - but… yeah…)

(Jack's still Jack. And all those years are still all those fucking years.)

That's the reason Amy's consciously avoided making 'cons' lists because she knows one of those lists would easily outdistance the other and somehow that doesn't seem quite… fair… so she's sticking with the pluses and ignoring the minuses. Ignoring them as best she can, at least.

"I have thought about it," she says. "I've been thinking about it. Constantly, Over and over again. It's all I've been thinking about for weeks."

"She's not lying," Reagan says, taking another sip.

Lauren glances between them - the dueling brides - and yeah, she knows from some of her father's ill fated trips down the aisle that a lot of weddings come with stress and aggravation and a few hurt (or stomped, trampled, and mangled) feelings.

But this is something… else.

"So you've been thinking," Lauren says to Amy, though all the while she's keeping one eye on Reagan. "And?"

"And I'm fucked," Amy says and from the way Reagan rolls her eyes, Lauren's getting the idea that Amy might be more right than she knows. "Either way… it doesn't matter who I pick. Someone gets hurt."

Reagan takes a long pull on her beer and sets the bottle down. It bangs against wood like a gunshot and (almost) every head in the place turns to look.

"Sorry," she mumbles, her thumb tapping against the side of the bottle.

Amy doesn't notice and keeps right on rolling. "If I pick my father because, well, he's my father," she says, "I'm sure Bruce would understand but Bruce… he's been a dad to me for the last ten years, through all of it. Which is more than I can say for Jack…"

"So pick Bruce," Reagan says and there's a clear ripple (or tidal fucking wave) of 'so done with it' to her tone except Amy seems to actively mistake or ignore or not even notice it.

Lauren's not sure which of those is the worst possibility.

"But Jack is still my dad," Amy says (and Lauren resists pointing out that if biology is her only argument, it's really no fucking contest.) "And things are better now and counseling has helped and he's stuck around and he's really trying."

(How fucking noble of him, right?)

"So that's settled then," Reagan says. "It's Jack."

Lauren can practically see Reagan counting it down in her head and she's sure the dynamic duo have played this game before, they've probably spent many an hour going back and forth - playing ping-pong-pops - and she can only imagine how… frustrating (that's the nicest word she can come up with) dealing with an indecisive (and clearly fucking clueless) Amy has been.

"I would," Amy says. "But Bruce…"

Reagan takes one last drink, glaring angrily at the bottle when it turns out to be empty and slides it into the middle of the table, watching as it spins and twirls and tips over. "Maybe," she says, "you should have them both do it."

Even Karma would have picked up on that tone but Amy…

"I thought of that," she says. "But how silly would that look? A dad on each arm? I'd look so indecisive."

(As opposed to now, right?)

Reagan grunts (Lauren's pretty sure the sound is mostly cover for the 'fuck this' she hears) and stands, pushing her chair back, skidding it loudly across the floor. "I need some air," she says and Amy and Lauren watch her walk (run) (it's a fucking sprint) and Amy turns to her sister, the confusion on her face just about tripling at Lauren's expression.

"What?" she asks.

"What what?" Lauren replies.

"That look," Amy says. "I know that look. That's your 'Amy, you so dumb' look, the 'Amy, your foot is brushing your teeth again' look." Her eyes narrow. "What did I do?"

Lauren doesn't say anything. The look says it all.

"I didn't…" Amy pauses, running over the entire conversation in her mind because she knows she didn't, but Lauren thinks (clearly) that she did and they've been sisters long enough now that Amy knows a Lauren 'think' usually trumps an Amy 'know'.

Usually.

(Usually = always.)

"I was talking about my two dads and who's going to walk me down the aisle," Amy says. "And you agree with me, right? I mean it would look so stupid for me to have both of them do it."

Lauren nods. "Especially since…"

"Especially since mom's family still hates my father," Amy says.

(Farrah's family and a lot of Jack's family and the Ashcrofts and Glenn - just on principle - and the Bookers, but they're not invited, so fuck them.)

"And…" Lauren prompts.

"And since dad's side of the family might not like him but they don't like Bruce even more," Amy says and Lauren sighs and Amy knows that was the wrong answer.

If she only knew why.

"True," Lauren says (and the agreement worries Amy cause that's never good.) "And also because Reagan…"

"Reagan won't have any…" Amy trails off as she sees it, sees it so fucking clearly. "Fuck," she mutters. "Fuck fuck fuck."

Lauren nods. "Yeah," she says. "Fuck."

Amy puts her head back in her hands. "I'm an idiot," she says, tilting her head to look at Lauren who doesn't disagree. "Why didn't you stop me?"

Lauren rests a hand on her sister's arm. "You're marrying the woman Amy, you're spending the rest of your lives together. You think I'm gonna be there every time you say something stupid?"

"Yes?"

Lauren laughs but it dies on the vine as she spots Glenn walking in.

Speaking of saying something stupid…

"Go," she tells Amy. "Go fix it. Go yank your foot out of your mouth and tell him - her - the things she needs to hear and make this right."

Amy either misses the slip or is too caught up in her own mess to call Lauren on it, which is good (fucking great) because the last thing she needs is to have to try and explain her and Glenn and their… whatever… to Bride #1.

"How?" Amy asks. "What… how… I have no idea how to fix this."

"You'll think of something," Lauren says. "And you'd better. Because in eighteen hours, someone needs to be walking somebody down the aisle." She stands and pats Amy on the shoulder as she eyes Glenn across the room. "And I swear to God, Amy, if you fuck this up after all my work?"

Lauren leans over and kisses Amy on top of the head and it's nothing like a mafia kiss of death at all.

"Fuck this up?" Lauren says, "and there won't be a honeymoon destination in the world far enough for you to hide from me."