My eyes dart around the room the minute the water turns on. What is something simple I could wish for? Something Max wouldn’t notice? Oh, God—did I really believe this was happening? Jules and Liam would have a field day with this—I imagined telling them the story over drinks, Jules rolling her eyes and Liam spitting out his whiskey after I uttered the words time travel, asking me if Doc was waiting for me outside in his DeLorean. “Only one way to find out if this is real,” I whisper as I bring my shaking fingers to my keyboard.
I write an update about wishing I’d bought those gorgeous new wedges last week and count to three before stepping into the large walk-in closet that Max and I share. Sitting next to the ivory satin heels I planned to wear on my wedding day are the strappy gold sandals I had drooled over when I’d spotted them at Nordstrom, finally walking out of the store without so much as trying them on after convincing myself that I’d already spent more money on the wedding than we’d planned.
“Holy shit,” I say under my breath. My Facebook statuses are coming true.
I have no idea why or how. All I know is they are. And not only am I the proud new owner of a glorious pair of shoes and hair so beautiful that it begs to be taken out to dinner, but I have gone back in time, which means my nightmare isn’t just an ugly dream, it is real. And in just one month, Max is going to break my heart all over again at our rehearsal dinner. And then he’ll start his new life with Courtney, leaving me to pick up the pieces. I rub the skin between my eyes where a sharp pain is throbbing, not sure I can handle having all of this happen to me again. Or maybe this is an opportunity for me to change the course of my life?
Tears fall as the questions start to fill my mind. Is Max already plotting our relationship’s demise? Has he already fallen out of love with me? And the most important of all: Can this be fixed?
Max had sworn he had never cheated on me with Courtney. If that were true, then maybe I could alter our course. Maybe I have been sent back in time because I’m supposed to alter our course. For some reason, I’ve been given the power to make any wish come true. I could make myself ten pounds lighter, become the owner of that pale green Craftsman beach house in Malibu that I’ve always drooled over, or I could make Courtney as bald as CeeLo Green. The world has just become my oyster. The question is, where do I plan to start?
CHAPTER SIX
A true best friend loves you even when it seems like you’ve gone off the deep end.
The quote I posted on Facebook this morning is on my mind as I watch Jules compute what I’ve just told her. “I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to repeat that,” Jules says as she expertly kneads a mound of pizza dough between her fingers. “Very slowly.”
As soon as Max left for work, I’d raced to Jules’ ranch-style home tucked into the hills of Studio City so I could tell her everything. And as I watch her make the pepperoni pizza for that night’s dinner, I repeat the story of Max breaking up with me in Maui, finding out he was in love with Courtney, and traveling back in time. As the details spill out of me like a dam that has burst, Jules never blinks as she furiously flattens the dough with a rolling pin while also fielding questions from Ellie and Evan as they get ready for school. Where’s my backpack? Do we have a stapler? Where is my other pink shoe?
She throws out her answers with precision—the hall closet. Yes, but we’re out of staples, just use a paper clip. In the garage next to your rain boots—while never losing her focus on the dough or me. Finally, her eyebrows furrow together tightly and she wipes her floury hands on a red-and-white-striped dish towel, and for a moment I think she believes me—that she’s going to hug me tightly, maybe call me a little crazy, but say we should jump into her Volvo, find Courtney, and slap her silly. But instead she sighs loudly.
“Are you doing okay?” Her question hangs heavy in the air as she slides onto the bar stool next to me and I feel all the hope I had inside evaporate like pool water that’s splashed onto hot pavement.
If my best friend doesn’t believe me, how will I get through this?
“You’ve been really stressed from work lately, and the wedding planning has you frazzled . . . I know I’ve dropped the ball on a lot of my matron-of-honor duties. Between Evan’s soccer schedule, the math tutor we had to hire for Ellie, and my demanding hours at the restaurant since it was written up in Los Angeles magazine, I’ve been overwhelmed. I’m sorry. You’ve clearly needed me and I haven’t been here for you,” she confesses.
“Jules,” I say, firmly squeezing her hand and taking the tone, the one we reserve for each other when we have to be painfully honest—like when she had to tell me that I should not, under any circumstances, ever wear anything with an empire waist unless I wanted to appear six months pregnant. “I need you to hear me right now, even though I know how this all sounds—but it’s real. Very real.”
“Okay, you have my attention . . .”