Anger swells inside my chest as I remember Liam’s statement from earlier—that he thought I was the one who was nervous.
“—wedding jitters? Cold feet?” I offer, my voice tight, scaring away an approaching waiter with a tray of shrimp, signaling it’s now seven o’clock. In just seventeen hours I am supposed to waltz down the aisle to meet Max in the ivory strapless gown with a gray bow at the waist that Jules and I had found at the very first boutique on my list. I feel sick when I think of how we’d shaken our heads when we noticed the All Sales Final sign posted next to the cash register. “Who brings back a wedding dress?” I had mocked, and the saleswoman had remained silent but gave me a knowing look. Maybe I had jinxed myself.
Max stares at his shiny black loafers. “You have every right to be furious—to hate me, even. I want you to know this wasn’t an easy decision. I’ve been sick about it—”
“So your mind is made up, then? That’s it?” I ask, cutting him off, feeling as if I’m watching a Lifetime movie of the week. Because this doesn’t happen in real life, does it? “I don’t even get a say in this?”
His eyes well up with tears again. “I’m—” He doesn’t finish his sentence and takes a large drink of his champagne. “I’m sure,” he finally responds.
Tears prick the backs of my eyes and I press my thumbs against them, hoping the pressure will stop the drops from escaping. “Why?” I finally choke after I’ve regained my composure.
“It’s hard to explain. I mean, there’s a part of me that is freaking out right now, that can’t believe I’m doing this.” He loosens his pale pink tie.
“Then don’t. Don’t do it, Max. Please,” I plead, hating the desperate tone in my voice. “We can fix whatever’s broken here.” I grab his hand in mine, feeling the knuckle of his bare ring finger. “We’ve invested so much.” I swallow hard, pushing away the image I’ve imagined for a year—the one where our eyes lock as I walk down the aisle, Max holding my gaze as I approach him, the goose bumps on my arm increasing with each step.
“I’m sorry. As much as I hate that I’m doing this to you, hate that I’m doing it here, it’s still something that needs to be done.” He gives my hand one last squeeze before letting it fall and stepping back slightly, as if he’s already beginning to distance himself. “I know it doesn’t feel like it, but I’m doing this for both of us. We shouldn’t be married.”
His words hang in the air like a deflating balloon, the finality of his statement cutting through my heart. Max was never one to make rash decisions, and as much I want to grab the lapel of his jacket, to pull him close and beg him not to go, that we could stay up all night talking it through, I knew there was no changing his mind tonight. Begging would get me nowhere.
“How do we tell everyone?” I ask simply as my dad and Leslie wave from across the room, holding up their tropical drinks to toast us.
Max furrows his brow, as if he doesn’t understand what I’m asking.
“Well, you’re choosing to call off our wedding at our rehearsal dinner, so I’m assuming you’ve thought this through? You have a plan?” I don’t recognize the sound of my own voice, feeling like a doll with a pull cord uttering the lines programmed into me at the factory.
Max shoves his hands into the pockets of his black slacks and shakes his head.
“Why are you doing this?” I ask again, still desperate to understand what I did that was so awful that he would end things this way. But at the same time, not wanting to know. Not here. Not like this. I struggled when my boss rejected one of my pitches or my mom questioned my wardrobe choices, so I’m pretty sure finding out the reason why my fiancé was so determined to leave me right at this moment would break me into a thousand pieces, like a finished jigsaw puzzle that’s been hurled onto the floor.
“It’s not because I don’t love you, because I do—so much,” he continues, searching my face for a reaction. I stare at him blankly as I force my hands to stay frozen by my sides, not to reach out and pull him toward me like I so badly want to.
“You Give Love a Bad Name” starts playing and Liam is now dancing behind Jules, with his hands on her hips. She throws her head back into his chest and laughs, having no clue that my whole life is about to change.
I notice a clock shaped like a Tiki god hanging over the buffet table. In a few minutes, Max and I are scheduled to give our toast, thanking friends and family for coming. I shake my head as I remember the post I’d written on Facebook just that morning. That tomorrow was going to be the first day of the rest of my life—that I couldn’t wait to start living it with Max. To think that I had been planning the rest of our life together while Max was trying to drum up the confidence to dump me spikes an anger that begins to spread through me like wildfire.
“Talk to me. Tell me what you’re thinking?” Max asks.