“Honestly, how humiliating this will be to explain to everyone,” I say.
“That’s what you’re worried about?” Max lets out an audible sigh.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I demand, feeling the muscles in my neck stiffen.
“Never mind,” he says, forcing a smile when his cousin shouts an “attaboy” and slaps him on the back as he passes by. He reaches for my hand one last time and says gently, “I know this is going to be terrible. But I think it’s time to tell everyone. We can’t pretend any longer.”
? ? ?
The day my wedding should have taken place is beautiful, the sun blazing in the cloudless sky and the wind calm, just as Stella had promised it would be. I pry my eyes open, the tears that finally fell last night bonding them together like glue as I slept. Jules is sitting in the chair by the bed, her own eyes also swollen from crying. “Oh, honey—” Jules gets up and comes over to me.
I struggle to form a thought, my mind foggy. After Max’s announcement to the guests, Jules, Liam, and my mom had formed a protective barrier as they led me away, the shocked crowd spreading like the Red Sea as we passed. My mom had dug through her purse until she found two small white pills. “Take these, now,” she’d demanded as we sped toward the elevator. I complied, desperately wanting the searing pain that filled my chest to subside. Liam pulled me into his arms as I sobbed into him. He whispered, “I’m so sorry,” over and over, as if he had been the one to let me down. Then he guided me as if I were a small child to my room and stood over me protectively as I fell into bed. I pressed my face tightly into the pillow until darkness overcame me.
“Is Max gone?” I ask Jules.
She nods and wipes a tear from her eye. “Are you okay? Sorry, don’t answer that. It was such a stupid question.” She shakes her head. “You know I suck at this. Saying the right thing.”
“Where’s Ben?”
“What? With the kids, why?”
“I don’t know. I guess I want someone to be with their husband.” I choke on the word. “You know, since I don’t have one.”
“Well, I want to be here—with you.”
I notice my wedding dress hanging on the back of the closet door, the satin heels sitting neatly beneath it. The outfit I’ve dreamed about wearing for a year that will now be sold on some website for brides-to-be looking for a deal.
“What now?” I ask, and Jules squeezes my hand, pressing my diamond into my palm. “Where do I even begin?” I ask as I twist the ring around.
Do I take it off? Send it back to him? Hock it?
“We need to get you home.”
“I don’t even know where that is. Is he moving out? Am I?”
“Let’s just take this one step at a time,” she says, and the look on her face matches the pity in the eyes of my family and friends as Max delivered the news that there would be no wedding. He had grasped my hand tightly the entire time, me feeling like one of those wives of a senator who’s been caught sexting with his assistant—standing behind him but not supporting him. As he spoke, I concentrated on a black mark I had spotted on the ceiling, while my guests searched my face for answers. Don’t look at me, I had thought. I don’t have them either.
The digital clock on the nightstand reads 7:30 a.m. Shortly they would start setting up the white garden chairs on the oceanfront lawn. “Did Stella call and cancel—”
“She took care of everything,” Jules answers before I can finish my sentence.
Could she take care of my broken heart too? Was that in her job description?
“Does everyone—”
“Yes. Everyone knows.”
I lie back against my pillow and stare at a picture of a palm tree hanging on the wall until the image blurs into a streak of green, reminding me of the finger painting Jules’ daughter made for me that’s tacked to my corkboard at work.
My phone vibrates against the glass top of the nightstand and I grab it out of habit and click onto my Facebook page. Dozens of congratulatory messages flood my wall. My heart aches as I think about my dad not walking me down the aisle, Jules’ daughter not carrying the flowers, Liam not giving a hilarious toast at the reception, where he finally makes good on his threat to tell an incredibly embarrassing story about me.
“Stop!” Jules reaches over and tries to grab my phone from my hand, but I hold it against my chest and protect it like a bird with a broken wing. “Just give me your cell and nobody gets hurt,” Jules says, a smile in her eyes.
“I think it’s too late for that,” I deadpan.
“I warn you, I will use force if I have to.” She crawls onto the bed and tries to pry my arms apart. “Remember the time I caught you drunk dialing that guy in college—what was his name? Started with a B—”
“Bobby. Bobby Jenkins. You know he just posted that he sold his software company—he’s so successful he goes by Robert now.”