It was dread plus heartbreak.
Thanks a lot, Cooper.
Name any emotion thatit sucks to feel, and I was feeling it.
So, yeah. It was hard to justdecide to be happy.
But I sure did fake it.
Once the deed was done, we took a thousand photos before we lost the light. And then we went inside to the ballroom, and I stared at—but could not bring myself to eat—a pale white chicken cutlet with capers on top… while sitting next to Cooper’s empty seat.
I cut the meat and rearranged the pieces, covering my plate with a hundred tiny cubes like mosaic tiles.
That’s when Ashley raised her glass and clinked it, and as we all got quiet, she thanked us for being here, declared earnestly that it had been the best week of her life, and announced that her sister, JoJo, was going to kick things off.
And so here we were. We’d arrived at my moment of not dying.
I rose and walked toward the microphone. I wasn’t sure I could feel my legs. And was that a rushing sound in my ears, or just the ocean outside being noisy? We’d set the A/C in this room too low, that much was certain, at least. What was it in here?Forty degrees?I had actual goose bumps on my arms.
I picked up the microphone with cold hands and turned around to face the room.
What was I supposed to do again?Not die?
I didn’t like my chances.
The sight of all those faces turned toward me prompted an icy crackle of fear in my chest—and I remembered the tragic feedback loop of howbeing afraidcan makebeing afraidworse.
But I ignored it. I brought the mic closer to my mouth, and I clutched it tight.
So tight, my hands felt like the metal claws in those claw machines.
And then I just stood there.
I couldn’t sing. But I also couldn’tnotsing.
I couldn’t do the thing Ashley wanted—but I also, apparently, couldn’t let her down andnot do the thing she wanted, either.
And so I just… froze.
I froze with a miserable smile on my face, and I listened as thepleasant ambient sound of forks on plates and cups on saucers shifted into a building murmur of concern.
But that’s when, as I was really just about to change my bet on the dying thing, I saw a figure moving through the room and coming toward me.
Cooper.
FOR REAL: COOPER.
The same Cooper who had missed the boat. The same Cooper who had quit the wedding. The same Cooper who had—in no uncertain terms—left.
Here he was. Magically returned, somehow.
Ashley’s tropical vision for her wedding involved linen and pastels. To my horror, on her “Ashley & Brody Forever” home page, she’d encouraged the men to wear linen suits to the ceremony with their own choice of solid tie. Tropical, three-piece, beige linen suits.
“Beige?” I’d demanded, when I saw the look.
But Ashley held up a hand, likeStop. “Notbeige.Natural.”
Needless to say, most of the wedding guests werenotpulling off this look.
