“Poppy? You there? The connection’s weird—”
“I’m here.” My voice sounds normal. I’ve had plenty of practice squashing down all my feelings about him. It’s all I’ve been doing for the past eight months. “That’s fine. Of course, you should invite them.”
“Really? Because Mom said you might be upset, but I told her you’re totally over it. You’ve been posting all those amazing travel photos and that whole Glowup series—you look incredible, by the way. Have you been seeing anyone?”
The question’s casual. The answer isn’t.
I could tell the truth. The words are right there:No, Vi. I’m single. I’ve been single for eight months, and I’m doing okay. I don’t need a boyfriend to face Preston.
But I can see how that plays out. The pity in Violet’s voice. Mom hovering over the entire wedding, introducing me to Chris’s single cousins, making comments about how some people find love later in life, which I could’ve handled, but there’s one thing I couldn’t handle—Preston’s face when he realizes I’m still alone.
“Actually, yes.” The lie slides out. “Someone new. It’s still early, but it’s going well.”
Violet’s eyes light up, which means I’ve made a terrible mistake. “Oh my gosh, really? Who is he? How did you meet? Is it serious?”
“We met through—” I grab for something plausible “—mutual friends. He’s great.”
“Bring him to the wedding! I’d love to meet him. And it’ll be so much better than showing up alone, right? Especially with Preston there.”
The trap closes.
“Sure,” I hear myself say. “I’ll bring him.”
We talk for another five minutes about dress fittings, travel arrangements, and whether I can take time off from my “little internet thing” to help with planning. Smiling at the camera, I nod and “uh, huh” as she talks—performing the whole time.
The moment she hangs up, I text Sage—my best friend and closest confidante.
Me: Violet’s getting married
Me: January
Me: Preston will be there
Me: With Serenity
Me: I told Vi I have a boyfriend
Sage: Oh honey
Sage: OH HONEY
Sage: Why would you do that
Me: Panic?
Sage: Okay deep breaths
Sage: We can fix this
Sage: I know a guy who does improv, he could probably—
Me: I’m not bringing an improv actor to my sister’s wedding
Sage: Then what’s your plan?
I stare at my phone. At the apartment behind me, styled for content. At the life I’ve built that looks good in photos and feels hollow everywhere else.
Me: I’ll figure something out
