Page 44 of Kiss Slay Replay

“It’s so good to see you,” I say, stepping back. Her long, dark hair is in that glamorous updo. She wears the birdcage veil. The simple lavender dress. Did she show me pictures? No, she said she wanted it to be a surprise. But she must have told me about it. Described it to me at some point. Right? My head is so foggy, such a wreck.

“What’s wrong?” she says, frowning.

“Nothing. Just drinking you in. You look perfect. You are perfect.”

“Wills…” she says, blushing. “You do! You look perfect!”

“I look high,” I say, pointing to my eyes.

“I figured you were hanging out with Luke.” She has this devious little giggle I want to eat. I love her. I missed her.

I see her on the floor, in the dark, drenched in blood. The mess of what was left of her eyes. I see her in front of me now, smiling and happy and breathing. Alive.

“I wanted to come say hey before things get crazy,” she says, pulling back the burlap curtain and looking out the window. “I know tonight will be a whirlwind, but tomorrow and Sunday will be more low-key. We can spend some quality time together. It’s been too long.”

Steph and Jace’s post-college New York City era was short-lived. We all moved there together, but they were the first to leave, going up to Providence to be closer to both of their real nautical-knit-sweater-and-clam-chowder New England families. They bought a house a couple of years ago and put down roots; they’ll start trying for kids after the wedding. They’re not that far from where I am now, but it’s far enough.

“We’ll come down to the city all the time,” they said when they left. Maybe they meant it. But then Ravi got the job in DC, Evan and Wyatt got married and moved to Chicago, Cass and Luke left Brooklyn for the suburbs of Westchester County. We scattered.

Everyone else seemed so happy, so settled, and I just felt stuck. Their lives made sense, had purpose, and mine didn’t. I felt like I had made some crucial error, a miscalculation, and needed a hard reset. But there’s a chance I hit the wrong button.

She doesn’t seem any happier now.

“How are you?” Steph asks, with overt pity.

I paint on a smile. “Good. I’m good. I’m…” I laugh. “Good? Have I mentioned that?”

“You seem good,” she says. “I know today won’t be easy, but I really think it’s so admirable how you’re handling everything. It’s very adult. You being here, him being here. You being okay that he’s here with someone new.”

The nausea I’ve been fighting all day returns with a vengeance. “Um, what? He’s with someone? What’s her…”

The question gets stuck in my throat. I’m too afraid to ask, too afraid of the answer.

There’s a look of sheer horror on Steph’s face. “What? What do you mean what? Don’t tell me he didn’t tell you?”

“He did,” I lie. I don’t want to upset her. “I’m just…validating.”

“Oh, okay. Phew! I thought about calling you, double-checking, but I knew Ravi wouldn’t have asked Jace for a plus-one if you didn’t give the green light. I was, I didn’t want to, like, bring it up if I didn’t need to.”

“Salt in the wound. I get it,” I say, returning to my eye drop hunt for something to do with my hands other than ripping out my own hair. “Don’t worry about it. I’m…I’m good.”

“You’d tell me if you weren’t, right?”

Nope! It’s your perfect wedding that you’ve dreamt of for years and I don’t want to ruin it by admitting I’m likely having a psychotic break, convinced I’ve already lived this day. Because contrary to what Cassie might think, I’m not making this weekend about me. “Of course I would. But how could I not be happy? I’m at your wedding. My best friend’s wedding! My two best friends! The weather is beautiful, you are beautiful. What more could a girl ask for?”

“I love you,” she says, pulling me in for another hug. “You are amazing.”

I am losing my goddamn mind. “Thank you, Steph.”

“I should get going,” she says, releasing me. “My mom’s running point for me this weekend and she’s all…”

She throws her arms up and sticks out her tongue.

“Go, go, go.”

“Okay, bye!” She blows me a kiss and dances out the door. I close it behind her and resist the urge to scream. If I allow myself to break down, I don’t think I can pick myself up again, so instead I redirect my energy. Finally find my eye drops. Apply them. Retouch my eyeliner and mascara. Spritz my face with some setting spray. Lipstick. Another few spritzes of setting spray. I use the bathroom. Get nervous and use it again. Just one more spritz of setting spray. One more.

I haven’t had any water, which is probably why I feel like such garbage. My hands tremble. The nausea persists.