Page 9

She pokes her head through the curtain again. “I cannot get divorced, El. I can’t be cursed. I don’t want to be the one who breaks tradition. I love Diego so much. I know it sounds nuts, but what if? What if it’s real? And if you don’t bring a date to the wedding, and I lose the love of my life, and his family hates me forever and …”

Her brow pulls together, her voice trailing off. She sounds like me at the height of a Worry Wheel episode.

“They’re so rigid about this, El,” she says.

“Can’t I … just bring a friend or something?” I ask desperately.

Rachel cocks an eyebrow. “Sure. Which friend would you like to invite? I’m taken, unfortunately.”

Dammit. She’s got a point. I slump back against the couch. “What do you want me to do?” I ask quietly. “I can’t conjure up a man out of thin air. You know me. You think I can just hop on Tinder and find a wedding date?”

Rachel bites her lower lip. “Let me ask Diego if he knows anyone.”

She disappears back behind the curtain, which is good, because I can’t hide my expression as my mouth puckers in distaste. I don’t want Diego to set me up with someone. That sounds worse than Tinder.

It’s not that I’m against dating. I would love to be normal and go on dates and do the whole “find my person” thing. I used to dream about having a boyfriend and getting married one day, back when I was a teenager. But it’s just not that easy with GAD. I’m too sweaty, and awkward, and I overthink everything. And now Rachel wants to pair me up with one of Diego’s buddies? Someone who probably loves CrossFit and keto diets and listens to Joe Rogan? The Wheel starts to click away again but before I can really work myself up, Rachel dramatically throws open the curtain.

I gasp.

This dress is perfect. The bodice is meticulously crafted out of overlapping layers of lace, forming intricate patterns, with a high neck and cap sleeves that just cover her shoulders. The skirt falls in satiny waves to the floor, so that it billows around her. It’s stunning. It’s majestic and a little bit vintage and exquisitely Rachel.

“You like it?” she asks eagerly.

“I love it,” I say.

She looks at herself in the mirror, and her hands fly to her cheeks. “El, I look so pretty!”

I laugh. “You’re always pretty,” I remind her. “But this is …”

“Yes?” Rachel asks, her eyes sparkling.

“Yes,” I say emphatically.

“Eeep!” she squeals, as she turns this way and that, admiring the dress from every angle. “The fit is amazing. I don’t even think it will need that much tailoring … oh, El! I’m getting married!”

I try to ignore the dip in my stomach at her words and beam at her instead, in a way that I hope looks enthusiastic. Just then, her phone pings with a text. She grabs it, and her eyes widen. Her mouth falls open. “Oh my god, Eloise. You are not going to believe this.”

My stomach dips again, with trepidation this time. “What?”

“Diego came through.” She holds up her phone.

On the screen, I see a document titled in Spanish.

“What’s that?” I ask her.

Rachel looks triumphant. “The Plus-One List.”

5Eloise

“I can’t believe they have an actual list,” I say to Rachel as we head down the steps to the C train.

“Apparently, it’s not just for his family,” she explains. “Diego says it’s something the women in his—I don’t know, sphere, I guess?—use when they need wedding dates. But it comes in pretty handy when you’re trying to avoid a curse.”

A train arrives just as we reach the platform, and we hurry through the turnstile and onto the crowded car.

“Anyway, it’s better than Tinder.” Rachel winks at me as the doors close with the ever-familiar beep-boop.

“Tinder was never a valid option.”