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“Lance...”
He holds up his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright.”
“All things considered, I’m settling quite nicely into my quiet life in Coco Key.”
All things being my last boyfriend hooked up with my best friend. I’m not super social these days, except I did recently meet Isla, Robyn from Beans & Books’ sister. They’re both super nice and I hope to soon consider them friends.
My phone buzzes again. This time I check it. “Romy has sent twenty-one messages. I’d better go. Maid of honor duties.”
“That’s right. The rehearsal dinner is tonight.”
“Wish me luck.”
I say goodbye to Lance and Dolly then head to my SUV parked on the street. The pit of dread in my stomach increases with each step.
Lance was sweet to check in on me, even if he had an ulterior motive. But the reality about how I’m doing is an uncertain one. Being back here after everything that happened is surreal. I didn’t return with my tail between my legs—if anyone were to be ashamed of their behavior, it ought to be the bride-to-be and groom. However, when I found out about their betrayal, let’s just say that I didn’t handle it well. It wasn’t my most mature moment.
As I park in front of Romy’s apartment, I push that out of my mind because I yearn to follow it down the street. I’m tempted to turn off my phone, drive away, and forget this ever happened. I could never speak to Ross or Romy again.
I could.
But I won’t because I have integrity. I maintain my dignity, except for that one time. It was a reaction, a tantrum, and involved paint that took weeks to get off my fingers.
Closing my eyes, I say a prayer, asking for strength, to continue to forgive if I sense bitterness returning, and for the couple to have a beautiful wedding day.
Someone knocks on my SUV’s window. Startled, I snap open my eyes. Romy stands there, recently tanned and with her brows done, wearing a trendy dress, waving frantically at me.
I can’t quite see my reflection, but am certain I wear a clown smile—it’s slightly deranged and a little too bright.
“Lally? What are you doing in there? It’s time to celebrate. We’re going to get this party started right now. And there’s so much to do. Come on.”
“Didn’t we already celebrate with the bachelorette party?”
“Yes, and it was amaze-zing, but the guys are at the bachelor party—well, they have been since last night—and what is that saying? Um, while the rats are away, the mice play?”
I wince. Romy and I weren’t best friends because of her outstanding intelligence and wit. We were roommates in college and it was an opposites-attract situation. I think we balanced each other out in a lot of ways. She was inclined to party her way through school and I wouldn’t have left the library except to forage for food.
As I get out of the vehicle, Romy squeals and whines about everything at a rapid clip. “I just know it was meant to be because our names both start with the letter R. But the wedding planner didn’t get the monogrammed napkins I asked for. Instead, they have both our names. Tacky, much?”
I try to be enthusiastic and compassionate but can’t abide by being fake either, so IOh,Um, andMmhmmin response.
Romy swats my arm. “What’s wrong? Why are you so quiet? Don’t tell me you’re not over Ross. I know he’s a catch—”
I stop listening because it’s not that at all. And if it was, I’d be righteously upset because they got together when we were still on and off. Mostly off because the breakup writing was on the wall. But this whole thing is extremely awkward for me.
But I said yes. As I step into her apartment, I tell myself I’m doing the right thing—committed to the high road.
“You’d said things were rocky, and that you weren’t sure how much longer you were going to be together.” Romy’s voice returns to a whine as she pours a glass of wine.
“It’s okay. Water under the bridge.” I wave my hand dismissively.
She dramatically goes limp with relief. “I’m so glad you’re over Ross, because that would be weird. I mean, we’d have to fight over him and I just got my nails done.” She’s not joking.
I force myself not to roll my eyes. “Sure would be weird.” But it’s not, because I’m not interested in sloppy seconds or a fight, thank you very much.
“Okay, so let’s talk about some of your maid of honor duties.” Romy’s phone beeps with a string of texts, which she answers as if they’re more important than my duties. That’s a relief.
I’m not a pushover. More like a peacemaker. Romy had a posh but lonely life—her parents were never around and her nanny raised her.
