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An Uber is waiting for us downstairs.
We get in, and the driver leaves without Marissa needing to give him an address.
“Where are we going?” I ask again.
“It’s a surprise,” Marissa says.
We cross over the Williamsburg bridge and from there it looks like we’re going… “Are you taking me to my parents’?”
Marissa makes a zipper-over-mouth gesture.
“If this is an intervention, I don’t need one,” I protest. “I’m heartbroken, I’m allowed to wallow in misery for a few weeks.” Or a few decades.
“No, you’re not.”
“Why?”
“Because you have places to be.”
Like a petulant child, I cross my arms over my chest. “What places?”
“I can’t tell you.”
I brood and pout and morosely stare out of the window, but nothing makes Marissa waver.
Shortly afterward, we pull up in front of my parents’ house. But instead of being marched into the living room and sat down for a pep talk, Marissa drags me to my old bedroom, where everything has remained frozen in time to eight years ago.
As soon as my best friend closes the door behind us, I wheel around to face her. “Can you explain what you’re doing?”
“No, sorry, no time. You have to get ready.”
She guides me to the dresser and invites me to sit. Still frowning, I comply.
Marissa works on my makeup, ignoring the steady stream of glares and protests I send her way. When she’s done, she moves on to my hair and arranges it in a weird top knot with loose ends falling on my forehead that makes me look as if I have bangs.
I stare in the mirror and see a much younger version of myself staring back.
“Okay,” I say. “Now that you’ve made me look eighteen again, what are we doing?”
“You still need a dress.”
“Yes, fairy godmother,” I say in a mock dreamy voice and bow in my sweats. “Please transform my rags into a gown, and we can use one of the Halloween pumpkins as my carriage.”
Marissa smirks. “No need.”
Crossing the room to the closet as if she owns the place, my friend retrieves a black garment bag and unzips it.
At the first hint of pink tulle, my pulse speeds up.
When she uncovers the full dress, I understand just how bad I’ve been set up.
“No,” I say. “No! Why would you do this to me? What did he do to make you do his dirty work? Did he blackmail you?”
Marissa sighs. “He came to me, wearing his heart on his sleeve and explaining all the reasons he deserved a second chance. I listened and decided you should give him another shot.”
“No.”
“You don’t have a say. This is my IOU, and what I want is for you to spend the evening with Gabriel. If at the end you want nothing to do with him, he’s sworn to me he’ll disappear from your life forever.”
