Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 124005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 620(@200wpm)___ 496(@250wpm)___ 413(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 620(@200wpm)___ 496(@250wpm)___ 413(@300wpm)
I force a smile and try to keep my voice steady. “Brooklyn, Sean, congratulations on your engagement.”
Brooklyn’s smile looks as brittle as I feel. Sean stands at her side, eyes moving over me on an assessing sweep. I mentally thank Dallas for picking out a dress that accentuates my curves and highlights my cleavage, but in a tasteful, not an in-your-face way.
“Wilhelmina!” Brooklyn’s voice is all fake excitement. “It’s so good to see you!”
She pulls me in for a wet-rag, limp hug. I pat her back and remind myself that after this weekend, I won’t have to exchange more than a polite hello with her again for at least another decade—unless I get an invitation to her wedding. I’d consider giving myself food poisoning to get out of having to endure something like this again.
She steps back, severing the contact after a few painfully awkward seconds. “And congratulations on your engagement. I admit, I was a little shocked. You actually hooked Dallas.” She shakes her head. “Who would’ve thought?”
“Right?” I laugh, and it sounds halfway to hysterical.
“I guess you’re not holding a grudge anymore if you’re here.” Brooklyn glances around the room, like she’s looking for an escape.
That makes two of us. “We’re all adults now.” I force a smile.
She hums her agreement and links her arm with Sean’s. “Oh! There’s Katie! We should go say hi.” She turns her fake smile back to me. “Let’s definitely catch up sometime this weekend.”
“I should be so lucky.” I hope this is the last conversation I ever have with these two.
Brooklyn guides Sean away, whispering as they go.
On shaky legs, I finish my trip to the bathroom, grateful that I cross paths with a server on the way. I grab two glasses of champagne, thank him, and continue into the bathroom. I’m grateful each stall has total privacy. I throw the lock, down a glass of champagne in two gulps, and drop to the toilet seat.
“This is the worst,” I mutter. I take several deep breaths, determined not to lose my shit in a public place.
That I didn’t punch Brooklyn in the face, or scream at her, or break down in a fit of tears, seems like a serious win. Except I’m finally ready to admit I haven’t grieved the loss of Brooklyn’s friendship properly. Instead, I shoved that pain into a box and tucked it away. Sort of like my adoption files. Time has taught me that she was never a good friend, but there’s still a disconnect inside me. I wanted to be as important to her as she was to me. The way she hurt me caused a ripple effect that changed my life—though probably for the better, I remind myself. I moved to the city for university and vowed never to trust the wrong person to have my back again. And yet here I am. Fake engaged to the guy who watched his friends push me into puddles on the playground. I want to believe he’s truly sorry for all the things that happened growing up. That he really is a nice guy, the kind I’d be happy to bring home to my moms. But we’re just a big old pile of fucking fake, and I hate it.
I sip my remaining glass of champagne as I rummage around in my purse for my phone. My Badass Babe Brigade group chat is on fire today. The girls have been messaging relentlessly since I sent them a picture of the adorable cabin Dallas and I are staying in. I only showed them the outside.
But in my private chat with Shilpa, I included a photo of the very tiny bed. That chat is full of shifty-eyed GIFs. Again, I wish she was here. She knows how nervous I am about sleeping in a bed beside Dallas, particularly a small one. I leave my Shilpa chat alone, because there’s potential for me to end up in tears if I’m honest with her about how I’m handling things. Instead, I open the Badass Babe Brigade thread.
There are several messages referencing a picture Dallas apparently posted, and everyone is all about the heart eyes and how hot I look. I quickly pull up his social media. The pinned post is a picture of me between my moms, smiling and laughing. He’s captioned it with a cheesy phrase about how beautiful I am and how lucky he is to have me.
I return to the Badass Babe Brigade chat.
Rix
How’s the engagement party? Is the groom already sloppy drunk?
Hammer
That dress is Do you and Dallas match? Is he in his plaid uniform?
Dred
Please tell me someone is awkwardly giving a play-by-play reenactment of something Dallas did last season.
Tally
You and your moms are super cute.
Shilps
You’re a queen and we all wish we were there.
I compose a message in response:
Hemi
I got to congratulate the happy couple on their engagement. It was stupidly awkward, and if there’s a twentieth reunion, I’m not going. This whole thing is a nightmare, and I want it to be over. What was I trying to prove by being here? I wish I was drinking margaritas with you and telling Rix not to eat the refried beans. I need a girls’ night when I get back.