“Makes sense—I don’t think I could invest in a Bobby,” Jules says.
“Whatever—the point is, maybe if you hadn’t yanked the phone out of my hand that night, I would’ve married him and this”—I point at my wedding dress as if blaming it for last night’s events—“would’ve never happened.”
Jules rolls her eyes and snatches the phone just as I relax my arms. “It’s not a good idea to read this stuff right now. I’m saving you from yourself. As your matron of—” Jules freezes as she catches herself.
“Matron of dishonor now!” I force a laugh.
“I’m sorry—I wasn’t thinking. I just don’t want you reading that. No good can come from it.”
“What am I supposed to tell everyone? What’s my status report? Feeling sad. Got jilted?”
“Come on, Kate. That’s the last thing you should worry about right now. Everyone will understand.”
“People are going to feel sorry for me.”
“No they won’t! They’ll feel sad for you. There’s a difference.”
“Well, either way, I’m going radio silence. At least for now.”
“That alone should tell them something awful happened!” Jules jokes. Admittedly, I was sometimes guilty of oversharing on social media—checking in at my Pilates class, uploading pictures of the models from a photo shoot at work, even posting links on Jules’ wall about the latest episode of Girls. I had never denied that I loved interacting with everyone online, that I enjoyed sharing all the best parts of my life there. But in my defense, I had always drawn the line at taking pictures of my food.
“I like keeping in touch with everyone,” I argue weakly. “At least I’m not as bad as some people. You know who I keep thinking about?”
“Max?” Jules offers.
I cringe at the mention of his name. “Well, yes, but no. I mean Callie.”
“Callie Trenton? From college?”
I nod my head. “Her wedding pictures keep flashing through my mind. She just posted them in honor of still being ‘deliriously happy’ after ten years. Did you see the one of her and her husband jumping in the air on the beach? It was the perfect day. The perfect shot. The perfect everything,” I say, thinking back to the way my stomach tightened as I scrolled through her album, hoping I’d be able to capture the same sentiment at my own nuptials.
“It was her wedding day. She’s not going to share the picture of her brother spilling red wine down the back of her dress or post how irate she probably was when her husband actually smashed the cake in her face. She’s going to make sure she looks picture-perfect.”
“I guess I just wanted to have that too. Now I never will.”
Jules puts her arm around me. “You will. Just not today.”
“Will I? Or do I just not deserve it?” I shake my head. “Because I look at people like Callie. And it’s not just her wedding photos—it’s everything. Her model-like kids, her exotic vacations—did you see the safari she went on? She kissed a giraffe! And I guess I want to know why some people have lives like that, while others”—I tap myself on the chest—“are sitting in their bridal suite with a gown they’ll never wear on a wedding day they’ll never have.”
Jules considers this for a moment before responding. “I don’t think anyone knows why things work out the way they do, Kate. But one thing I do know for sure is that people’s lives are not always as perfect as the filtered photos or edited statuses they post on Facebook.”
“True,” I concede, pulling the sheets tight around my body and curling up into the fetal position. “But wouldn’t it be nice if they were?”
CHAPTER THREE
Who says you can’t drink seven mai tais on a five-hour flight? #passedoutatthirtythousandfeet
I turn the key and push my front door open, watching it swing wide and settle against the wall. The entryway looks just like it did when we left—Max’s navy-blue windbreaker is hanging on a hook, right next to my black hoodie. We’d worn them to walk down to the wine store the night before we’d flown to Maui, deciding to splurge on a good bottle of red to celebrate. Why couldn’t he have voiced his doubts then, as we sat facing each other on the couch while we sipped the Pinot Noir we’d purchased, speculating about which family member would make the biggest ass of himself at the reception?