Eighteen
Josie
See you at 7pm.
That’s all Axe’s text says. No clue where we’re going, what we’re doing, or what I’m supposed to wear. I knew when I took the job that my hours would be weird—that I wouldn’t be sitting in the cool SynthoTech office with a cubicle and a laptop. But I didn’t think it’d bethisrandom. Just vague texts for vague meet-ups, zero warning.
I’m not okay with this.
I start to type something sassy—WTAF—then hesitate. I look around the new apartment, now officially mine. Mini-lights strung up, my stuff unpacked. Honor even brought over my favorite candle from the store, so it smells like manuka honey in here.
Home, home, home. Like if I say it enough, it’ll stick. I’m finally out of my parents’ sad little guesthouse.
Nope, not gonna risk pissing Axe off. I need this job. Forget insulin; you’d have to pry this apartment from my cold dead hands before I give it up. I will be a good, eager employee.
Umm, I have questions, I write back.
Work had to start sometime, Ginger Snap
Ginger Snap?
Well, you are a snappy almost ginger. Suits you
I ignore this.
I’m happy to start work!There. That sounded sufficiently enthusiastic and professional.Just would love to have more details
Wear a dress.And then a beat later:You do own a dress not made out of ace bandages, right?
So no mummy cosplay?
Not tonight. Save that for your days off
Right. This is work. I peek into my closet—a black hole of jeans, T-shirts, and hoodies. I could call Honor—she’ll have something I can borrow, right? But then I spot it, shoved in a plastic bag at the very back.
I hid it there on purpose so I wouldn’t have to face how epically my plans blew up.
In exactly three weeks, I was supposed to be getting married. Funny how time changes things—now my whole relationship with Bryan feels like some wildly fucked-up fever dream.
If and when I can ever afford therapy, the first questions I’ll unpack are:Why didn’t I realize sooner I could leave home on my own? Why did I think I needed a man to save me? How did I miss the truth staring me right in the face?
The same burst of determination that’s kept me going thesepast few days kicks in. The same energy that made me sign a new lease and ignore my mom’s barrage of calls and texts today—six voicemails, fifteen messages—begging for my new social media passwords. I yank the plastic bag off with one quick pull.
The thing is, I could just…wear the dress. If I wanted to. Nobody is stopping me.
It’s definitely the most expensive thing I’ve ever bought in my life. I always planned to resell it on Poshmark after wearing it just once, as long as Bryan didn’t spill anything on it. Now, looking at it, it feels like the most unhinged splurge.
And yet…it’s gorgeous.
I never wanted a big, traditional wedding gown. I skipped right past Here Comes the Bride in downtown Shelton, with all their tulle and lace and crinoline, and found a tiny boutique in Pittsburgh that felt way more like me. No pushy salesladies with cheap champagne and bad advice—just a thirtysomething designer with a sharp eye and a vibe that reminded me of Honor.
The dress itself is simple yet stunning. A lemon-yellow silk slip with spaghetti straps. When my mom first saw it, she begged me to return it for something that lookedless like lingerie Kate Moss would have worn in 1995 and more like a wedding dress.
But it was already too late. I’d fallen in love.
In the same box where I keep my treasured tarot deck, I also keep my most cherished black-and-white photo of Nonna. In the picture, she’s around nineteen, effortlessly glamorous, seated in a plastic backyard lawn chair with a martini glass, either toasting or begging for a refill. She looks so painfully young, so wonderfully alive. Her red curls flow down her back, just like mine. And her dress is practically identical to the one I found in that store—a timeless slip of silk, one strap casually falling off her shoulder.
A dress telegraphing a moment and a feeling: freedom. ThatI wanted it for my wedding should have told me something. Subconsciously, I must have known I was trading one prison for another, when all I wanted was to fly.
