The wedding had taken shape without me. My mother moved through vendors and venues like a general at war, her victory inevitable, my signature her final weapon. She chose everything: flowers, colors, seating charts. I existed only as an afterthought, a name on an invitation. It was easier that way. Safer.
But Sarah—Sarah was the one person I couldn’t keep completely in the dark. My best friend deserved more than this brittle silence. I couldn’t bring myself to hand her the whole truth, but I owed her at least a corner of it, something she could hold onto.
So now I sat across from her, stirring my coffee like it might offer me an escape route, rehearsing the words until they felt foreign in my mouth.
I sighed into my mug. “I’m getting married.”
“You?”
“Yes.”
“Getting married?”
“Yes.”
“To a man? Like a real, living, breathingman?”
I lifted my eyes, deadpan. “As opposed to what? A real, living, breathingfish?”
“Honestly? That would be more believable.”
Heat prickled at the back of my neck. I plucked my phone out of my bag and thrust it across the table. “Here. Photo evidence.”
Sarah leaned forward until her lashes nearly kissed the screen, squinting in concentration. She stared for a long moment at the grainy picture I’d snapped when he wasn’t looking—Khalifa in an ill-fitting blazer with patches on the elbows, sitting rigidly across from me like he was posing for a mugshot.
“Okay,” she hummed, considering. “He’s objectively cute, so I’m obligated to ask—how tall are we talking?”
“Five eleven and a half.” My tone came out more defensive than I intended, which didn’t help my case.
Her nose wrinkled. “He actually added thehalf?”
“No. He didn’t know his height. I made him stand up so I could measure him.”
“You whipped out a tape measure at dinner and Home-Depot’d a grown ass man?”
I shrugged. “Seemed efficient.”
Sarah chuckled, shaking her head. “You’re so weird.” She shifted her gaze back to the screen, studying the picture again.“Half an inch shorter and you’restillmarrying him? Does he...have something on you?”
The question lingered between us, playful on the surface but weighted underneath. I opened my mouth, ready to spill everything—the absurd bargain, the unwanted ache in my chest when Khalifa explained his reason—but the words snagged in my throat, dense and immovable. Marriage was sacred to Sarah. It was her great pilgrimage. She wanted the sweeping love story, the poofy white dress she’d been sketching since middle school, the husband who called her “habibti” in line at the grocery store, the kids with matching dimples tumbling across a lawn. To her, marriage wasn’t just paperwork; it was devotion carved into stone.
And me? I was bartering mine away like a coupon I didn’t care about redeeming. A husband I didn’t like, a vow I didn’t mean.Convenience, notlove. A neat little box checked off in exchange for freedom, for my mother’s ghost of approval.
Sarah would never understand that, because how could I explain that I wasn’t mocking what she dreamed of, I was just incapable of wanting it the way she did? It would sound like ridicule. Like I was spitting on the altar she prayed at.
So I swallowed it back. My best friend’s face glowed with suspicion across from me, while I sat there with a secret burning holes in my chest, knowing she wanted the very thing I was about to turn into theater.
“What?” I asked with a laugh that was way too shrill to be genuine. “No. Why would you think that?”
“Because you’reyou, Lilly. For as long as I’ve known you, you’ve sworn off marriage like it was a contagious disease. You don’t do relationships, you don’t do love. You can’t even commit to an eight-episode TV series without abandoning ship halfway through, and now—out of nowhere—you’re announcing an engagement to Mr. Five-Eleven-and-a-Half? Either he’sblackmailing you, or you’re secretly in witness protection, and this is your cover story.”
I dropped my head into my hands. “God, I knew you’d turn this into a full-blown melodrama.”
Sarah reached across the table and caught my sleeve, tugging until I lifted my gaze. “You just told me you’re getting married. I’ve earned a little melodrama.” Her eyes softened, the sarcasm slipping just enough to let the worry show through. “Tell me what’s really happening.”
Guilt gathered beneath my ribs in a warm, unruly tide. I wanted to uncork everything, to let the truth pour out and scatter its jagged little pieces across the table so she could help me sort them back into something that made sense. Instead, I raised my cup and hid behind a gulp of caffeine far too ambitious for my own good, instantly scorching my tongue for my cowardice.
“Nothing is happening. I’m just ready to settle down.”
