Meredith and Grant have snuck off for a quickie, and I’m crashing their party.
I sneak out of the stall as quietly as possible, keeping my head down as I tiptoe towards the exit. I’m only a few steps away when I see the scene reflected back to me in the full-length mirror. Granton his knees, with a pair of legs wrapped around his shoulders, legs that belong to Katherine.
I close my eyes in hopes that this is just an optical illusion, but when I open them to find she’s still there, her fingers locked in his hair, calling out his name, I can’t believe it. I try to sneak away but the automatic toilet flushes. Katherine’s eyes go wide in panic as she taps Grant on the shoulder, shoving her dress back down below her knees.
Tears build at the back of my eyes, my heart pounding in my chest, the heavy thump, thump, drowning out all other sounds as I rush out of the lodge. Outside Hudson’s waiting for me, sitting in the driver’s side of the Jeep as I climb in, slamming the door behind me.
“Drive,” I command, but he doesn’t move.
My hands shake in my lap, as he reaches for me.
“Are you okay?” he asks, concern flooding his voice, but my eyes stay locked on the floorboards.
“Mira, talk to me.”
I shake my head, unable to look at him. “I just need to get out of here.”
He gently lifts my chin to meet his gaze, but I can barely hold it for longer than a second.
“Did something happen? Are you hurt?”
I take a breath. Then another worry constricts my lungs. Will Hudson believe me if I tell him what I saw? Will he call me a liar like Phoebe did? Will this entire mess start all over? Am I trapped in some fucked-up version ofGroundhog Day?
“Yes. No. I don’t know,” I reply, panicked.
“Mira, talk to me.”
“Did you ever wonder why I was able to take this wedding on such short notice?” I ask, my breath shaky. “Why I’ve been spending my weekends at Finn’s instead of at work?”
Hudson shakes his head, confused.
“It’s because I’m a terrible person.”
“You’re not.”
I shake my head again. “I am. I ruined my best friend’s wedding. I ruined our friendship. I ruined my career.”
“I’m sure that’s not true.”
“It is. All because I let my guard down for a second,” I cry, the familiar sting of tears building at the back of my eyes. “I thought he was just being friendly. I had no idea that ...” I trail off.
“No idea what?”
“That he would kiss me.”
“Who kissed you?”
“Phoebe’s fiancé,” I say, letting the words hang in the air. It’s the first time I’ve said them aloud. The first time I’ve admitted what happened outside of that bridal suite. And I ready myself for judgment.
The memory replays in my head, as it has a million times before, as I think of everything I could have done differently.
“I should have done more to stop him.”
“Stop him?”
Tears stream down my face, the heavy weight of it too much to carry. I haven’t allowed myself to cry about my breakup with Phoebe, or about what actually happened that day. Instead I compartmentalized it, focused on fixing my reputation, on hustling my way into a paycheck. And yet the heavy shroud of shame was always there, suffocating me.
“He was wasted,” I say, wiping my face, black mascara coming off on my fingers. “He usually was. He was a big drinker, which was one of the many reasons I never thought he was good enough for her. But I knew better than to tell someone that their fiancé was an asshole. And I knew she wanted us to get along. So, I did what best friends are supposed to do. I laughed at his terrible jokes. I askedabout his fucking day as if I cared about his earning reports. But that day he was so gone. I sent his groomsmen on a coffee run, to help sober him up, and when I came back to check on him, he was struggling with his tie.”
