5
WELCOME TO MY SISTER’S TED TALK
REMY
Caroline yanks a knife from the wooden block in my kitchen and holds it up to the window, where the mid-morning sun glints across the sharp blade. She stares at it with a cool green gaze that never suffers fools.
But, with a frustrated sigh, she puts it back. “He’s not worth the waste of a good knife.”
“Plus, you hate messes.” I knock back another gulp of chai latte.
A tip of her head acknowledges my point. My sister’s morning blowout is still gloriously intact after hosting her streaming lifestyle show, hitting the gym, and making a chai—which she’d brought to me as a lubricant for theconversation we need to have,as her text this morning put it. I’ve been bracing for the worst.
In the two weeks since the Jumbotron Dump, I’ve become known online as the Friendship Bracelet Girl. Because why have one name for your most embarrassing moment when the Internet can give you two?
That first weekend, I reorganized my closet here in the guest house where I live, just to the side of my sister’stownhome. I devoured a few dark chocolate bars from my favorite shop (thanks to Mom’s sympathy gift) and fixed a loose hinge on the closet door, touched up some paint in the kitchen, and watered the succulent Lake sent me. A lovely, thoughtful surprise. It’s a Ruby Glow, rubbery green with red edges, and it fits my windowsill collection nicely.
Next, I wrote a note to my future self—my therapist would be proud—reminding myself not to fall for guys who just want to be friends.
Because that’s kind of all Jameson and I were—companions. I wanted us to work so damn badly that I was holding us together with details and the duct tape of my own wishes, missing signs that seem obvious looking back.
Frowning, I finish the latte and set down the mug. As if she’s been waiting for that, Caroline marches over to me, meets my gaze, and says, “It’s time to talk.” Her Machiavellian eyes flicker with strategy. “You should know, I have no problem kicking Jameson out of the wedding party before the festivities kick off.”
“Why?”
“Because he broke your heart. Therefore, I hate him.”
I laugh, but her expression remains serious. Also, I’m not so sure my heart’s broken, per se. It’s embarrassed, like the rest of me. “Caroline, you don’t have to do that. He’s best friends with Parker. You guys set us up.”
“I know. And it seemed so perfect with him working at the arena and all,” she says, regret in her tone. But it’s replaced quickly with vindication. “And that’s why I will boot him. I’ll just tell Parker it’s done, and he’ll have to accept that.”
But her wedding’s in a month. I don’t want my future brother-in-law scrambling to replace his best man on my account. That would makemethe problem. I shudder at thethought. “Don’t kick him out,” I say, adding a smile to sell just how fine I am. “I’m completely fine with him being there.”
“Good,” she says with a decisive nod. “I’m gladfor you. But also, I want everything to go smoothly since my brand manager just finalized the deal with Fresh Face. Not only do they want to sponsor the show, they want to sponsor all my pre-wedding events as long as I use their makeup and so does the bridal party.”
I beam, like the sun. “That’s terrific. I love their makeup and have been using it forever,” I say, genuinely happy for her.
“And you have the dewy complexion to show for it,” she says, and fine—she’s not wrong. My skincare routine is top-notch. “Anyway, they’re sponsoring all of the content I’m doing about the wedding for the show and of course for my socials. And they want you to do a few behind-the-scenes videos as the maid of honor, like the look you’ll wear when we finalize the dress, or the perfect makeup for a bridesmaids’ brunch, or the shower—that sort of thing. It might take the attention offyour situation.”
“I’m in,” I say. “But it’s because I want to help you.”
“Great. That’s why I’ve decided we need a preemptive strike.”
I furrow my brow. “What’s that?”
“You’ll need a date for my wedding.”
I recoil. I can’t imagine anything I want less than a date. “Um, no.”
“I get it. Dating sucks. But Jameson’s single now, and my spies are telling me he’s set up his dating profile. My friends have spotted him on the apps. His headline is…wait for it…Hoptimistic About Finding My Match.”
We mime gagging at the same time.
“That’s awful,” I say.
“Isn’t it? And he goes on to sayLet’s brew something special together.”
“He can brew a batch of bullshit.”
