He wrote back,One day at a time there, Micaholic. I’m sending you something to keep you occupied.
The next day, a nonpostmarked letter arrived containing a single ticket to a matinee showing of one of the worst plays Off Broadway. Box office sales had been so poor that the show would be pulled by the end of the week, but it would kill time. So I took a series of subways to Times Square and disappeared into the dark and empty theater. Despite the dearth of spectators, the usher directed me to my seat at the very back of the balcony, all the way at the end. Crappy seats at a crappy play all alone.
But as the show started, someone sat next to me and put his arm around me. I spun toward him so fast, I nearly fell out of my chair. Micah sat there looking extremely pleased with himself. I wiped the cocky smirk off his face with a kiss. We didn’t see any of the play, and yet I’ll never forget it.
After that, whenever Micah had a free day, I’d wake to find either an envelope or a text message with mysterious instructions that would inevitably lead me to him. And he took me on a personal tour of the city—Brooklyn anyway. We swapped stories about our pasts for hours in a private meeting room at the Brooklyn Public Library. We made plans for our future in a balcony pew at Plymouth Church. And, more than once, we toured the facilities of the local hotels—where we barely spoke at all. Sneaking about added a level of excitement and daring to an already thrilling romance. Every day I fell more in love with Micah. And the next two weeks flew by.
On the Friday before the big event, Adam and Eden quietly stole to the clerk’s office and registered for a marriage license.
On Saturday morning, I sat in my pajamas and watched Zion get dressed to head out. In Andy’s world, I no longer had any reason to be attending Adam and Eden’s wedding, so I’d be sitting this one out. Zion promised there would be video.
And if all went according to plan, there’d be plenty of it.
I tried to distract myself with Internet games. Then I went for a jog, fighting the temptation to head down toward Prospect Park. Zion texted me periodically.
The eagle has landed.
I wrote him back,Don’t you dare talk in code. What’s happening?
Andy’s lurking outside the building taking pictures of the guests.
Is he buying it?I chewed on my thumbnail, waiting to hear the answer. Everything hinged on Andy’s complete belief.
Adrianna just showed up in a ridiculous pink taffeta bridesmaid dress. That seems to have sealed the deal.
He sent me a snippet of video from his phone. Andy had found a place to perch right outside the building. It would have been a great place to get exclusive photos or video of a private wedding. Zion scanned the entire venue with his camera. The seats filled as classical music played. A “wedding photographer” moved around the room with his professional equipment. Adam stood at the front, waiting. Micah flanked him on one side, Adrianna on the other.
The wedding music began to play. Zion’s video cut off, and I imagined Andy snapping photos of Eden in her last-minute gown. And then I watched the clock for several hours.
Finally, Zion opened our apartment door and dropped onto the sofa. “That was incredible.”
“Everything went well?”
“Incredible. Adrianna said she’ll have everything ready by tomorrow. I’m just hoping Andy doesn’t post anything tonight. I don’t suppose we’d be so lucky that he’d wait until Monday.”
We weren’t. Sunday afternoon, it came out. He’d gone all out. The website had the photocopied image of the wedding invitation and an article about how clever Andy had found the venue and gotten the exclusive photographs of Adam Copeland and Eden Sinclair’s wedding. He posted video of Eden walking down the aisle and apparently exchanging vows with Adam. The only sound accompanying the video came from outside the venue—the wind rustling through the trees, people talking in the distance, Andy grunting with exertion.
Adrianna sent frantic texts, saying it would be another hour. Then another. Zion paced the floor. Finally, I got the text and saw Adrianna’s tweet.
Check out my new music video.
And there it was—the music video she and Adam had shot over the past three weeks. The final scenes had been taken from the staged wedding the previous morning.
The video told a story. At the beginning, Adrianna and Adam appeared together like a happy couple. They even kissed, chaste. Then Eden entered the scene, and Adam’s interest in Adrianna clearly waned as he spent time with Eden. Adrianna stood by helpless as she watched this developing. I recognized this as the narrative that Andy had tried to manufacture three years before when he’d revealed Eden’s relationship with Adam.
When the chorus came around, Adrianna held a wedding invitation. She dropped it, and the camera zoomed in on the prop to show the words. And as she sang the lyric “always a bridesmaid, never a bride,” the video switched to Adrianna standing beside Adam, as Eden walked down the aisle in a costume wedding dress.
It was a thing of beauty.
Within an hour, the video, along with Andy’s story, had gone viral. He’d get a ton of traffic from this embarrassment, but it would be a Pyrrhic victory for him. Adrianna would get even more publicity from it, and Andy would look like a total jackass.
If he got fired after that, it would just be icing. He’d never live this down.
Zion made me some popcorn, and as I settled in to read the competitors’ sites gluttonously, the intercom buzzer sounded. Zion got up and pressed the button. “Yo.”
Micah answered, “Yo,” and Zion let him in.
He scooted in next to me, and I slouched against him. “How’s Eden doing?”
