“But you’ve done it before,” my sister reminds me.
“Yeah, and how did that end?” I retort, then wince. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” Betty says, giving me a reassuring smile. It’s just like my older sister to take everything in stride. When Bell and I broke the news to her that we were moving out, she didn’t break into tears as we had assumed she would.
She simply said she was happy for us. And I know she genuinely meant it. Bell did check with Vincent through our secret group chat we use twice a year to plan gifts for Betty’s birthday and Christmas. He confirmed she was fine. Sad, but overall excited for us.
“Warner was an asshole,” Betty goes on. “A colossal asshole who broke up with you at your wedding rehearsal.”
My chest becomes tight as my breathing shallows. Despite my best efforts to bleach that awful night from my memories, I still remember every little detail.
My ex-fiancé complaining to our friends about how I was crying yet again. My heart breaking when my so-called best friend laughed and called me a dramatic attention seeker as always. Warner and I getting into an argument halfway through the rehearsal dinner when I reminded him I was sad because Iwanted my parents there and he said, “Everyone dies. It’s, like, inevitable. Get over it already. It’s not like they died last week. They’ve been dead for four years.”
I started crying again. He said he couldn’t do this anymore and stormed out of the restaurant after loudly announcing to everyone not to fucking bother showing up for the wedding. Then everyone wouldn’t stop crowding me while I went through a panic attack, and it was one of the most excruciating moments of my life.
It was just like the time at Mom and Dad’s wake when everyone swarmed me, while I broke down into tears and hyperventilated, and blocked me from exiting. I don’t remember how I got out of there—out of both situations. I just remember feeling myself drown under all the attention, then shunting back to reality in the comfort of Betty’s room.
“He couldn’t even give meleft at the altar.” Despite my best efforts to crack a joke, my voice breaks. When I see her twisting her engagement ring, guilt expands in my chest. “Please don’t tell me you’re going to push your wedding back again?—”
“We won’t,” Betty says. “Vincent and I will get married, even if we have to march down to the courthouse.”
“Okay, because I feel really guilty about being the reason why you two haven’t gotten married yet.”
My sister frowns. “Barbie, it’s not your fault we haven’t tied the knot yet. Vincent and I wanted to make sure we could afford the wedding we want and have everyone we love there.”
“So you’re not delaying your wedding because of what happened at mine?”
“No. I know you’re happy for us. And I know you would have backed out of the wedding party if it was too much for you.”
“I wouldn’t back out of my own sister’s wedding party.”
“Okay, I would have removed you from my wedding party if I knew you couldn’t handle it.” Her gaze lands on my face. “Thatsaid, Warner is an asshole,” she repeats. “He wasn’t good for you. He literally bailed on you shortly after Mom and Dad died for hismental health.”
“I didn’t mind,” I say softly. “Not the bailing part, but his moving to Massachusetts meant my apartment had a room for Bell, and she didn’t have to be uprooted during her last two years of high school,” I remind her.
“Vincent and I would have moved to Westminster for Bell,” Betty says.
“I know you guys would,” I say.
“That’s not the point,” she continues. “Just because things didn’t work out with Warner doesn’t mean it won’t work out with someone else.”
“It’s not just that,” I interject. “Ineedthe physical intimacy. I want to be able to come home and see him. Or be able to hop into my car and drive over to Ethan’s apartment?—”
“So his name’s Ethan?”
My eyes widen. Heat pools on my cheeks. Unlike Bell, who’ll be ruthless with her teasing, Betty is kind and doesn’t resort to the same behavior. It’s why I’m not even hesitating with the words I say next.
“He’s funny. His level of humor is so much like mine. He’s so sweet and dorky and protective,” I confess. “But… he lives in Oregon. His whole life is there. I don’t see myself there. I have my own life here. And… I want to get married, settle down, and have kids in the next few years—which isimpossibleto achieve with a guy who doesn’t want to leave Oregon.”
“Are you sure?—”
“I’m pretty sure. He wants to be near his family, and I can understand why, given everything they’ve been through,” I whisper. “And he’s buying a house there. As much as I like him… it’s just not meant to be.”
Betty sets down the container in her hands and pulls me into a hug. “I’m sorry, Barbie.”
“It’s okay.” I sniffle hard, burying my face into her neck as she strokes my back. “I’ll be fine.”
“Can I give you some advice?” When I nod, she continues. “You should give it a shot and go after him.”
