“So,” she says, too casual. “Have you seen him yet?”
I freeze, dress half-unzipped.
“Who?” I ask like I don’t already know.
Amanda scoffs. “Come on. There’s only one man in that entire state you’re avoiding.”
She’s right. But I wish she wasn’t.
I force a shrug, still avoiding the phone screen. “Nope. Can’t say I’ve had the pleasure.”
“Good,” she says. “Because you don’t need that temptation in your life.”
I snort. “Temptation?”
“That’s what he is, isn’t he? Not just the ex you can’t shake. He’s the promise of something bigger, something better. He makes you feel like you could have more. Be more.”
I hate that she’s right. Again. Because that’s the problem.
Alder isn’t just an old flame. He’s success personified. He’s what I lost, what I need, what I can’t afford to chase but don’t know how to stop wanting. And if I see him again? If he so much as looks at me the way he used to—like I’m the only thing in the room that matters? I don’t know if I’ll be able to walk away.
Amanda watches me. “Gem, you do get that you’re a complete badass without him?”
“Of course.” I try to smile. “And I told you—I’m done with him.”
“You sure? Because you don’t seem to understandhow much you absolutely do not need him.” Amanda arches a brow. “I worry about you, Gem. I’ve been on the other end of the phone when you and Alder go from together to not. I’ve listened to you cry and promise yourself that you’re not going to get pulled back in by all his promises or let him make you doubt yourself or feel like you’re not good enough. And yet”—she gestures at me, waving her fork like a magician’s wand—“you’re renting a car you can’t afford, staying in a hotel you don’t need, and avoiding my calls like I’m the IRS.”
I groan. “You are so dramatic.”
Amanda narrows her eyes. “Is it dramatic if I’m right?”
I don’t answer. We both know the truth.
Coming back here means facing him. And no matter how much I tell myself I’m past this, past him, past what he represents…
There’s still a tiny, desperate part of me that wants to see him. That wants to believe I could still have that life. That wants to stop struggling and finally take a break.
“Let’s get through this fitting, and then we can figure out the rest of my life.”
Amanda sighs but lets me shift the conversation.
I set the phone down, angling it so she can give a full commentary as I slip out of my outfit and into the baby blue bridesmaid dress.
The fabric shimmers under the candlelight, catching the flames like water. The lace-up corset back is pretty, or at least, it was before I had to wrestle myself into it like I was wrangling a wild animal into church clothes. I’m billowing out of the top.
“This dress is a problem,” I mutter.
I twist, trying to reach the zipper and the laces, but the material refuses to cooperate. The pressure builds. From the corset. From my failures. From the weight of pretending I still have it all together.
I tug again, but the more I fight it, the worse it gets.
I can’t breathe.
The air thickens. The candles flicker. The room closes in.
And suddenly, it’s not just about the dress. It’s about this town. This wedding. The fact that everyone here thinks I’m a success when in less than a month, I’ll have nothing.
I yank on the fabric, but it won’t budge.
