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“Oh, I was practicing my set.”

“Okay. Well, good luck, I guess.”

I stare at her and nod.

Get it together, I tell myself.

“And, folks, next up, we have Rosie Meadows! Come on out!” Marcus says, and I hear the crowd cheering.

I take a deep breath and step out onto the stage. I wave and grab the microphone.

“Hi, everyone. I’m Rosie. Rosie Meadows. Yes, that’s my name. No, I do not love flowers, and, no, I do not love running through meadows, though many would assume, based on my name, that I would. How’s everyone doing tonight? Can we get some applause for Marcus, the host of the evening?”

The crowd applauds, and I look to the front. Sage is giving me a thumbs-up and a wide smile. I smile back. I love my sister, and I’m so grateful she’s here.

“So, tonight, I want to tell you a story. Now, this isn’t a story you can read to kids, so I want to make sure there’s no one under twenty-one in here. Put your hand up if you’re under twenty-one.”

I scan the crowd, though I know no one will raise a hand because the club is twenty-one and over.

“Okay. Well, I want to tell you a little secret. I may be the next Carrie. Now, I know what you’re thinking. You’re worried I mean Carrie from the Stephen King novel, and I’m about to turn this whole place into a firepit. But no. I’m talking about Carrie from Sex and the City. Who here has seen Sex and the City?”

A group of women who look like they’re at a bachelorette party start cheering, and I wave at them.

“I see you, girls. Well, I think I’m going to be Carrie—and not because I have amazing clothes or a kick-ass apartment in New York City. I don’t even have a Mr. Big. But what I do have is the uncanny ability to make really shitty decisions about men. Yes, folks, I’m yet another woman in her twenties who picks the wrong men. Surprise, surprise. I have a feeling there are a lot of us in here. Put your hand up if you’ve picked the wrong man or two in your day.”

Half the crowd cheers, and I scan the room for someone to pick on.

That’s when I see Clara and Blair sitting off to the side, grinning at me.

My heart swells as I realize they came to support me. I give them a wide smile, and as they wave, confidence floods through me. I’m not alone here. I have friends. I have family. I have people who believe in me. Just because Brett isn’t here doesn’t mean I’m not worthy. Just because I love him and he doesn’t love me back doesn’t mean I don’t deserve love.

I grip the microphone tighter and hold up my hand.

“Okay, ladies, we need to figure out why we always make bad decisions about men. What is it about a man with a red flag that makes us think he’s the one? Traffic school teaches us that green means go, yellow means slow down, and red means stop. So, why is it that when we see a man flashing bright red, we go, go, go, go, go? Are we all colorblind?”

A bunch of women burst out laughing, and I know I’m killing it. My set is going well, and I keep going. Every joke I’ve written in the last few days flies off my lips and hits harder than the one before.

And then a ripple of something runs through me, like electricity. I pause for a second and scan the room.

There, at the back, I see him. Tall, dark, and handsome. He’s laughing, and he’s clapping.

It’s Brett. He came. And he thinks I’m funny.

I know then and there that whether or not the NBC executives love me, I’m proud of myself. I’m proud because the man I love is laughing, with a genuine smile on his face, and I’ll carry that with me for the rest of my life.

I finish my set, and as the crowd applauds, I take a couple of bows and walk off the stage.

“You did amazing,” Marcus says, holding up his hand for a high five. “I knew you’d kill it. That was really, really amazing.” He pulls me into a big hug.

“Thank you. I’m so glad you enjoyed it, and …”

“Hi. Are you Rosie?” A woman with long blonde hair steps forward. “I’m Priscilla Riley. I work for NBC. I’m one of the producers on an upcoming comedy show, and I wanted to say congratulations on your set tonight. You did really great, and we’d love to offer you a part on the show. It starts filming in a couple of weeks, and our attorneys can send over a contract if you’re interested.”

“Oh my gosh, thank you so much. What an amazing opportunity. I don’t even know what to say.” I beam at her, my heart racing.

“Say you’re going to come on the show. I think you have a great career in comedy ahead of you. It films in LA, starting in a few weeks, and we will pay you well.”

“Thank you,” I say.