Chapter 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 the conversation 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’s townhome.
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 make me the problem. I shudder at the thought. “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 glad for 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 off your 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 say Let’s brew something special together.”
“He can brew a batch of bullshit.”
She stares at me with battle-ready eyes. “Do you see my point now? There’s a very good chance he might bring someone else to the wedding. If your ex is at the wedding with a plus-one, you’ll have to be there with someone too, otherwise it’ll look like you aren’t moving on.”
“It’s been two weeks. Am I supposed to have moved on? I was thinking I’d take maybe a couple of years to regroup. Figure out what went wrong. Learn from it.”
“You don’t need to sit on the sidelines and lick your wounds.
” Caroline paces around the island; she only needs a headset mic, and she could be presenting a TED Talk.
“You need to get back out there and move the hell on like the fabulous babe you are.” She pauses, levels me with a sharp stare.
“And, let’s be real, you don’t want to be known as the romance planner who got dumped on the Jumbotron. ”
Or worse—the romance planner who screwed up her own Jumbotron proposal. “Valid point,” I admit. Since it’s not like the clients are lining up right now to hire someone who sucks at relationships.
I’m also not entirely in the mood to create jigsaw puzzle proposals or romantic movie scene reenactments for proposals, engagement parties, or big anniversary dates.
Imagine that.
But I’ll need to get my mojo back soon. I’ll need to move forward in my business, not to linger on what happened on the big screen. “You want me to change the narrative.”
“Exactly. And what better way to show Jameson and everyone else that you’re not hurt than by having a hot guy on your arm? You need a top-notch plus-one. And I already have an idea for your wedding date.”
I give her my I’m waiting face.
My sister gives me her I’m eight years older and know better face. So, basically, her face.
“Okay. Who?” I ask, breaking the silence.
She sweeps a hand toward the new succulent. “The guy who gave you the plant to check in on how you were doing.”
I blink. “You can’t be serious?”
There’s no hint of laughter in her eyes. “Do I look like I’m joking?”
“There’s nothing in it for Lake. He’s a superstar athlete.”
A devilish grin shifts her lips. “A superstar athlete who helped you out of a jam.”
“That doesn’t mean he wants to be my wedding date.”
“Please,” she says, wearing confidence like it’s her perfume. “You really think he did that whole thing because he’s not into you?”
“I think he did it because he felt sorry for me. I work with him, and he’s also Clem’s brother.”
She smiles again, without showing any teeth. “Then leverage the sympathy.”
“Is that what you would tell your viewers?”
“No,” she says, calm as a rattlesnake before a strike.
“But this is what you need to do to live your best life. I love you madly and want you to move on. Also, I need this wedding to go off without a hitch. I have more than a hundred people working on my show, and I don’t want anything to go wrong.
I don’t want Jameson to draw too much attention by showing up with a date.
And I don’t want Fresh Face worried about how it all might go down.
It’s a win–win. Especially since you get to look terrific, rebuild your business, and have a hot athlete on your arm as you do it. ”
Translation: do it.
I picture the broody, intense hockey star with the chiseled jaw and cool eyes that never stray when he talks to you.
The team’s been on a long road trip, so I haven’t seen him since that Friday night.
But I vividly remember him here on the porch, under the midnight stars, with that cocky grin, saying, “I’m just that good. ”
What happens if he says no to being my plus-one? It would be embarrassing for a minute, but we don’t spend that much time together at work.
But what happens if he says yes?
My heartbeat does something strange. Something wild it hasn’t done in a couple of weeks. It speeds up.
“I’ll ask him,” I say.
“Do it tomorrow,” Caroline says. “We have a picnic coming up for the wedding party. Fresh Face wants to show off outdoor makeup. I want to show off how well everything’s going, including how well you’re doing.”
She leaves, taking the mug—and presumably, the rest of the sympathy—with her.
* * *
The next thing I do is write a list of possible outcomes in my Notes, Complaints, and Existential Crises notebook, then call an emergency meeting of my girlfriends, requesting their presence for Project Plus-One.
Mabel’s the first to respond.
Mabel: Get your sweet ass up to Cozy Valley because for this type of meeting I need to ply you all with cake.
Clementine works down the street from Mabel’s bakery, so she’s game.
Clem: I love it when you make things easy for me.
I touch up my makeup, toss on a light red cardigan, and hustle to the bus stop where I catch the next one out of town.
Less than an hour later, I hop off the bus in Cozy Valley across from The Cheesery on Main Street, with its chalkboard sign featuring a drawing of Cupid shooting a heart through a block of Gouda.
The air is crisp in mid-February but it’s not too cold.
As I turn onto Mabel’s block, my gaze strays briefly down the street and beyond into the hills of this quirky, artsy small town.
Lake lives here on his family’s equine therapy ranch that their older brother runs. Is he tending to a horse, or doing ranch stuff right now? The team just returned last night from their road trip, so it’s possible.
But I push him out of my mind as much as I can. Best to focus on my mission.
I pick up the pace, marching toward the pink brick bakery with the Afternoon Delight sign on the garage windows of the former fire station.
Clementine’s already inside, her blonde hair cinched in a long ponytail and she’s laughing at something with Mabel.
Heart-shaped cookies fill the display case, alongside red, white, and pink cakes for the holiday.
My baker friend gestures for me to join them at the counter, sliding a red sugar cookie my way in the shape of a heart.
“Sweets help everything make sense,” she declares.
“Truer words,” Clementine puts in. “Now, tell us the ten million iterations you’ve outlined for this plus-one wedding project.”
And all of them include your brother.
I take a bite, then lay out the why and the what of Caroline’s directive, before I turn to Clementine. “And she wants me to ask Lake to be my plus-one,” I say, with an apologetic smile.
She snorts. “Really? That’s weird.”
“It is?”
“I mean, he’s weird. Brothers are weird,” she says with a shudder.
“Is it weird that she wants me to ask him though?”
Clementine points at me. “No, it’s weird that you’re looking all apologetic. It doesn’t bother me if you ask him.”
My shoulders relax. “Oh, good.”
She tilts her head. “Did you really think I’d be all don’t go after my brother?”
“No. But also, I don’t trust my judgment anymore,” I admit.
“Don’t let your asshole ex get you down,” Mabel huffs. “Jameson’s picture’s going up on a wall of exes, and we can throw darts at it.”
Clementine gives a sympathetic smile. “I will hit the bull’s-eye so hard every day. Also, I kind of can’t believe I’m saying this, but I agree with your sister’s instinct. Lake would be a good plus-one since he doesn’t talk that much. He’d just show up and growl.”
“I don’t mind a good growl from Corbin,” Mabel puts in, with the secret smile of a happily coupled-up woman who gets good growl on the regular from her man.
“We know,” Clementine and I tell her.
“And you do need a plus-one,” Clementine adds, pointing at me. “You can’t show up to a high-profile wedding without one.”
I return to the page in my notebook where I’ve listed potential opportunities to ask him. “I’ll do it tomorrow before the game.”
Mabel reaches into the display case, grabs a vanilla cupcake with pink frosting, and puts it in a box. “Give him this. It’s his favorite.”
Clementine beams proudly at Mabel. “Oh dude, good call. He loves free food.”
I laugh. “Liking free food is so…not weird.”
But I file that nugget away, thank them, then leave. Their support is the fuel I need to march into work tomorrow and execute Project Plus-One.