Chapter 19 Attend the Rehearsal Dinner
? Attend the Rehearsal Dinner
It’s another week before Kami calls him to her office again.
A week of mild anxiety about being fired. Of staring at his bank account, then at his monthly bills and wondering how long he can live off his savings before moving back in with his mom and Tevin becomes the only option.
A week of job searches. Of considering new occupations. Is it too early for that reinvention stage Javi’s mom was referring to?
Except … Jordan loves what he does.
He loves that singular instance at the end of a party, after weeks and months of planning someone else’s milestone, where his client has that little twinkle in their eye. That recognition this is a moment they’ll never forget. They’ll never forget him.
It’s a week of exercising every morning until he’s so high on dopamine that life doesn’t feel so awful. Then another workout at night so he’s too tired to stay up. To stare at his phone, waiting.
Hoping.
It’s a week where he watches Notting Hill in its entirety, for once.
Where he inexplicably finds himself back in Decatur Square, the place where Jamie ended things the first time.
He wanders into Little Shop of Stories, a bookstore with framed illustrations on the bright yellow walls and a floor made of shiny pennies and a warm staff welcoming him the moment he steps inside.
It’s cozy, like a certain diner downtown.
Memorable like a laugh shared over a sticky bar.
Jordan can see Jamie here, reading picture books to children during story time. Aggressively recommending his favorite paperback romances to a customer who came in looking for a sci-fi novel.
Finally, Jordan gets it. The Will Thacker thing. How someone can be so earnest and clumsy and charismatic.
So wildly unexpected.
Because that’s Jamie Peters.
And, so, Jordan also spends the week missing him. Unsure what to do about that.
Now, Kami stares at him from across her desk. She hasn’t said a word for two minutes. It’s eerily reminiscent of the last time they did this.
Jordan prepares himself for the worst.
She says, “You were right.”
And … that’s not what Jordan was expecting.
He sits up. “I was right?”
“Mm-hmm.”
With as much confidence as possible, which is currently very little, Jordan says, “About…?”
Kami’s exhale is followed by a tiny smile. “About me forgetting what the company’s vision was—is.”
She nudges an opened magazine toward him.
Without seeing the cover, Jordan recognizes it.
Some trashy tabloid dressed as a “serious” publication.
In the bottom corner of the page is an inlaid photo of Kami.
The professional headshot she got after taking over as CEO.
The brief write-up is titled: HAS THE CARTER FAMILY’S NEW CEO LOST HER GOLDEN TOUCH?
He quirks an eyebrow. “What’s this?”
“This,” Kami laments, “came out three months ago.”
Jordan does the math. Ah.
“When we had that staff meeting,” he says.
“When I had a stupid epiphany that in order to keep the company’s name in the headlines,” Kami clarifies, “we needed to get back in weddings. Recapture the magic.” She frowns at the glossy magazine. “Ensure no one thought I was a failure.”
“Kami, it was one dumb, untrue article.”
“I know that!” She rubs her temples. “I know that now. But it got to me.”
“Why were you even reading that filth?”
She groans. “It was in the lobby when I took Mikah to the dentist. I was bored.”
He wants to laugh, but Kami looks contrite.
Her brow pinches. “You were right about Amy. She deserved better. This company stands out because we value our clients’ happiness over splashy spreads in People.”
Jordan smiles, though he’s not sure how to feel inside. Vindicated? Relieved?
“Are you backing out of weddings again?”
“No,” Kami says frankly. “We can still make an impact there. A memorable one.”
“Agreed.”
“But I’m reconfiguring the approach,” she says. “Maybe our next client could be smaller? Still important, just not…”
“Entertainment Weekly big?”
“More of variety,” she offers.
They trade amused grins. It’s a beat before Jordan replays the conversation in his head. His heart skips.
Kami said we and our.
He stammers, “Wait, as in—”
“As in I’m not firing you,” Kami confirms. “Suspension over.”
He lets out a long breath. He still has a job. Another shot at—
Kami bursts his bubble before it gets too big. “You’re not ready for the events manager position, Jordan.”
Damn.
She folds her hands on the desk. When Jordan doesn’t speak, she goes on.
“You’re unquestionably one of the best at what you do. But growth takes time and experience. You’ll be better than I was. Certainly better than Denz was.” She laughs warmly. “We don’t need to rush it.”
Jordan nods along.
The sting is brief. He thought it’d hurt more. All his hard work to earn the position. To prove himself to her, to everyone. But, to his own surprise, Jordan is fine with Kami’s decision.
With the rejection.
“Thanks, Kami.” Unexpectedly, he adds, “Javi would make a better candidate,” because it’s true.
She sits back. “You think so?”
“Absolutely.”
As annoying as that villain mustache and arrogant smirk are, Javi has a way of winning people over. Jordan included.
“You know what I think?” Kami asks.
“Almost never,” he says with a laugh.
“I think Javi’s great”—a slow grin curls her lips—“but he’s no Jordan Carter.”
A smile threatens to rip Jordan’s face in half. “Thanks,” he says again.
“I’m in no rush to fill the position,” Kami announces. “If he wants it, he’ll have to beat you for it. Are you game?”
He doesn’t hesitate. “Always.”
“Good. Now get back to work while I figure out a way to convince my son a trip to Legoland for his birthday is the worst idea ever.”
Before he leaves, Kami adds, “Also, someone’s waiting for you in your office. I’m not the only reason you still have a job, Jordan.”
“You look disappointed.”
Jordan isn’t. At least, he’s trying not to be.
After Kami’s last cryptic words, he wasn’t sure who to expect. Maybe Javi? His mom?
He knows who his heart hoped it would be. It was a silly, ridiculous thought. There’s no way it’d be him.
Still, the tiniest, stupidest part of him clutched on to that hope as he walked to his office.
It’s Amy he finds instead. Not the gown-wearing, teary-eyed, on-a-rampage Amy he last saw.
Instead, she’s in cropped jeans, a dark denim jacket over a T-shirt that reads THE DEAD ROMANTICS.
Her hair is held off her face by a pair of sunglasses.
She looks every bit the bookish girl she described herself as.
The real Amy.
“I’m not disappointed,” Jordan says.
“You’re sure?”
He grins. “Positive.”
Her shoulders relax. “Good. Can we talk?”
Jordan gestures toward the chair facing his desk. “Please sit.” While she does, he walks around to his own chair. “Are you okay?”
A beat. She sucks in her cheeks, searching for a response. Finally, she says, “I am. Because of you.”
“Because of the champagne?” Jordan tries in a teasing voice.
She snort-giggles. Yep, definitely the real Amy.
“That too.”
She wrings her hands. Her left hand lacks a big, glittery engagement ring. Jordan summons a neutral expression while she thinks.
“Thanks for what you said that night,” she gets out.
“Amy, I don’t know if anything I said was appropriate—”
“It wasn’t,” she cuts in, smiling. “But I needed to hear it anyway.”
“From me?” Jordan hedges. He’s not her best friend. Just the wedding planner. Well, he was the wedding planner.
“From anyone,” she exhales. “It was like everyone was sitting around, watching the car crash happen. No one tried to prevent it.”
“I wasn’t trying to—”
She stops him again. “I know. But you helped. I’m glad I called off the engagement.”
“You are?”
Amy sits back, crossing her legs. “I didn’t want to go into a marriage feeling like … I was losing myself.”
Jordan rubs the back of his head. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. That it happened that way.”
“Me too.”
He wishes he had something better to offer. Something comforting. Inspirational. But he’s starting to believe heartbreak doesn’t want words. It doesn’t want platitudes or motivational quotes or by-the-book solutions.
It wants you to feel the pain, the loss.
If you never experience the ache, how will you ever heal from it?
“Anyway.” Amy shakes out her shoulders like she’s done feeling for the moment. “I’m going to Korea. To see my harabeoji.”
A smile plays at Jordan’s lips. “Yeah?”
She nods happily. “My mom doesn’t have to like it. But I’m doing it anyway. He deserves to see me. Even if he won’t remember.” Her eyes lower. “I deserve to meet him because I will remember.”
“You do,” Jordan agrees softly, sadly.
She looks up. Her mouth opens, like she wants to say something but is hesitant. Jordan doesn’t want to guess what it is. Instead, she says, “Sam apologized.”
“He did?”
Amy hums, fiddling with the buttons on her jacket. “He’s been begging for a second chance.”
“Have you,” Jordan starts, wary, “taken him back?”
“No. I mean, not yet? He’s still going to London. And I’m not changing my plans for him. Or who I am.”
Jordan beams proudly at her.
“He’s a good man,” she tells him.
“Pretty good. From what I’ve seen.”
Another snort-giggle. “We both love our parents. That doesn’t mean it’s not complicated. But I don’t have to settle for the future they want for him or me.”
Jordan’s starting to believe Amy’s talking about more than just her and Sam.
“I told him that if he wants us, he needs to stop choosing them,” she says, her chin lifted in a very unlike-Amy way. Jordan likes it.
“Do you think he’ll do it?”
It’s only a second before a bright, warm glow blooms across her face. “Yeah, I do.”
“I do too,” Jordan assures, and it’s genuine. He believes in Amy and Sam’s love.
“I should go,” Amy says. “I need to pack.”
She stands to leave. Jordan considers walking her out. Maybe giving her a hug too? It’d be crossing another line, but, seriously, who gives a fuck? They’ve shared garden gummies and shotgunned a bottle of champagne together.
Professionalism died a long time ago.
From the doorway, Amy gives him a grin like he doesn’t need to. Like this isn’t goodbye.
He believes that too.
That hesitant look returns to her eyes. “Do me a favor while I’m gone?”
“Anything,” Jordan says automatically.
“Don’t just walk away from what you have with Jamie. Let him explain.”
He stares at her, unblinking. Frozen in place.
“What I have with him?”
“Yes, Jordan.” She rolls her eyes. “He’s my best friend, remember? I could tell something was going on. Also, you two are kind of obvious.”
So he’s been told. More than once.
“I don’t—” Jordan swallows. “He doesn’t, uh, I mean—”
Words and vocabulary? He’s never heard of them.
Amy shakes her head in disbelief. “God, you and him are worse than me and Sam.”
“We are not you and Sam,” he says, defensively.
Probably because Sam and Amy had a whole-ass relationship, almost a wedding, while Jordan and Jamie had …
He still doesn’t know.
Amy huffs. “Can I give you some advice?”
“History has shown I can’t stop you from doing what you want.”
“No, you can’t,” she says with a smirk. Her face turns serious, sincere. “Maybe it’s time you start listening to yourself.”
Jordan’s eyebrows scrunch in confusion.
“You told me others shouldn’t decide what our love story looks like,” she reminds him, as if he needed it. “This isn’t what you want your love story to look like, is it?”
He bites hard on the inside of his cheek to keep from frowning. “No.”
“Jamie’s used to people telling him what he is and isn’t,” she says sadly. “What he should change. What they want from him.”
She pauses. It’s heavy. As if she’s never been able to tell this to anyone, but now she has Jordan.
Now she trusts Jordan.
“No one ever tells him that they want him,” she finishes. “As he is.”
She stares right into his eyes, making sure he takes in everything.
He does, wholeheartedly.
“Tell him.” Her expression brightens. She’s back to the woman he met on that first day in the office. “Start there.”
Amy doesn’t wait for him to speak. Or nod. She doesn’t need him to make a promise. She knows—they both know—he already has. Just by listening.
When she’s gone, Jordan sits there for seconds. Minutes. He loses count.
It starts quietly behind his ribs. The ache. The pain. He wants to turn it off. Bury himself in work and to-do lists and intensely detailed plans that leave no room for this.
But that won’t solve anything.
Avoiding has never ever worked before.
So he sucks in a sharp breath. He lets the feeling grow until it’s loud. Until his cheeks are wet, and his throat is raw.
Jordan never cried over Yazzie. Even after it ended, he knew they’d stay friends. She would always be a part of his life.
He cries over Jamie. Head-in-his-hands weeping over him. Because he’s afraid of losing him. It’s the last thing he wants. When they were in college, on separate coasts. When Jamie ended things the first time, claiming he wasn’t right for Jordan.
When they were at the engagement dinner and Jamie said they needed space and walked away from Jordan.
He’s afraid losing Jamie will be more than just space and temporary silence and Jordan pretending he doesn’t miss Jamie. He’s afraid, one day, it’ll be permanent.
Tell him, Amy says in his head. Start there.
It sounds so easy. So unnervingly simple. But nothing about what Jordan’s ever felt for Jamie has been simple, has it?
But why can’t it be?
He’s spent most of his life allowing the world to dictate his value. A missing dad to determine his worth. A certain kind of love story to control what he thinks his own should look like.
Fuck that. Fuck all of it.
He’s Jordan fucking Carter. No, he’s Jordan. No fancy last names, strict labels, checkbox definitions necessary.
He doesn’t give up. He’s a state-champion basketball player. A Mario Kart wizard. A goddamn excellent event coordinator. He doesn’t walk away until the last buzzer goes off and the stands are empty and someone drags him off the court.
Jordan doesn’t lose.
He doesn’t let someone else decide when he’s lost either.
With trembling hands, he grabs his phone. Scrolls through his contacts. FaceTime only rings twice before the video connects.
“Jordan, I’m on a lunch date—”
“Nic,” he cuts in.
“—so this better be important—”
“Nic.”
“—or I swear to God your firstborn will be mine—”
“Nicola.”
She stops short, her eyes flitting to the screen. “Are—are you crying?”
He sniffs hard. “I need your help.”
She doesn’t even hesitate. “Where’s the dead body?”