Chapter Three
Three
EMMA’S FAMILY HAD EVENTUALLY COME AROUND TO THE idea once she made the appropriate arguments. Jackie had been the first to fall; all Emma needed to do was reference reality TV shows like Indian Matchmaking and Married at First Sight to prove that the Western standard of dating—meet, date for years, have a long engagement—wasn’t the only way to go about finding a suitable partner. Emma had barely gotten the words out before Jackie was on board and clamoring to help set up her dating app profiles.
Alan and Chris were convinced by a more practical approach. Emma brought up all the nonrefundable deposits that had already been made: the band, the venue, the flowers, the multiple outfits! From a financial standpoint, it simply made more sense to at least try to find a groom than give away all that money without a fight. Plus, it was far easier to exist in LA in a two-income household. Why should Emma’s quality of life drastically decrease if it didn’t have to? Maybe she could find a really nice guy who was also really rich—wouldn’t that be a nice twist for everyone? Chris and Alan thought so.
Unfortunately, this angle didn’t move the needle for Debbie. Apparently, she didn’t want her youngest daughter to “marry a stranger just to save some money.” So Emma shared the other big part of her motivation that had quickly formulated in her mind as her plan took shape. As much as finding a new groom was something Emma wanted to do for herself and her future, she also saw it as an opportunity to influence the Western narrative around marriage—a narrative Emma had already been fighting against in her career. If she pulled this off, she’d be sending a message to all her followers (and maybe the world) that the length of time two people knew each other wasn’t what made or broke a relationship. And neither was the amount of lust and attraction couples felt at the beginning. What mattered most was a certain level of compatibly paired with a commitment to making it work.
If Emma’s practice had taught her anything, it was that following the traditional rules of courtship didn’t protect people from divorce. What did protect people was a willingness to work through their issues. Love didn’t stay alive because you had great sex on your third date forty years ago; love was something that needed to be tended to and maintained. Emma just needed the start of something wonderful with someone. They could grow the rest of their partnership once they were married. And after about forty minutes of listening to Emma make her case, Debbie reluctantly agreed.
But her best friend Imani, who had just finished listening to a truncated version of the exact same spiel Emma gave her family, wasn’t convinced.
“This is a horrible idea,” Imani said, with her arms folded across her chest, sinking further into their shared office couch.
Emma had met Imani the first day of her master’s program. They’d become fast friends and had managed to turn their dream of co-running a private practice into a reality after years of working at clinics to get their required hours for licensure. Sure, the office space was small and smelled faintly of body odor despite being professionally deep cleaned three times, but it was their own. And none of their clients had complained—at least not about the smell. They complained about everything else constantly.
“I appreciate your honesty,” Emma said. “But that’s not what I need right now. I’m currently in the market for unbridled support.”
Imani raised her eyebrows and clicked her tongue with distaste. She had an expressive face that went well with her equally expressive outfits. Imani had never met a color too bold and she changed her hairstyle almost daily to align with her mood. Emma knew her pragmatic best friend would be the hardest to convince that finding a new groom in time for her original wedding was a good idea. Or at least not a completely terrible one. But she was up for the challenge, and/or willing to beg.
“Sorry. Still a no. You’re going to need to find your unbridled support elsewhere.”
“But didn’t you like the part about changing the narrative—”
Imani put her hand up to stop Emma from saying another word. “It doesn’t matter if I like it or not. We are living in the real world where six months isn’t enough time to know if someone is a psychopath or not. That’s just a fact.”
Imani had a point. It had once taken Emma nearly ten months to figure out one of her clients was a malignant narcissist with violent tendencies—and she was a professional.
“Now, if you were trying to pitch me on this with someone you already knew but had never dated, like that guy Bryce from—”
“Oh my god.” Emma sprung up from the couch and started pacing their shared office. “You’re so right! I don’t need to start from scratch with someone completely new.”
Images of Tony began to flood Emma’s thoughts. Tony in the car. Tony in the shower. Tony catching and then immediately falling off a wave. She hadn’t seen the guy in years and suddenly it felt like he was in the room with them.
“I can just reach out to one of my exes and try to make it work this time!”
“Whoa.” Imani grabbed for Emma’s leg as she marched by her. “That’s not at all what I meant. I meant someone you already know but have never dated. People getting back together never works. Couples break up for a reason.”
“But what if I was the reason? And now I’ve changed?”
“Explain.”
“Do you remember what I was like before Ryan? I was an anxious mess who self-sabotaged pretty much every relationship I could force my way into. But now, I’m more confident, I have better coping tools and I’m securely attached. It wouldn’t even be like returning to an old relationship because I am basically a completely different person. I’m Emma 2.0.”
“I caught you crying in your car thirty minutes ago.”
“Because I’m grieving. Emma 1.0 would have been hysterically calling Ryan over and over and demanding he return to me. Now, I just cry in random places by myself. That’s progress, baby.”
Imani narrowed her brown eyes in thought. Emma sensed she might be on the verge of winning her best friend over. She just had to stick the landing.
“Do you already have someone in mind? And you better not say—”
“Tony.”
“Absolutely not. Nope. Unsubscribe.”
Imani had never met Tony in real life, but she had heard enough about him over the years to form a strong (negative) opinion. He and Emma had officially broken up about a month before Emma started her grad program six years ago. But Emma had kept tabs on him, occasionally sending a flirty message or birthday greeting, obsessively dissecting their failed dynamic with Imani over many a late-night drink. There had also been a few whirlwind weekends spent together that never resulted in anything other than hurt feelings. She’d finally stopped reaching out once she was with Ryan, which she’d privately viewed as a major indication of her growth. Except now Emma was right back where she was at twenty-six: thinking about Tony.
“I don’t get it. The biggest issue you had with this guy was that he couldn’t commit and now you think he’s going to want to marry you in six months? Why in the world would he want to do that?” Imani said before half-heartedly adding, “No offense.”
“Offense taken. But I’m not completely delusional. I know Tony has a habit of jumping from girl to girl with more than the occasional overlap. But what we had was different. I know it sounds arrogant and maybe completely misguided, but I genuinely think that if given the explicit choice, he would take the leap with me rather than lose me forever.”
Imani sighed, her reason and resolve dwindling in the face of Emma’s fanaticism.
“As your friend, I hope you’re right. As a therapist, I have to tell you that’s very worrisome to hear.”
Emma laughed. It was also a bit worrisome to feel, but she felt like she owed it to her heart and her twenty-six-year-old self to at least see what might happen. If Tony turned her down, well, she’d experienced worse.
“Thank you for pretending to support me.”
“I just don’t understand the hold this guy has over you. I’ve seen his Instagram. It’s nothing special.”
“I think he was the first person I ever really loved,” Emma confessed, knowing this was only partially true.
Emma had fallen in love with pretty much everyone she had ever dated for more than three weeks. And one guy on vacation. The real difference, she knew, was that Tony had left his hooks in her. While past loves had faded into a distant memory—she couldn’t even remember the first name of that guy in Tulum—Tony remained ever present in her mind. It always felt like only a few days had passed since she’d last seen him, even though it had technically been two years. She told herself that must mean something. Even if this type of magical thinking was exactly what she urged her clients to avoid.
“Well, the first person I ever loved is dead. You don’t see me trying to crawl into her coffin to reconnect,” Imani scoffed.
Imani had decided to become a therapist after her high school sweetheart died in a car accident and her school’s counselor helped her navigate the pain. It was a huge turning point for Imani, and she hoped her own lived experience could help others better navigate their own grief. It was also endless fodder for exceedingly morbid jokes. The only thing Imani liked more than using humor to cope was using it to make other people squirm. Fortunately, Emma was mostly immune to be being shocked at this point—with the exception of the “Great Abandonment” as she’d taken to calling it.
“I think our situations might be a bit different given that Tony is still alive. And, from my internet stalking, still single.”
“You mean to tell me a guy with overwhelming commitment issues hasn’t put a ring on it yet? Have you alerted the proper authorities?”
Emma chuckled despite herself. Imani might not have known Tony in the traditional sense, but she’d heard enough about him over the years to put together a fairly accurate picture. While Tony was undoubtedly a great guy in that he was funny, caring and creative, he was also a serial monogamist with an avoidant attachment style. This meant he often fell into relationships without really thinking. For him, having a girlfriend was basically like having a good friend you slept with sometimes. It didn’t mean he had to plan his life around a partnership or progress the relationship in any way. This would all be fine if his various girlfriends were on the same page. Instead, they spent months and sometimes years not understanding why their boyfriend didn’t seem to care about them all that much—Emma included.
But toward the end of whatever one might call their situationship, Emma had seen a flicker of real emotion. Tony hadn’t wanted her to leave, and she’d been secretly clinging to that high ever since. Tony also brought out a playfulness in Emma that she missed almost as much as she missed him.
“I guess I don’t actually know if he’s single. I just know he hasn’t posted about dating anyone lately so whatever he’s up to can’t be that serious.”
“Does he ever post his partners on social media?”
“He posted me once! After I threw a fit and threatened to date his friend. To this day I’m the only person he’s ever gone social media public with.”
“That’s not the slam dunk you think it is.”
Emma knew Imani was right. But one of the benefits of having your life blown up was that you could take a big risk without it ruining everything. Because everything was already ruined.
***
“Tony Moretti is not who I had in mind when you pitched me this scheme,” Debbie complained as Emma searched her childhood closet for a good outfit. It was surprisingly hard to find a something that said, I’m appropriately heartbroken but also eagerly looking to marry . Maybe she could borrow something from Jackie.
“You always liked Tony,” Emma argued as she sifted through the meager offerings she’d brought from her apartment. The apartment she still had to pay rent on despite being too heartbroken and poor to live there alone. Maybe her dad could help her find a subletter; he loved a task.
“I liked Tony as a person. But I never liked him for you.”
“I never liked Tony as a person or for you.” Jackie had magically appeared in the doorway eating one of those big bars of ridiculously expensive dark chocolate from Whole Foods. Jackie lived on a diet of fruit, vegetables, grilled fish and massive amounts of chocolate. It seemed to work well for her.
“What are you doing here? Is that mine?” Debbie gestured to the nearly devoured sweet treat.
“No, I brought it from home. I came by to help Emma find an outfit for her date. Even though I think Tony is weird and needs a real job.”
“He has a real job,” Emma exclaimed in defense of a man who once forgot to pick her up from the airport because his new neighbor—who was also a model—needed help moving in. “He’s a freelance video editor.”
“Freelance means he doesn’t have a job!”
“No, it doesn—” Emma took a deep breath. She had already spent too much of her relatively young life trying to explain to her sister that there were huge contingents of the population who didn’t have traditional nine-to-five jobs but still worked and supported themselves.
Even though they had grown up in the same house, it often felt like Emma and Jackie had had completely different lives. Jackie had managed to go from living in the bubble of a Jewish private school to living in the bubble of Beverly Hills as a stay-at-home mom. Emma had also attended Milken Community School growing up but had then ventured out and built a life filled with people who weren’t exclusively Jewish or generationally wealthy. It gave Emma a different perspective that Jackie often found baffling.
“I’m thinking of wearing this.” Emma held up a black jumpsuit in an attempt to change the topic. Both her mom and sister crinkled their noses although Debbie had the decency to try to hide it.
“I think we can do better,” Jackie declared as she started to rifle through Emma’s limited wardrobe. As someone with sensory sensitivity issues, Emma was reduced to only buying clothes that didn’t pinch, rub or itch—which meant almost everything remotely fashionable was off limits, much to her older sister’s horror. “How did this whole thing happen anyway? You just asked him out after not talking for two years?”
“I texted him and asked if he wanted to catch up.” Emma attempted to avoid their incoming scrutiny by examining a pair of jeggings that were slowly but surely falling apart—much like her own mental state.
“Wait. A catch-up is not a date. Does he even know you and Ryan broke up?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t mention it. But I haven’t reached out to him since I first told him about Ryan, so he probably put two and two together. Plus, I’ve been posting cryptically sad quotes on my stories.”
Jackie and Debbie exchanged a look that could only mean they had been having secret conversations behind Emma’s back. Emma’s suspicion was confirmed when Debbie patted the bed for Emma to sit. Jackie sat down on the floor. Some sort of intervention was brewing whether Emma was ready for it or not.
“Sweetheart, have you thought at all about when you’re going to go public with the breakup? I know your fans would want to support you through all of this. It might even help you move on and start fresh.”
Emma felt a tug on her heartstrings that her mom thought of her 410,000 followers on YouTube as fans. To Emma they felt like vultures who were going to pick her apart once they found out she’d been unceremoniously left. She wouldn’t even blame them for devouring her. She’d been cocky and foolish thinking that after years of failed relationships she, of all people, had finally figured it out. What kind of couples therapist couldn’t even stay in a couple? (Actually quite a few from what she’d observed at professional conferences, but the internet had little tolerance for nuance.)
“I thought that maybe I would just stop posting until the plan is further along. That way it can sort of be a one-two punch.”
“Like when celebrities have a surprise baby? One day you’ll just announce you’re married to a different guy?” Jackie asked.
“Exactly! Yes. Exactly like that.”
“It’s not the worst idea,” Jackie consented. “But I think I have one better.” She paused for dramatic effect. “You should tell them about the plan and then make them a part of it.”
“Absolutely not!” Debbie nearly shouted. “We are not letting random people on the internet choose Emma’s husband for her. That is where I draw the line.”
“Mom, relax. We’re not going to let YouTube pick the guy. Emma will just make some videos about the process. People go bananas for this kind of thing,” Jackie said, as though she had a master’s in social media marketing and not just hours and hours of Instagram consumption under her belt.
“I don’t know. I already feel like an idiot for including so much of my personal life online. If I had never shown Ryan in a video, I wouldn’t even have to address the broken engagement at all. I could just keep making informative videos about attachment styles until I die alone.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Jackie conceded, “But then you wouldn’t have a book deal. People like your stuff because it’s authentic. You’ve gone viral because you feel like a real person. And what’s more real than being left at the altar?”
“I wasn’t left at the altar,” Emma pointed out. That was one kindness Ryan had extended her. Although it probably had less to do with her feelings and more to do with him wanting to start his new life away from her as quickly as possible.
“Fine but we want to play into the drama here. Your fiancé left you so you’re going to stick it to him by marrying someone else on the same day you two were supposed to get married? That’s incredible content and you know it.”
“I’m not doing this to ‘stick it to Ryan’ though. I’m doing this for myself.”
“Absolutely,” Jackie agreed without really meaning it. “And if you happen to gain a ton more followers and release a bestselling book as a result, then that’s just a happy accident, right?” Jackie winked at Emma, which was far more disconcerting than she would have expected.
“How would this help the book?” Debbie asked.
“The more followers Emma has before the book comes out, the more people potentially buy the book. And if she announces what she is planning to do, and why she is planning to do it, people will get invested. It’ll blow up,” Jackie explained.
“That would be great for your practice too,” Debbie said, with sudden enthusiasm. “If your book does well, you’ll always have a waitlist of clients. It’s financial security.”
“Aren’t we at all concerned that I might not be able to pull this off? What happens if I don’t find another groom in time?” Emma asked.
“You will. And if not, we spin it,” Jackie declared, her missed calling as a publicist becoming more and more evident.
“I get what you’re saying. I really do. And from a business perspective, it makes a lot of sense—”
“Perfect!”
“Wait. I… I’m just worried that if I share my plan publicly, I might start doing it for the wrong reasons. I might, I don’t know, marry the wrong person just so I won’t look like a loser online.”
“Emma,” Jackie replied, “people have gotten married for much worse reasons than that.”
In the end, they decided on a multitiered approach. Emma had quickly filmed a YouTube video announcing her broken engagement, but she didn’t share anything about what had officially been titled Operation: Save My Date. Debbie had come up with the name after Emma vetoed Jackie’s suggestion of Groom Swap. In the approximately three-minute recording, Emma had steered away from bashing her ex and instead focused on the importance of prioritizing herself after heartbreak.
About halfway through filming, though, Emma had found it hard to maintain her normally hopeful and upbeat online persona. Her eyes drifted away from the large poster board filled with the talking points they’d meticulously discussed. It was suddenly all too polished to accurately describe the current of emotions coursing through her veins (and stomach). Overwhelmed, Emma had rubbed her face in frustration and opened her mouth without thinking too much for once.
“Look, I’m going to be honest, it is really fucking hard to love yourself when your heart is broken. Your brain wants to collect all this evidence that proves you deserved to be left because it likes to make sense of things. It likes to point to a reason for all the pain. And the easiest reason my brain can come up with is that I suck. That I am not good enough to marry. But I want it on record, for both me and you, that I reject that reason.”
Emma quickly wiped a tear from her right eye that had had the indignity to escape. “I’m not perfect. I know I’m not cool or chill or low maintenance. But that doesn’t mean I am unlovable. Because despite everything, I continue to love myself. That’s why, even with this massive shock I’m still trying to wrap my head around, I don’t want to die. I don’t even want to give up. Which is a huge improvement from how I felt the last time someone left me behind. So I’m going to celebrate that win—even if I’m crying while I do it.”
Emma signed off by swearing that she wasn’t going to give up on love or marriage and to stay tuned for more updates. The video was a wonderful mix of genuine emotion and clever clickbait. She had somehow managed to share the worst news of her life through a lens of hope and self-compassion. Maybe it would even help someone in a similar position. Or, at the very least, not paint her as a total fraud. At this point in her increasingly public career, Emma understood that sharing her life online required walking a fine line between authenticity and proactive damage control. It was both exhausting and exhilarating.
By the time they were done and the video was officially uploaded, Emma realized she was running late for once in her anxious life. She was so panicked about beating traffic and finding parking, she didn’t even have the brain power to process what was about to happen until she arrived. She was going to see Tony again. And she was maybe going to ask him to marry her.