Chapter 4 #2
Of all the times of day—why now? Why couldn’t they have stayed in their Pinterest-perfect bubble of wedding bliss and left me to my breakfast in peace?
My heart goes on a run as I peek over the edge of my booth seat again, watching them walk up to the counter.
Lindsey is all pastel in a blush-pink sweater, her blonde hair falling in effortless tangles that I imagine are little snakes, like the head of Medusa.
That breathy, sugar-sweet voice I now hate so much floats across the diner as she orders—likely something with zero carbs and extra self-righteousness.
As for Andy, he still looks like the world’s biggest jerk, albeit a well-dressed one.
His brown hair is shorter now, and he’s sporting a button-down that I recognize because I bought it for him the Christmas before last. With their June wedding coming up, they’re the talk of the town, as evidenced by Mr. and Mrs. Rawlins offering their good wishes.
Granny Jo greets them with her usual warmth—nobody gets special treatment in her diner, not even backstabbing ex-best-friends and cheating exes.
But as her eyes meet mine across the room, she offers a subtle tilt of her head toward the exit.
The universal grandmotherly signal for “run while you can, dear.”
That’s my cue. Great looking out, Granny Jo!
I must channel Tim Robbins in The Shawshank Redemption and escape through the sewage pipe of awkwardness. Holding Granny’s brown paper bag of goodies, I carefully slide out of the booth. My feet move quietly one at a time, like a cat burglar. I can make it. Just one more step and—
“Maisie? Is that you?”
Lindsey’s voice sends a chill down my spine like sharp nails running the length of a chalkboard.
My entire body freezes mid-step, one foot hovering above the floor as my stomach plummets faster than a skydiver without a parachute.
Nausea swirls in my gut, replacing the warm, contented feeling from moments ago.
I turn around at the speed of a sloth on tranquilizers. My face arranges itself into what I hope is a neutral expression but probably looks like I’m passing a kidney stone.
“Oh. Hi, Lindsey, . . . Andy.” That last word comes out more offensively than I intended.
Andy raises a hand in a limp little wave, his gaze glued to the floor like it might swallow him whole.
I silently pray that it will. The guilt radiating from him is almost palpable, but not nearly enough to satisfy the vindictive part of me that wants him to slip and fall flat on his face in a pile of horse manure.
Lindsey, on the other hand, looks positively delighted. Her eyes sparkle with the special gleam reserved for people who enjoy watching others squirm.
“Wow! It’s been forever!“ she gushes, flashing all thirty-two of her possibly whitened teeth. The enthusiasm in her voice is so fake it might as well be plastic. “What a coincidence running into you here.”
“Yeah . . . small town and all,” I say, smiling in that tight, please-get-me-out-of-here way that makes my cheeks hurt.
The diner suddenly feels too small, the air too thick. I’m hyper-aware of every customer who might be watching this uncomfortable reunion. Mr. Rawlins has abandoned his crossword puzzle to observe us with undisguised interest. Even the Spivey twins have paused their beef jerky debate.
“How are you?” Lindsey asks, tilting her head to one side like a curious bird eyeing a worm. Her gaze drifts to the brown paper bag clutched in my hand. “You look busy.”
My hold on the bag tightens until I worry it might burst, spilling bagels across the floor. “Just grabbing breakfast before class, but gotta run.” My voice sounds strained. “You know how it is. First-grade rs waiting to learn their ABCs won’t teach themselves.”
“Well, it’s been such a whirlwind for us,” Lindsey goes on, totally ignoring all signs of me wanting to exit this conversation. She glances at Andy with nauseating affection, linking her arm through his. “Wedding planning is basically a second job. Have you heard? It’s in June.”
Yep. Heard it. Seen it. Had it announced to me over pancakes. Tried to mentally erase it. Failed miserably.
“That’s great,” I say, forcing my lips to curve upward in what I hope passes for a smile and not a grimace. “Congrats, guys. But I really have to—“
“You wouldn’t believe how hard it is to find a decent florist this close to the date,“ Lindsey continues, steamrolling over my escape attempt like it’s not even happening.
She’s either oblivious to my discomfort or—more likely—enjoying it.
“And don’t get me started on the venue! We almost had to postpone because the Lakeside Garden was double-booked.
At least Ashford Natural Foods is catering so the food will be delicious. ”
My teeth clench so hard I worry about dental damage. Is she seriously going to stand here and complain about wedding planning to the woman whose boyfriend she stole? The audacity could power a small country.
Andy, perhaps sensing the tension thick enough to cut with a butter knife, clears his throat. “So . . . you’ve been okay?” He finally meets my eyes, but only for a fraction of a second before his gaze falls on Lindsey.
Chicken.
What did I ever see in him, anyway?
I give my best sweet-but-deadly smile and say, “Oh, I’ve been great. Super busy, actually—with work and . . . other things.”
“What other things?” Lindsey’s interest perks up instantly, eyes sparkling with curiosity and a dash of competitive glee that I recognize all too well. We were friends long enough for me to know that look. “Do tell.”
Something hot and impulsive flares in my chest, a desperate need to not appear pathetic in front of them. Before my brain can catch up with my mouth, words are tumbling out: “I’ve been spending a lot of time with my boyfriend.”
The second the word boyfriend leaves my lips, I freeze up. What have I done? I haven’t been on a successful date in months, let alone developed a relationship worth mentioning.
Something shifts in the air between us. Lindsey blinks rapidly, her smug smile faltering for a briefest of moments—a tiny crack in her armor that gives me a shameful burst of satisfaction.
Even Andy looks like someone had unplugged his brain and is frantically trying to reboot it, his brows and hairline drawing closer together.
“Oh,” Lindsey says after a beat, recovering quickly but not quite managing to hide her surprise. “A boyfriend. That’s . . . wonderful.” Her gaze flicks to Andy, then back to me, like she’s recalculating something in her head. “Anyone we know?”
I’m in too deep to backpedal now. I shake my head, riding the wave of my own lie like a surfer heading for certain doom. “No, he’s new in town. You wouldn’t know him.” My palms have started sweating, but I maintain eye contact, willing her to believe me.
Andy’s skepticism is apparent, but he doesn’t contradict me. Probably because that would require actually participating in this conversation instead of standing there like a mannequin.
“Great!” Lindsey says with relish. “You can bring him to the wedding.”
Complete and utter horror flares my eyes wide. Talk about a knockout punch.
Abort. Abort mission!
But my traitorous mouth, apparently determined to dig this hole all the way to Satan’s fiery domain, replies with gratifying enthusiasm, “Sure thing. I’ll check with him, but I’m sure he’d love to.”
What in the world of all things good and holy did I just do?
The words hang in the air between us, impossible to take back. I’m smiling but internal sirens blare warnings in my head.
I know I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t have prospects, let alone a boyfriend. But seeing Lindsey’s face contort like her brain is unable to make sense of what I just said—it’s so worth it. For a heartbeat, the satisfaction is all mine.
Then she claps her hands together in manufactured delight. “Perfect! Well, we’d better go. So much to do.” She clutches Andy’s arm possessively. “Caterers to meet, invitations to finalize.”
“Me too,” I say, bolting out the door quicker than a thief fleeing with stolen jewels.
I dive into my car and collapse against the steering wheel, forehead pounding the faux leather.
What have I done? The enormity of my lie crashes over me like a tidal wave.
I don’t have a boyfriend. I don’t even have a friend who could pass as a boyfriend.
I have exactly zero candidates willing to pretend to be madly in love with me at a wedding I don’t want to attend.
I was supposed to avoid this wedding. The moment I saw their engagement announcement, I’d planned a fake cold, a mysterious last-minute emergency, or a well-timed stomach flu to weasel my way out of going.
And now? I’ve painted myself into a corner with no exit strategy.
To suffer the defeat of coming clean with my big lie would be the end of me.
I can’t give them the gratification—I won’t.
The thought of Lindsey’s pitying smile if I showed up alone after claiming to have a boyfriend would be too much to bear.
Or worse, not showing up at all, essentially confirming that I made the whole thing up.
Leaning back against the seat, I close my eyes and breathe in deeply, trying to slow my racing heart.
So far, my attempts at dating have been unsuccessful to say the least. Now that I think about it, I haven’t really dated at all.
Andy and I were just hanging out as friends back in school, and before we knew it, we were a couple.
We just naturally fell into that rhythm without the awkward first-date jitters, or getting-to-know-you phases.
I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to trust another guy after what that jerk did to me, but I can’t give up now. Not when my pride and dignity are on the line.
I start my car with renewed determination as a plan begins to hatch. There is no other choice but to attend the wedding, leaving me approximately three months to find someone—anyone—who would be willing to stand in as my pretend boyfriend.