Chapter 5 Piper
Iwoke up to sunlight slicing through unfamiliar curtains and a headache that felt like someone had taken a hammer to my skull. For one blissful second, I didn't remember where I was or why.
Then it all came crashing back.
Liam. Jenna. March. The apartment. Maya's couch and too much wine and…
My phone buzzed on the nightstand.
I grabbed it and squinted at the screen. An email notification from The Painted Garden Events:
Hi Piper! Just confirming your final guest count for the big day. Please reply by the end of next week so we can finalize catering. Can't wait to celebrate with you!
The big day.
My wedding day.
The phone slipped from my hands onto the bed. I stared at the ceiling, my heart starting to pound.
The wedding. Oh God, the wedding.
Two hundred people expecting a celebration. Invitations sent. RSVPs trickling in. Deposits paid. Vendors booked. Hotel rooms reserved. My dress hanging in a garment bag in the closet of an apartment I'd walked out of last night.
Everyone still thought I was getting married.
Everyone except me and Maya. And Jenna, obviously. Liam... I didn't know what Liam thought. Maybe he still believed he could fix this. Maybe he thought I'd cool off and come back and we'd go to couples therapy and pretend none of this had happened.
Maybe he was that much of an idiot.
I sat up too fast and immediately regretted it. The room spun, and my mouth tasted like bad wine and regret.
There was a soft knock on the door. "You alive in there?" Maya's voice, cautiously cheerful.
"Unfortunately."
The door opened and she appeared with two mugs of coffee and a bottle of Advil tucked under her arm. She'd changed into fresh clothes. Ripped jeans and a t-shirt that said PESSIMIST: A REALIST WITH EXPERIENCE. Her hair was pulled into a messy bun.
"You look like death," she said, setting a mug on the nightstand and tossing me the Advil.
"Feel like it too." I dry-swallowed three pills and reached for the coffee. It was too hot and tasted like charcoal, but I didn't care.
Maya sat on the edge of the bed, studying my face. "What's wrong? I mean, besides the obvious."
I showed her the email.
She read it, then looked up at me. "Oh. Right. Shit."
"Yeah."
We sat there for a moment in silence.
"What else?" Maya asked gently.
I picked up my phone and opened my wedding planning app, the digital twin of the binder I’d abandoned at the apartment. The one I'd been obsessively updating for a year. Every detail color-coded, every deadline marked.
"Everything," I said. "The dress, the photographer, the florist, the honeymoon to Maui. Hotel rooms for out-of-town guests. The bridal shower in two weeks. Six bridesmaids who bought dresses and booked flights."
Maya was quiet, just listening.
"Everyone's going to know," I whispered. "Everyone's going to ask why. They're going to want details. They're going to have opinions about what I should do, whether I should give him another chance, whether I'm overreacting—"
"You're not overreacting."
"Some people won't believe me. His family… God, his family loves me. His mom keeps texting me about how excited she is."
I was crying now. Quiet tears that wouldn't stop falling.
"And I wanted it," I said. "All of it. I wanted the wedding and the house we were going to buy and the kids we talked about having. I wanted Sunday mornings making pancakes and arguing about whose turn it was to take out the trash and growing old together. I wanted him."
Maya pulled me closer.
"I had this whole future planned," I said. "And now it's just... gone. All of it. Because he couldn't keep his hands off someone else."
"I know," Maya said softly. "I know, babe."
We sat there for a long time. Maya holding me while I cried. The coffee getting cold on the nightstand. My phone sitting between us, wedding planning app still open on the screen.
Finally, I pulled away and wiped my eyes.
"Okay."
"Okay?"
I picked up my phone and looked at the app. At the color-coded calendar and the checklists and the vendor contacts. There was a year of planning in there, a whole future contained in pixels and spreadsheets.
I closed the app.
"I'm doing it," I said. "I'm canceling the wedding."
Maya's face broke into something between relief and pride. "Hell yes you are."
"I don't know how yet. I don't know what to say or who to call first or how to tell people. But I'm doing it."
"We'll figure it out," Maya said. "Together. One step at a time."
I nodded and set the phone aside. Picked up my cold coffee and took a sip.
"Better to cancel now than divorce later," Maya added. “Also, we should change the password on his Netflix.”
Somehow, I still managed to offer her a weak smile.
My phone buzzed again. One quick look was enough to confirm my suspicions: another email from a vendor checking in, confirming details, excited to be part of our special day.
I turned the phone face-down and took a deep breath.
"One step at a time," I repeated.
Maya squeezed my hand. "One step at a time."