5. Cherise
Chapter five
Cherise
Ididn’t even turn on the music.
That’s how you know it was bad.
I drove home in silence, my hands gripping the steering wheel. Every red light gave me another chance to ask myself what the hell I was doing.
Was I seriously considering fake dating my ex’s identical twin?
Apparently, desperate times called for morally questionable doppelg?ngers.
It wasn’t my proudest moment. But what were my options? Go solo? Show up to the most extra wedding in history and try to explain why my tall, dark, and press-perfect boyfriend was suddenly MIA?
Savannah would have a fucking field day.
“No Derrick? That’s okay. I’m sure someone’s uncle will take pity on you during the cha-cha slide.”
I could practically hear her venomous giggle now.
By the time I pulled into my driveway, I was ready to scream. I stormed inside, kicked off my heels, and turned the music back on, loud enough to shake the windows. Something angry. Something with bass. Cardi B.
The house was a disaster. Clothes, makeup bags, half-packed suitcases, rejection. My life in fabric form.
I grabbed the bottle of wine I’d yoinked from Derrick’s cabinet—a farewell gift to myself—opened it savagely, and took a long, burning sip straight from the bottle.
Then I saw it.
That damn picture frame still sitting on my dresser. The one of us on the Fourth of July. Fireworks in the sky. His arm around me like we were America’s sweethearts.
I hurled it across the room.
It hit the wall, glass cracking with a sound that was way too satisfying. I re-corked the wine and flopped onto my bed with a dramatic thud, letting the bottle rest on my chest.
I took a deep breath and closed my eyes to calm myself. No tears.
You are not a little bitch, Cherise.
You will not cry over a man who said you’re “too much” and then ghosted you like a coward. He doesn’t deserve you.
If I were being totally honest…I was more upset that he was bailing on me as my wedding date than him breaking up with me.
Which…yeah. Says everything.
At this point, I was used to our routine. On again. Off again. That’s what we did.
But why the hell did he have to choose off right before the damn wedding?
Could he not have waited a few more weeks before ending things?
I mean, damn. Am I that bad?
No. Absolutely not. He’s just a Dipshit.
Dipshit Derrick.
That is his official nickname. I will have to inform Grace later. We had nicknames for all the men in our lives.
My phone buzzed. I glanced over.
Hawaii Wedding Group Chat:
Savannah: Getting trip ready at the gym. Can’t have cellulite in chiffon. #MaidOfSlay.
I stared at the screen. The wine bottle creaked in my grip.
“Oh, we’re doing that now? You're not even the fucking maid of honor. Maid of slay my ass.”
I started typing:
Cherise: Nothing like toxic body standards to kick off a destination wedding.
Deleted.
Typed again:
Cherise: Imagine being this pressed for a wedding the bride was guilt-tripped into inviting you to.
Oof, even I flinched. Deleted that, too.
“I’ll see you on the beach, you shady Barbie.”
I scrolled to Grace’s contact.
If anyone could calm me down, it was her.
But then I hesitated.
If I told her… she’d shut it down.
She’d say it was too risky. She’d get stressed trying to fix it. Be so worried about my heartbreak and not focused on her wedding, which was the only thing that mattered right now.
I set the phone down on my nightstand along with the wine and slammed my face into the pillow. Then rolled over onto my back and stared at my ceiling.
“God, what’s up? It’s me again.” I closed my eyes in prayer.
“I know it’s been a minute, but I need you right now.
If you could please just convince Leo to say yes.
Use your powers or whatever you have to do; I’m not picky.
If you do, I won’t ask for anything else for a long time.
Oh, and I’ll keep my cussing to a minimum and even pretend to be a good person and everything. Amen.”
I opened my eyes and sat up in bed. If Leo says yes, I couldn’t do this alone. I would need backup. A safety net. Someone who knew how to spin a story and keep a secret under pressure.
There was only one person I trusted with both my life and my bad decisions.
I grabbed my phone and hit Chelsea’s name for a video call.
“Waaassssuuuuuupppp!” she whisper-screamed.
“Chelseaaaaayyyyy!!!!!!” I said through laughs.
“Alright, sis, do you need bail money or backup? Hit me.”
She knew me so well.
“Both,” I said. “But let’s start with backup. Also, you’re not allowed to freak out.”
“You say that every time you do something legally gray or morally insane. Which is quite often might I add.”
I sat straighter. “Okay. So, hypothetically, let’s say your big sister gets dumped by her long-time on-again, off-again ex.”
“Derrick?”
“We are calling him Dipshit Derrick now.”
She gasped. “OHHH, Dipshit dumped you before the trip?!”
She didn’t even wait for me to answer.
“Wait—is that why you didn’t text me back earlier? I was thinking you were ghosting me after I broke your curling iron. Then I thought you had to be dead, because ain't no way you would ghost me—”
She paused, squinting at me.
“—But then again, you are way too extra to die without a dramatic exit.”
“Chelsea, focus. I’m flattered, but I wasn’t ghosting or dying. I was plotting.” I grinned. “Okay. So, dipshit dumps me, right? But I refuse to let Savage-annah and her beach bod husband with perfect veneers find out.”
“Oh, you're talking about the tramp from high school that—”
“Don’t even say it. We will not speak of that negativity… but yes, same tramp. So, in a moment of genius—or insanity— I asked someone to go on the trip with me and pretend to be Derrick.”
A long beat.
“… Please don’t say it’s a stripper again.”
“Leo!”
“Wait… Leo? As in nerdy twin brother who probably still wears Star Wars boxers, Leo?”
“Yep. I ran into him during my attempt to kill Derrick and devised the whole plan, and girl… he’s considering it…. Or at least I hope he is.”
Chelsea squealed. “You what?! Cherise, this is the dumbest or most brilliant thing you’ve ever done. I don’t know whether to stage an intervention or bring popcorn.”
I flopped back down, winded. “You're already going to the wedding. I just need you to be my backup. My emotional support. Someone who knows the full plan in case it crashes and burns into flames, and Leo runs away mid-trip, and I’m left explaining to Grace why my plus one is actually my ex’s identical brother. ”
“I got you, sis,” Chelsea said instantly. “Obviously.”
Before I could respond, my phone buzzed with a new text.
Leo: Don’t make me regret this. What do I have to do?
I screamed loud enough to startle myself. “He’s in, Girl! Operation Save Face is officially on!”
Chelsea whooped on the other end. “Grab your fake lashes and fake boyfriend, sis— we’re goin’ to war.”
I laughed. “Love you, sis.”
“Love you more.”
I hung up and smiled. “Damn, God. You work fast.” I winced at my slip-up. “I mean, dang. Look, I’m a work in progress; you know this already.”
I hugged the pillow to my chest, heart hammering.
“Okay, I said I wouldn’t ask for anything else, but this one is important. God,” I said softly, closing my eyes. “Please don’t let this end in a catastrophe.”
I text a reply.
Cherise: We start tomorrow. Your place. Be ready to wow me.