Chapter 1 #3
“Morgan …” Avery tasted blood inside her mouth.
“I don’t have a natural eye for wedding stuff.
I can’t help you, like, choose flowers. I don’t know a rose from a chrysanthemum.
” And all of our friends still hate me for what they think happened at that party and I’m too scared to tell anyone the truth.
And I’m gonna be single forever while you and Charlie die together The Notebook -style because I won’t be vulnerable with a man ever again.
“We’ll figure it out together!” Morgan held Avery’s gaze, a tenderness settling onto her face. “I really want it to be you, Avery. You’re the only person who can keep me in check. When I start obsessing over which cheese knife to put in my registry, you need to sedate me.”
Avery fidgeted with the zipper on her leather jacket.
She had no idea how she could be a strong, stable anchor for her best friend when she felt so lost in her own life.
She’d need to pore over every Brides magazine she could find, study weddings like she’d studied for the SAT.
She’d need to be calm and levelheaded and a source of sanity for Morgan, despite feeling like she had none of those comforts available for herself.
It wasn’t even that her well had run dry, but that at this point she couldn’t remember the last time it was full.
But she would have to move on from what Noah did to her at some point, wouldn’t she?
Surely she could keep convincing herself that what happened was just a stupid drunken hookup, which would help her get over it eventually. Right?
She wasn’t sure of the answer to these questions. But she could pretend for Morgan’s sake.
“Plus,” Morgan said, her eyes round and hopeful. “You’re my best friend. That means way more to me than the stupid chrysanthemums.”
The corners of Avery’s lips pulled into a smile. “All right.” Her voice was thin. She hesitated and then said it again like an incantation, as though repeating it might summon her long-lost confidence. “Yes, all right, I’ll do it! I’ll be your maid of honor!”
Morgan clapped and kissed Avery on the cheek.
Avery beamed, feeling her shaky confidence strengthen and solidify.
How could she have thought that she wouldn’t be her best friend’s maid of honor?
Avery was always going to be part of Morgan’s wedding.
Whenever she heard Morgan fantasize about it in college, it went unsaid that Avery would be involved, and nothing about that was going to change now.
Even though everything else—and everyone else—would be different.
Jim appeared on the other side of the bar, grinning apologetically. “Can I get you girls anything else?”
Avery slid her empty beer bottle toward Jim and leaned forward to show off her cleavage. “I’d love another one of these,” she said.
Jim’s eyes flicked to her chest before he walked away.
Morgan stared at him, cringing. “Avery, that guy has the most jacked up teeth,” she whispered. “And he has visible dandruff.”
Avery shrugged. “So what? My hair gets greasy. Nobody’s perfect.”
Jim grabbed Avery another beer and poured two Fireball shots, filling the glasses so high that liquid spilled over the sides and onto the bar. He pushed the glasses toward them.
“On me,” he said with a wink. His teeth were a little yellowed, now that Avery got a closer look. Whatever. He was the only guy giving her attention tonight, and she needed the self-esteem boost, proof that someone, somewhere, could still find this broken version of her desirable. He’d have to do.
“Please tell me you’re not going to sleep with him,” Morgan begged as Jim brought a toothpick to his scalp and scratched his hairline. Dandruff fell like snow onto his black T-shirt. “He looks like an incubator for STDs.”
Avery rolled her eyes. Again with the worrying.
But Morgan wouldn’t understand. While she racked up blissful nights with her fianc é , all Avery did was rack up her body count.
Last weekend, there was Dylan, the guy Avery blew to completion who then ignored her to tinker with his fantasy draft after he came.
The guy before that was Victor, or maybe his name was just Vic.
Avery shook her head, reminding herself she didn’t keep track for a reason: because it hurt too much when she forgot.
Forgetting was a reminder that there had been way too many, that her pain dictated more of her behavior than she was willing to admit.
Her logic went that the more men she slept with, the more that night with Noah would fade into irrelevance. It made perfect sense.
Avery nudged Morgan with her shot glass. “Forget about Jim. Tonight’s about you. You’re getting married!”
Jim brought over two glasses of water, stealing another glance at Avery’s chest.
“Hopefully you’ll even have time for me this year,” Morgan said as she eyed Jim suspiciously. “Jim might want you all to himself.”
Avery flashed a mischievous smile. “I’ll allocate my time between both of you, don’t worry. How’s that sound, Mrs. Durham ? If you plan to no longer be a Feeley, that is.”
“I’m definitely changing my last name.” Morgan’s cheeks flushed. “Wow. Mrs. Durham. Can you say that again?”
Avery laughed. “Say what again? Mrs. Durham?”
“Yes. With my first name.”
Avery spread her arms out wide as she shouted in her best emcee voice, “Ladies and gentlemen, Mrs. Morgan Durham!”
Morgan’s eyes turned into hearts, like the emoji. “God, I love that. I love that so much.”
“Now imagine it embossed on one hundred off-white thank-you notes.”
They giggled and clinked their shots together, then flung the Fireball to the backs of their throats.
Avery shivered once her stomach settled.
Fireball had been her and Morgan’s drink of choice in school, mainly because it was the cheapest of all the booze at the corner store near Woodford.
It didn’t taste that bad, either. But it had been a while, and that cinnamon burned horribly now.
Forget college graduation, moving out of your parents’ house, and getting a job: Outgrowing Fireball was the real transition into adulthood.
The bar started clearing out, save for a few tables covered in empty beer pitchers and a couple playing darts in the back corner.
Avery was surprised that people were leaving already.
It was only 1 AM —the night was young and teeming with potential!
She was about to ask Morgan what bar they should go to next, until Morgan yawned and scooted off her stool.
“Okay, it’s getting late. I’m gonna head home. Wanna split a cab uptown?”
Avery knew Morgan had the right idea. The night was not young at all.
Nothing good came from being out alone downtown at one in the morning, scraping the bottom of the nightlife barrel to find something to do.
Nights that seemed sparkly and infinite were just black holes that sucked Avery in, disintegrating her into dust. But going back home to an empty apartment sounded even worse.
“Nah,” Avery said. “I think I’ll stay out a little longer.”
Morgan shook her head in disapproval, but it was lighthearted, like she knew she wouldn’t be able to stop Avery so why even try.
This was part of their dynamic now: Avery would be Avery in ways Morgan didn’t understand, and Morgan would just let it happen, almost as a joke, unknowingly giving Avery the go-ahead to self-destruct.
Avery would’ve felt guilty about it if she could feel anything besides panic at the threat of being alone with her thoughts again.
“If you say so.” Morgan draped her crossbody bag over her shoulder. “Just promise me you won’t black out and sleep with the bartender.”
Jim grinned at Avery from behind the bar. A piece of spinach was stuck in his gums, right above his front tooth.
“He’s so hot though,” Avery cooed sarcastically, giving Jim a seductive wave. “It’ll be tough to resist.”
Morgan scrunched her face. “You’re gross.”
“But you love me.”
Morgan sighed, her lips curving into a smile. “Unfortunately.”
Avery hugged Morgan goodbye, then watched her walk out of the bar and disappear into the night.
She could’ve sworn Morgan was moving slower and steadier than she normally did, like she was practicing walking down an aisle of a church.
Avery put her hand on her chest, her heart warming at the idea of Morgan in a gorgeous white gown, a lace trail gliding on the floor behind her.
She imagined Charlie, his usually disheveled curly hair neatly combed, waiting for Morgan at the altar.
She imagined the mist in both of their eyes, their romantic exchange of vows, the roar of applause as they kissed for the first time as husband and wife.
And she imagined herself running around the venue with bobby pins, holding Morgan’s dress up as she peed, giving a heartfelt speech in front of the crowd—being the perfect maid of honor that her best friend deserved, proving to their friends that she wasn’t the cheating monster they thought she was.
Avery pushed away her beer. There was half a bottle left, but she wasn’t going to drink the rest. No, she was going to go home, back uptown to her apartment.
She was going to put on her matching pajamas, make some peppermint tea, and read a book, the way the old Avery would have behaved, content and serene with peace and quiet.
She wasn’t going to let what Noah did to her affect her anymore.
She might have lost her boyfriend, her friends, and her dignity all in the same night, but she needed to get her shit together for the sake of this wedding. And, she supposed, for herself.