Addison
Thursday and Friday hit like a shove. Showings stacked. Clients calling. Emails multiplying while I was still answering the last batch. I ate standing up and drank coffee that went cold on my desk because I forgot it existed.
I hated how little time I had for Sawyer. I noticed every gap, every empty hour where I wanted her voice and got a subject line instead.
Still, I found pockets. Little oxygen breaks where I’d fire off a message between conference calls or while waiting on a client who was inevitably late.
Nothing deep, nothing heavy, just small threads of connection.
Updates. Inside jokes we were starting to have.
Flirty messages that made my mouth curve even when my brain was fried.
The other constant was the bridal party group chat lighting up my phone like a live wire.
Brooke: Okay but real talk… so Lilly’s Aunt Becky might be a problem.
Natalie: Wait, what? Why?
Caroline: Oh god what happened now.
Brooke: Apparently she and Aunt Susan had some kind of falling out. No idea what it’s about but Lilly’s worried it’s gonna blow up at the shower.
Me: It’s not. I’ll handle Aunt Becky.
Caroline: Of course you will. You’re the only one who can glare someone into submission in heels.
Natalie: Addie for president. Or security detail. Same thing.
Brooke: Okay, so: 11 a.m. arrival for the bridal party. Guests come at 12. Lilly gets there around 12:30. Games after lunch, gifts, then cake and speeches.
Me: I’ll bring the clipboard. Don’t worry.
By Friday night, I got home with my phone battery at single digits, my feet throbbing and my social battery dead.
I kicked the door shut behind me harder than necessary, dropped my bag by the entryway, and peeled off my heels with a soft groan.
I didn’t even look at the living room. I went straight to bed.
Tank top. Cotton underwear. Covers up to my chin.
I grabbed my phone, the screen dim against the dark, my thumbs heavy.
Me: Too tired to flirt. Please know I’m still thinking about your boobs.
I barely had the energy to hit send.
The screen lit up again almost immediately.
Sawyer: That’s okay baby. I’ve got enough charm for both of us. Sleep tight.
I read the word baby twice.
Even exhausted, even wrung out, my body reacted with a soft flutter low in my stomach, warmth that had nothing to do with sleep. I pressed the phone to my chest for a second, let the thought of her settle into me like an exhale, then shoved it under my pillow and let myself go.
* * *
Saturday morning, bridal shower day. My alarm went off at seven. I gave myself some time to sleep in. I didn’t need that much time. I stared at the ceiling, letting the dread pool in my chest before I finally forced myself up. Shower. Coffee. Hair curled into soft waves. A full face of makeup.
The counter in my bathroom looked like a cosmetics ad exploded across it.
Lip gloss, setting spray, the pearl earrings my mother bought me last Christmas because they were “timeless.” The necklace lay beside them, delicate gold with a tiny diamond pendant.
Mom had said it went with everything, which really meant it went with the life she preferred.
I fastened it around my neck and studied the result in the mirror. The Addison Hart everyone recognized looked back at me, soft hair, careful makeup, shoulders straight without even thinking about it.
I tilted my head slightly, testing a smile the way I had done since I was a teenager at charity luncheons and debutante events.
Perfect. Convincing. Not quite me.
By 9:30, I out the door in a pale pink wrap dress that hugged my waist just enough to look delicate, heels, and a designer clutch in hand.
The Rosemont Country Club was exactly as it always was: white columns, perfect landscaping, hydrangeas in full bloom, valets in navy blazers. It looked like a place you belonged to if you had been born into it.
And I had.
The valet smiled when I stepped out of the car. “Morning, Ms. Hart.”
“Morning,” I said easily, handing over the keys like this was a completely normal way to arrive somewhere.
I walked through the double doors toward the ballroom and felt the familiar shift happen in my body. Shoulders back. Smile ready. Voice warm. Performance mode.
I arrived early with Natalie, clipboard in hand, helping finalize welcome signs and place cards, double-checking the mimosa bar like it was life or death. Natalie was cheerful and caffeinated, buzzing around in a pink lace dress and humming to herself while we arranged candles in glass hurricanes.
“Do you think the roses look okay?” she asked, leaning over the centerpieces.
“They look perfect,” I said.
She gave me a suspicious look. “You didn’t even look.”
I glanced down and nodded. “They’re symmetrical. Lilly will love them.”
Natalie laughed. “You’re scary good at this.”
Years of practice. Years of knowing exactly how everything was supposed to look.
I checked the time on my phone and instinctively went to open my texts, then stopped. What was I going to say?
Wish you were here while I dissociate under a canopy of roses and generational wealth?
I exhaled and slid my phone back into my clutch.
Guests trickled in with air kisses and squeals, high heels clicking on marble, women with blowouts and carefully understated perfume.
I greeted everyone with a warm enough smile, the small talk practiced and effortless.
“Addison, darling, you look gorgeous.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Whitaker. So do you.”
“How’s the real estate market these days?”
“Busy,” I said smoothly. “Which I’m grateful for.”
“Oh, good,” she said approvingly. “Your mother said you had a wonderful sale last month.”
Of course she had.
Another woman clasped my hands dramatically. “Still single? That’s shocking.”
I laughed lightly. “I promise it’s not a tragedy.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” she said with a sympathetic smile. “Don’t worry. It happens when you’re career-focused.”
I nodded politely and resisted the urge to scream.
Then Lilly arrived.
“Oh my God!” she gasped, stepping into the room. “This is stunning. You guys absolutely killed it!”
I hugged her tightly. “You’re the one who looks stunning.”
“I’m going to cry,” she said, fanning her face. “Everything is exactly how I pictured it.”
That made all of it worth it. Because I love Lilly and I was truly happy for her, and seeing her face light up made every centerpiece, favor, and ridiculous group-chat crisis matter. This was her day, and I wanted it to be everything she had dreamed of.
The next two hours blurred into social niceties and champagne. I laughed. I complimented outfits. I answered questions about wedding favors like I had not been up late the night before Googling how to pretend I loved weddings.
At one point, two women debated Napa vintages beside the mimosa bar. Another complained about the waiting list for a Pilates instructor in Back Bay. Someone asked if I had considered joining the Junior League board this year.
I smiled through all of it.
All the while, my phone stayed zipped inside my bag, though my fingers kept reaching for it anyway. I wanted a text from Sawyer. A stupid one. A dirty one. Something that felt like mine.
Lilly’s happiness was real.
The rest felt like a performance.
Aunt Becky kept shooting narrowed looks across the room at Aunt Susan, who responded by loudly offering unsolicited advice to Lilly about the florals. I intercepted potential disasters with the calm of a peacekeeper. A hand on a shoulder. A redirect. A smile through clenched teeth.
“Let’s let Lilly enjoy the day,” I said brightly.
Aunt Susan sniffed but backed down.
Crisis managed. Again.
I felt like a mannequin. Polished, pretty, and empty. But every time I looked at Lilly, glowing as she laughed with the people who loved her, I remembered why I was there.
When lunch arrived, I sat down and barely tasted the quiche, fruit, or artisan rolls.
Then it was time for the speech.
I stood, champagne flute in hand, and tapped it gently with my dessert spoon. The room hushed. Eyes turned toward me.
“I promise to keep this short and sweet,” I began, my voice warm. “Lilly and I have been friends since we were in ballet class together at seven years old. She was always the one with the loudest laugh, the biggest heart, and the most intense dedication to glitter crafts.”
The room chuckled.
“She’s going to be the most beautiful bride,” I continued, “and Andrew is lucky. He’s getting a woman who is smart, fierce, loyal, and absolutely certain of what she wants.”
I looked at Lilly and smiled, the real kind this time.
“And what she wants is a love story she can be proud of. I think that’s something all of us should hope for.”
Applause followed, and Lilly reached for my hand as I sat down.
“I love you,” she whispered.
“I love you, too.”
And I meant it with everything in me.
I drank champagne. I hugged her. I celebrated the future she had chosen.
But beneath all of it, something inside me was still screaming.
Not because I didn’t want Lilly’s happiness.
Because I didn’t want to keep pretending her version of happiness had to be mine.
I love my friends. But I wanted to show up as myself. I wanted to sit beside Sawyer and hold her hand. I wanted to wear the damn leather jacket in my closet and not feel like I needed to justify it.
I wanted my friends to love the real me.
I wanted a life that fit.
* * *
It was nearly five thirty by the time everyone cleared out, and I was the last to leave.
My head throbbed from the champagne. I slid into the driver’s seat, kicked off my heels, and leaned back with a groan. There was no way I was driving home.
The first thing I did was text Sawyer.
Me: I’m exhausted.
Me: And I drank too much. I should probably call an Uber.
Her reply came almost immediately.
Sawyer: I’ll come get you.
Me: Really?
Sawyer: Send me the address. I’ll be right there.
Me: My helmet is at my condo.
Me: And I’m thirty minutes away from you.
Sawyer: I have another one.
Sawyer: Unless you’d rather take an Uber?
I smiled down at my phone.
Me: No. I want you.
Sawyer: Stay in the car and send me your location. I’ll be there as soon as I can.
Sawyer pulled in thirty-five minutes later.
“Hey,” she said as I climbed out and locked my car for the night.
“Hi.” I kissed her softly. “Thank you for coming to get me.”
“Of course.” Her eyes moved over me. “You look beautiful.”
“Thank you. I’m exhausted.”
“I can tell.” She handed me the spare helmet. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”
“Will you stay?” I asked. “Tonight?”
Her expression softened.
“I have more wedding stuff with the girls tomorrow. Favors or centerpieces or whatever.” I sighed. “But will you stay tonight?”
“Of course I will.”
I climbed onto the back of the bike and wrapped my arms around her.
“I’ll order us dinner and rub your feet,” she added.
I rested my helmet against her back. “God, you’re perfect.”
* * *