Chapter 7
JULIETTE
My phone rings while I’m updating injury reports in Marnie’s office that afternoon.
Olivia’s name flashes across the screen and my first thought is: not right now. I’ve got three more files to process before I can leave, and Marnie wants these done today so she can review them tomorrow morning.
But it’s Olivia. And her wedding is in five days, and if I don’t answer, she’ll just keep calling until I do.
I grab my phone. “Hey, what’s up?”
“Jules, hi, okay so I need to tell you about something and please don’t freak out.”
My stomach drops. Nothing good ever starts with “don’t freak out.”
“What is it?”
“Nothing happened! Everything’s fine. The wedding is still on, everything’s great, I just—” She takes a breath. “I wanted to give you a heads up about something before you get here.”
I save my work and push away from the desk. This conversation clearly requires my full attention apparently. “Okay.”
“So. Garrett is obviously going to be at the wedding.”
“I know that, Liv. He’s Owen’s best friend. We’ve talked about this, it’s going to be fine.”
“Right. Yeah. But the thing is...” She trails off.
“Olivia. Just tell me.”
“He’s bringing someone.”
The words hang there for a second before they actually register. “A date.”
“Yeah.”
Of course he is. Of course Garrett isn’t coming alone to his best friend’s wedding. Why would he? It’s been almost three months since he broke up with me. That’s plenty of time to—
“Jules? Are you still there?”
“Yeah. I’m here.” I press my fingers to my temple where a headache is starting to form. “It’s fine. He can bring whoever he wants.”
“That’s the thing though.” Olivia’s voice gets smaller. “It’s not just whoever. It’s... it’s her. The girl he was—the one he’s been with. And they’re engaged.”
The office is very quiet suddenly. I can hear the hum of the computer, the distant sound of someone’s voice in the hallway.
“Jules?”
“He’s engaged.” My voice sounds strange. Distant.
“Yeah. Owen just found out. Garrett didn’t want to say anything before the wedding because he didn’t want to make it weird, but Owen thought you should know before you get here so you’re not blindsided by it.”
Engaged. The word echoes in my head. Three months after he called me from Toronto and told me he couldn’t move to Seattle because he loved someone else.
Three months.
“When did he propose?” I’m impressed that my voice isn’t shaking with shock or rage even though I’m feeling both right now.
“I don’t know exactly. Recently, I think. Owen said Garrett just told him this week.”
So Garrett has been with her for barely six months total. Cheated on me for over half of those months, broke up with me, proposed sometime in the last few weeks. Met someone, fell in love, decided to marry her, all in less time than it takes most people to commit to a gym membership.
“Jules, I’m so sorry. I know this is awful timing—”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine. This is my wedding and now you have to see him with—”
“Olivia. It’s your wedding. I’m not going to make it about my drama.” I’m surprised by how calm I sound, like I’m reading from a script. “I’ll be there, I’ll smile, I’ll be the perfect maid of honor. It’s fine.”
“Are you sure? Because if you want to skip the rehearsal dinner or—”
“I’m not skipping anything. I’ll be there for all of it.” Because that’s what I do. I show up. I perform. I’m perfect even when everything inside me is screaming. “I promise it won’t be weird.”
“I love you. You know that, right?”
“I know. I love you too.”
“And if you need to talk or—”
“I have to go. Marnie needs these files finished. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay. Text me when you land.”
“I will.”
I end the call and stare at my laptop screen, the spreadsheet blurring in front of my eyes.
Engaged.
Garrett is engaged to the woman he cheated on me with.
Which means he didn’t just move on. He didn’t just find someone new. He found someone better. Someone worth proposing to after five months when we were together for three years.
My hands are shaking. I press them flat against the desk to make them stop.
I was perfect. I was exactly what he said he wanted—organized, stable, focused, low-maintenance. I didn’t make demands. Didn’t cause drama. Made space in my closet and my life and my future for him.
And it still wasn’t enough.
The door opens. I look up expecting Marnie, but it’s Rodriguez.
Of course it’s Rodriguez. We’re supposed to be having lunch right now. I completely forgot.
He’s wearing jeans and a hoodie, his hair damp like he just showered after working out. He stops when he sees my face, his expression shifting immediately. “Hey. You okay?”
“I’m fine.” I turn back to my laptop, opening it just to have something to look at. “I’m sorry, I forgot about lunch. Can we reschedule?”
“JuJu.” He closes the door behind him and comes over to the desk. “What happened?”
“Nothing happened. I’m just—I have a lot of work to finish.”
“You were crying.”
“I wasn’t—” But my voice cracks. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s clearly not nothing.” He pulls up a chair and sits down across from me. “Talk to me.”
I should tell him to leave, should reschedule lunch and deal with this on my own like I deal with everything else. But he’s looking at me with so much concern, his whole body leaning forward like he’s ready to catch whatever I’m about to say, and I’m so tired of holding it together.
“My sister’s getting married this weekend,” I say finally.
“I know. In Toronto, right? You’ve been stressed about it.”
Of course he knows. We’ve been talking about it for weeks. About how I’m dreading going back, about seeing Garrett, about having to smile through the whole thing.
“My ex will be there. He’s the groom’s best friend.”
“Yeah, I remember.” He leans on the desk. “Did something else happen?”
“He’s engaged.” The words come out flat, hollow. “And he’s bringing her to the wedding.”
Rodriguez’s entire expression changes, anger flashing across his face. “What?”
“Olivia just called. She wanted to warn me before I got there. Garrett proposed to her.” My voice is getting higher and I can’t stop it. “He couldn’t commit to moving cities for me after three years but he can propose to her after only—” I break off.
“Jesus, Juliette.”
“So I get to fly home tomorrow and spend the whole wedding watching them be happy together while my entire family asks me if I’m okay and if I’m seeing anyone and why I’m still single.” I close my laptop because there’s no point pretending I’m going to work. “Should be a great time.”
He’s quiet for a moment, just watching me. “That’s really fucked up.”
“It is what it is.”
“No, that’s genuinely one of the worst things I’ve ever heard. You don’t deserve that.” His voice is firm, almost angry, but not at me.
My throat tightens.
“I keep thinking...” I stop, trying to figure out how to explain it. “I did everything right. I was supportive, I was understanding about the distance, I made space for him in my life. And it still wasn’t enough. She was enough after five months but I wasn’t enough after three years.”
“That’s not about you. That’s about him being an asshole.”
“Maybe. Or maybe I’m just—” I gesture vaguely. “Not enough.”
“Stop.” His voice is firm, cutting through my spiral. “That guy cheated on you. Then he broke up with you over FaceTime while you were meal prepping. He’s a coward and an idiot, and the fact that he moved on fast doesn’t mean anything except that he’s still a coward and an idiot.”
I almost smile. “You don’t have to defend me.”
“I’m serious. You’re—” He stops, shakes his head. “You’re not ‘not enough.’ Trust me on that.”
There’s intensity in his voice that makes me look up at him, his eyes focused entirely on me.
“I should finish packing,” I say, even though I have barely started. “My flight’s at nine tomorrow morning.”
“Are you going alone?”
“Yeah. Who else would I bring?”
“I don’t know. A friend? Someone to run interference?”
“Bringing someone would just create more questions.” I sigh and shuffle some papers on the desk, trying to distract myself. “I’ll be fine. I’m good at pretending everything’s fine.”
“Yeah, I’ve noticed.” He looks at me thoughtfully. “What if you didn’t have to pretend though?”
I look up. “What?”
“What if you brought someone? Someone who could make this whole thing easier.”
“I just said I don’t have anyone—”
“You could bring me.” He drums his fingers once against his thigh, then stops like he caught himself fidgeting.
I stare at him. “What?”
“Bring me to the wedding. As your boyfriend.” He says it quickly, like he’s worried he’ll lose his nerve. “Fake boyfriend I mean. If you show up with a guy who plays hockey, suddenly your ex isn’t the main focus. Your family stops asking if you’re okay. You have backup.”
“Rodriguez—”
“Think about it. You walk in with me, looking happy, and suddenly Garrett and his fiancée aren’t the story anymore. You are. And I can make him regret every decision he’s ever made.”
“That’s a terrible idea.”
“Maybe. But it would work.” He leans forward. “Come on. I’ve got the Olympic break—no games until the twenty-fifth. I’ve literally got nothing to do. Let me help.”
“You can’t just—this is my sister’s wedding. My family.”
“So? I’m good with families. I’m charming.
I can make small talk about whatever Toronto people talk about.
” He’s talking faster now. “Plus, I already know the whole situation. You don’t have to catch me up or brief me or whatever.
I know about Garrett, I know about your ankle, I know how you take your coffee and that you’re obsessed with anything maple flavored. ”
“I’m not obsessed—”
“Juliette.” The use of my actual name stops me. “Let me do this. Please.”
I should say no. This is Rodriguez. We’ve been hanging out for over a month but this is different. This is bringing him home to meet my family, introducing him as my boyfriend, pretending we’re together.
The alternative flashes through my mind: Garrett’s hand on her lower back during photos. My mom’s careful voice asking if I’m really okay. My dad changing the subject every time someone mentions relationships. Five days of that.
“You would really do this?” I ask. “Spend your break pretending to be my boyfriend?”
“Yeah. I would.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re my friend and you need help.” He shrugs. “That’s what friends do.”
“This is more than friend stuff though.”
“So? You’d do the same for me.”
Would I? I don’t know. But he sounds so certain, so sure that this is what he wants to do.
“When’s your flight?” he asks.
“Nine tomorrow morning.”
“Okay. I’ll book the same one. We’ll fly together.” He stands up and holds out his hand. “Come on.”
“What?”
“We were supposed to have lunch. I’m still taking you to lunch.”
“I can’t—I have to pack, I have to—”
“JuJu.” He keeps his hand extended, waiting. “When’s the last time you ate?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Don’t lie to me.” He reaches down and gently pulls me up from my chair. “There’s this place near the waterfront that does pasta. Carbs are their love language.”
“Rodriguez—”
“Nope. You’re spiraling and you haven’t eaten and you’re going to make yourself sick.” His hand is warm around mine and he hasn’t let go yet. “Let me feed you. That’s what fake boyfriends do, right?”
I give him a small smile. “I don’t think that’s in the job description.”
“It is now. I’m rewriting the rules.” He tugs me toward the door. “Come on. Pasta fixes everything.”
“That’s not even close to being true.”
“It’s my truth.”
He holds the door open for me and I realize I’m actually going. I’m letting him take me to lunch when I should be packing and panicking and figuring out how to survive the next week.
But his hand is warm in mine and he’s looking at me like I’m not broken, like I’m not about to fall apart completely.
“Okay,” I hear myself say. “Pasta.”
“That’s my girl.” He says it so easily, so naturally, like we’ve been doing this for months instead of agreeing to it five minutes ago.
And maybe it’s the shock of Olivia’s call, or maybe it’s the exhaustion, or maybe it’s just that I’m so tired of holding everything together on my own—but I don’t pull my hand away when we walk out of the building. The cold air hits us immediately, sharp and clean.
I just let him lead me to his car, let him open my door, let him drive me to some restaurant I’ve never heard of while he talks about absolutely nothing important, filling the silence so I don’t have to.
And for the first time since my phone rang twenty minutes ago, I think maybe this is going to be okay.
Maybe bringing Rodriguez to Toronto isn’t the worst idea I’ve ever had.