Chapter 1 #2
“I know. I know! Oh, and you’ll meet Sadie, the pirate woman, soon. Anyway, Damien was the one guy who stuck up for me back then. We never dated in high school, not really. He came into the bar a while back. And, ah, stuff happened.” She waves her hand nervously.
“Stuff?” This is unreal. Kate and I are a team. The A Team of kickass single women. The operative word being single.
“Listen, I'll explain everything later. His name's Damien. You'll love him. He's super sweet. I really gotta go, but Lauren? I need to ask you something.”
Damien. Super sweet. “What?”
“Will you please come? It's here in Cypress Grove. His family owns a big resort here, and his mom is organizing everything. You can totally stay for free for a couple of weeks. It’s going to be a whole thing.”
“A thing?” I screech, feeling like a parrot. “You mean a wedding thing?”
I'm not a fan of weddings. Or love in general.
It's not that I don't like guys — I do. But I don't do relationships, probably because I've never met anyone who made me feel like more than an afterthought.
With the men I meet through work, I always feel like a prop in someone else's content.
Which is fine. Gives me more time to pursue my dreams.
“Yeah, that.”
“Shouldn't you look happier about this?” My voice drops to a whisper. “Are you sure about him? How long have you actually known each other?”
“I'm sure,” she says, with a quiet certainty that's more alarming than excitement would have been. “Lauren, I'm sure.”
“Why don't you take some time to think about it? Join me here, and we'll talk in person. Maybe in Paris? At a café!” I clap my hands. Yes. Get her out of Florida. “I know exactly the place. Best coffee in the world. Then I’ll arrange a private tour of Notre Dame.”
“The ceremony is soon, Lauren. Three weeks. His mom's amazing at planning events, and I want you to be my maid of honor.”
Three weeks. I open and close my mouth. Twenty-one days.
“Look, just get here and I'll explain everything.” She looks up over the camera lens. “Mom, I'm coming.”
Just then, a tan-colored animal shuffles into the corner of the screen. I squint.
“What is that?” I point.
Kate swivels her head. “Oh, that's Steve. Steve, come here, little man.”
Her face disappears when she bends down. She resurfaces with what is possibly the fattest pug I've ever seen. Part pig, part dog, part sentient throw pillow.
I laugh, because I can't help it. He is spectacularly cute.
“This is Steve,” she says.
“Awww, of course it is.” I'm grateful for any reason to stop talking about weddings. “When did your mom get a dog?”
“He's Tate's dog — that's one of Damien's brothers. I'm dog sitting for the day. Steve's on a special diet and we're all trying keep him on track. He lost a pound last month.” She jiggles him gently. “Didn't you, bud? Good boy.”
“Babysitting the dog-in-law?” This all sounds extremely fishy.
She sighs. “Lauren...I know this is sudden, but I can't explain everything right now. Damien’s amazing, his family is really cool, and we have to do this in three weeks because he's got a work assignment right after, and our moms want the ceremony before he goes.
Please say you'll come. Please? You can photograph the springs.
They're absolutely stunning, I promise.”
You can photograph the springs. Something in me stirs unexpectedly at that.
I've been wanting to visit Cypress Grove for years.
I'd read about it on a forum for sacred site photographers — someone had compared it to Sedona, said the springs had a vortex energy unlike anything they'd encountered in the Southeast. I'd begged Kate to take me home with her more than once.
She always deflected. It's hot and swampy, she'd say.
You'd hate it. You love the city. We love the city.
I'd assumed she had her reasons for staying away, the way I had mine for never going back to Ohio. Now that she's mentioned Damien, I wonder if her reasons had a name.
But my mind isn’t on the springs right now.
It's on Kate. This isn’t like her. She once spent two months deciding on a coffee maker.
She worried one entire semester about what classes to choose for the following year.
Now she's chosen a husband in, what? Five minutes?
After a few months back in Florida? That's not enough time. Something's going on.
The look in her eyes is so panicked and pleading that a stab of genuine fear goes through me.
“Of course I'll be there.” I plaster on a smile.
“I wouldn't miss it for the world. Now go back to work.
Hug your mom for me. Send me the details, when you need me there and for how long.
I was planning to stay in Italy another month but I can move things around.
I'll fly to Orlando, rent a car, no problem.”
That's the beauty of this life. I can pack up and go whenever, wherever. The universe is my playground and all that jazz — at least, that's what I write in my captions. The playground can be a grind, but I do have the ability to pivot in case of emergency.
And this is an actual emergency.
She exhales and finally smiles. “Hang on, I'm going to put Steve down.” I watch him shuffle off. “Thank you. I'm so relieved. I couldn't do this without you. Okay, gotta run. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
The call ends, and I sink back against the cushion.
Kate's getting married.
I'd been eager for her to join me in Europe — that plan had kept me sane these past months. Traveling together, laughing through parties and events and life with my best friend. And now she's marrying the super sweet Damien who she's never once mentioned until today.
An indignant feeling rises in my chest.
Of course I'll be there. I need to figure out what's going on and, if necessary, gently talk her out of the worst decision of her life.
I tap over to email. That's when I notice a message from the director of a luxury eco-wellness retreat in Costa Rica — the kind of place where everything is sustainably sourced, the yoga is taught at sunrise over the rainforest canopy, and the waiting list for influencer stays is eighteen months long.
I've been cultivating this relationship for almost a year.
A week-long stay, for top-tier spiritual travel creators only.
My shoulders tense as I open it.
Ms. Sinclair, we are pleased to confirm your press stay at Selva Sagrada.
Oh thank goodness, please don't let it be the week of Kate's wedding…
We can host you within the next month. Will you be bringing a companion? The retreat accommodates pairs beautifully. Warmly, Valentina.
My shoulders lower from my ears. I swipe to my Google Calendar. I have plenty of time — a restaurant in Rome wants me to post about their location, which I could squeeze in before flying to Florida to investigate my best friend's questionable life choices.
And then get Kate on a plane to Costa Rica with me. Even if I have to wrap her in my gifted Hermès scarves and stuff her in my suitcase.
She probably fell for this Damien dude and thinks it's love. As rational as Kate is, she's not all that experienced with men. She got swept up and now thinks he's The One.
I snort out loud. This is pure feeling, clouding her usually excellent judgment. She cannot walk down the aisle, it's as simple as that.
Dear Valentina, Thank you so much. The last week of November is perfect. I will be bringing one guest. Her name is Kate Cooper.