Chapter 12

Even two months after Cape Cod, I still got the urge to text Oscar.

Sometimes, I went as far as pulling up our old text thread. Once or twice, when something amazing or terrible or hilarious happened, I'd begin typing out a message before realizing what I was doing. Even when I'd changed his name in my contacts from "Oscar Overton" to "Do NOT Text Under Any Circumstance," the urge hadn't entirely gone away. In fact, avoiding him seemed to only get harder as time went on.

But it was necessary, I told myself. So necessary.

It had been difficult enough after spending two days and nights steeped in the sight and scent and feelof him, after watching that beautiful beach wedding surrounded by a bunch of his loved-up friends, after letting myself hope, to have him pull his disappearing act.

Far, far worse, though, had been the realization I'd come to while sitting in gridlocked Cape traffic on my way home with only my own thoughts for company: I wasn't just angry at Oscar. I wasn't just hurt. I was bereft. I was heartbroken. Because I was no longer poised on the edge of the friendship cliff. Sometime over that incredible weekend, I'd fallen hard.

And I'd fallen alone.

In the weeks that followed, it was really tempting to revert to my old post-breakup habits—to throw myself onto the sofa and binge-watch something romantic until I actually merged into the furniture—but something told me this time, there was no love story on Earth schmoopy enough to distract me from my pain. I was in love with a man who didn't believe in love at all anymore, and even Shonda Rimes couldn't save me.

So instead, I kept going as best I could. I honestly couldn't remember much of what I did in those first days and weeks because for a long while, I marked my time by what I deliberately didn't do. I didn't stop working on my social media accounts or cancel any wedding contracts, even when capturing happy couples in love made my own heart ache. I didn't stop dating, although looking back, I couldn't recall the name or face of a single guy I went out with, and I'm sure they all found me as lively and emotionally available as a charcoal briquette. And I didn't contact Oscar even once… no matter how many times each day I thought about him.

If it hadn't been obvious by his abrupt departure, I'd have known by the tone of his nonapology in our last text conversation—blasé and dismissive, every inch the playboy billionaire—that Oscar had sensed my growing feelings or his own and had retrenched behind his protective hedgehog spikes.

I hated that for him, but I really hated it for me because although being without Oscar's friendship killed me, in order to smother the fire I felt for him, I knew I had to cut off its supply of fuel entirely.

No more chatty texts. No more fashion consults. No more date postmortems. No more Frank pics.

No more torturing myself by falling harder every single day for a man who couldn't—more like wouldn't—commit.

After the first few painful weeks, I was able to find joy in my HEA TikTok account again. It allowed me to channel all my frustrated romantic feelings into something positive, and it was also growing enough to get attention from several couples who later hired me as their photographer.

Business was booming because love still existed in the world…

And someday, it would be my turn.

In early October, after a busy weekend shooting two weddings, I met Abby in the city for dinner. She'd called me Sunday night and asked if we could go for sushi at her favorite place, just the two of us. I assumed she was excited to discuss her wedding plans… or possibly so stressed about her wedding plans she'd rather discuss anything else. Either way, I was here for it. But as soon as I slid into the small booth across from her, I could tell it was neither of those things.

"What's going on?" I demanded after five minutes of nervous laughter and failing to meet my eyes. "Are you okay? You don't have bad news to share with me, do you?"

Her smile wavered. "No. Not bad… exactly. In fact, it's good. Just unexpected."

"Abs, out with it. You're making me nervous. Are you pregnant? Switching careers? Moving away?" I couldn't bring myself to guess anything truly terrible, but if it was a cancer scare, we'd get through it. She had good health insurance through the school district. I grabbed her hand on the tabletop and held it. "You can tell me anything."

She took a deep breath. "Dex and I got married."

I stared at her. Anything but that.

"Yesterday," she went on. "We went to the local courthouse and said our vows during our lunch break." She watched me with worried eyes. "Surprise?"

"I can't tell if this is a joke or not…" I began. "I'm sorry. But… are you serious? Because?—"

She held out her hand so I could see the shiny gold wedding band next to her familiar engagement ring. "It's not a joke. Please don't be mad."

I glanced from the ring up to her face. She was so worried about my reaction, my usual instinct to comfort her snapped automatically into place. "I'm not mad. I'm just… wow. Married. Why? I mean, why now?"

She pulled her hand back and clasped both hands tightly in her lap. "Last weekend, Dex and I got in a huge fight over roses. Rainbow roses, specifically. They were going to cost five thousand dollars, which is almost double our budget for flowers, and Dex said that was an insane amount of money, and couldn't I be happy with just pink ones? And I reminded him that he was the one inviting literally threedozensecond cousins, even though he doesn't know most of them by name, so who was he to talk about economizing? He got so angry he stomped off, and I burst into tears. It was awful."

"Oh, Abs—" I shook my head. "I'm so sorry."

"No, it's okay though." She leaned forward. "Dex came back and hugged me, and we talked for hours. We realized we've spent so long arguing over details, spending all our free time scrolling wedding websites—which is kind of a joke because we have no free time since we've both been working so many hours trying to pay for every damn thing—that we lost sight of what the wedding is about in the first place. It's about us, Hugh," she explained when I stared at her blankly. "Me and Dex. And how much we love each other."

I blinked. "Well, yes, obviously. But I still don't understand. It's because you love each other that you wanted it to be just right?—"

Abby shook her head like I was missing the point. "It doesn't matter if the roses are pink or rainbow or nonexistent. It doesn't matter if we have a band or a DJ or whether we get married in Dex's mom's church or at the beach. The whole point is to be with the person I care about. To build a future with him. To make sure he can get updates on my condition if I'm ever in the hospital again," she added wryly.

I shuddered. "Don't even joke about that."

"I'm not joking. Dex still talks about it a lot. And that's one of the reasons we sort of said… why are we waiting for everything to be perfect to do the thing we want? Life's uncertain. You know that, just like I do. So, to me, it doesn't matter if he and I have this one special day when every day we get to be together is special. I can't imagine holding out for confetti and roses when it meant growing apart from the man I love."

"Yes, but?—"

"There's such a thing as being too much of a perfectionist, you know? Sometimes you have to embrace the messy." Abby laughed lightly. "Or, in this case, the linoleum floor and wood paneling in the back room of the courthouse. We decided we cared more about our marriage than our wedding, so we were willing to compromise on what we thought we wanted to get what we really needed. And it was the right thing, I swear, because once it was done, it was this huge relief."

"Yeah, no, I get that, and I'm glad for you. I really am." I swallowed hard, my throat tight at thinking about love and holding out for perfection and wishing once again that I could discuss all of this with Oscar because he always helped me process things. "I wish you'd told me though. I could have been there. I… I would have liked to walk you down the aisle, at least. Or take pictures?—"

I'd envisioned Abby's wedding many times, and in every single one of those visions, I'd been there. That had never been in doubt.

"I know." Now, Abby grabbed my hands, her brown eyes gentle. "I know, Hugh. But this particular day was just for us. For me and Dex. There was no aisle. And the whole point was to stop worrying about what it looked like or what anyone else wanted and just do it."

I twisted my tongue in my mouth to keep from venting about feeling disappointed and left out. It didn't matter when she was clearly at peace with her own decision. And her happiness was all I'd ever wanted, in the end.

"Besides," Abby teased, squeezing my hands. "I didn't need you immortalizing my messy bun and sneakers. You've taken a million important pictures of me and Dex that I already treasure—like the one of me kissing him upside down when he was painting our bedroom a year ago, remember that? Those are the shots that put the ‘Real Life' in the Real Life HEA, you know?"

"Yeah." I nodded. "I remember."

"And this way, you can save all of your big ideas for your own wedding, and I can live vicariously through you when your time comes."

Hopefully, my smile wasn't as pathetic as it felt.

"We're still going to have a reception of sorts too," she said brightly. "A casual thing, but a chance to celebrate with all the people we love. The sports bar Dex's team goes to after games has a big event room. We're thinking nachos and beer, something like that. Just friends and fun, no pressure. And this time, I demand that my big brother be there. I'll even work it around your schedule, so let me know when you're free in the next couple months."

Disappointed as I was, I couldn't help but grin. "Are you kidding? I've been saving up a million quasi-embarrassing Dex and Abby stories for your wedding reception, and this is my chance. I'll be there," I vowed. "Promise."

But several weeks later, when the Nacho Reception was on the horizon and I discovered my ex would be there with his famous new boyfriend, my resolve was sorely tested.

Rafa and I were in pajamas on the sofa in our apartment, gearing up for a binge-watch of Drag Race on Halloween. Thankfully, our apartment building didn't participate in any kind of trick-or-treating, so we were guaranteed a quiet night in. It was a Tuesday, which meant neither one of us had to work, and we'd ordered in wings and wine… which was great because I was going to require a lot of wine to deal with what Abby had texted to tell me earlier that day.

"Ben Garrison?" Rafa asked again like he couldn't believe it. "Your ex is dating the drummer from Toxic Echo?"

I felt my nostrils stretch wide. "He's just a guy."

"Just a guy who's won a million Grammys. Just a guy who's modeled pantsless for Calvin Klein. Just a guy who?—"

"I get it," I gritted out before taking a healthy swig of my drink.

"You're not going to that thing without a hot date," Rafa said as if this wasn't patently obvious.

"You're my hot date," I snapped. "And if you bail on me after I confirmed you were free ten times before telling Abby which dates I was available and that I'd be bringing a plus-one, I will murder you in your sleep."

Rafa shifted and plucked a hot wing off my plate. "I'm coming. Obviously. But I think you need to show up with someone hot who isn't just your roommate. Jared knows me. Hates me but knows me."

"He doesn't hate you," I said, knowing it was a complete lie.

"Mpfh. What about Roman Burke? Surely he could hook you up after he was so grateful for the wedding photo job you did for him and his guy?"

I nudged him away from stealing another wing. "You think taking a famous married man as my date is better than my roommate? Interesting strategy."

"No, no. I just mean surely he has hot, famous friends he could hook you up with. You know, as a favor."

I shook my head and swallowed another healthy glug of wine. "Nah. I'm happy to go with you. I don't need anyone to think I have a new boyfriend. I just don't want to be stuck standing awkwardly on my own while Dex and Jared's entire family looks at me with sad puppy eyes."

Rafa had been there during my Jared era and through the ugly aftermath. To say he disliked Jared was an understatement. He loathed the man intensely. But he also knew that I missed the close relationship I'd had with Jared's family.

I winced before carefully setting my wineglass down. "I forgot to tell you the best part. Abby told me Jared's planning on proposing. He wants to make it a big romantic deal at the holidays. Apparently, he has it all planned out."

My hands immediately covered my ears as the expected screech escaped Rafa's face. A string of Spanish expletives followed as he tossed his plate on the table and launched himself onto my lap. As soon as he was straddling me, he took my face in his hands. "That motherfucker," he said, seething. "That. Motherfucker."

I closed my eyes and nodded, feeling overwhelmed with emotions. Not because I was upset that my "no commitment" ex had decided to enter into the ultimate commitment, but because I had a best friend who knew me well enough to know that was the part that stung the most.

"Well, I hope Ben what's-his-name has a small dick and is shit in bed," Rafa said. "And if he and Jared do end up tying the knot, I hope he insists on a prenup and then ends up leaving Jared alone and destitute." He pondered for a moment. "Or maybe Jared will have an unfortunate accident. I know people," he growled.

I reached up to cup his cheeks. "I love you. But I don't want you to be an accessory to murder. Stand down, Rafael Clavel. This too shall pass."

He climbed off me with a beleaguered sigh. "Fine. I'll wear my Tom Ford. And I'll hang on your every word. Prepare yourself. I'm going to get handsy. Everyone there will know you are hot, you are wanted, you are the one that got away. Pinche cabrón."

I barked out a laugh before reaching for my plate again. "You're the best. But Tom Ford might be overkill for a Nacho Reception at a sports bar."

"Fine. The sheer Alexander jacket. Not a gay man alive who'd be able to keep their eyes off your hot man in that thing." He reached for his wineglass. The smug grin on his face made me roll my eyes.

"The Orttu pants," I added, taking a bite of a wing. "Maybe a little eyeliner."

Rafa nudged my knee with his foot. "Gonna make you proud, baby. You'll see. Maybe I'll bag myself a famous drummer…"

I laughed and let him distract me from the stress of the upcoming event. We spent the night gossiping and judging the queens. It was fun and easy—exactly what I needed.

The following night was exactly the opposite.

Rafa came through the door after a late dinner meeting with a client and found me putting a few dishes away. "Don't murder me," he began.

"No." I immediately turned and glared at him. I could tell right away what was happening. "Rafael Clavel, you are not canceling. I refuse. I don't care how hot your Grindr hookup is, and I don't care what he promises you he can do with his tongue. My ex, the man I thought was The One, is bringing his celebrity boyfriend to this party, and I cannot show up single. There is no higher calling in the name of best friendship?—"

"It's not a Grindr hookup! I don't do those anymore. I mean, I do. Obviously, I do. But only with… uh." Rafa's face turned seven shades of pink. "Never mind. The point is, I booked Eclat'sGolden Era Gala afterparty. Their planner canceled at the last minute, and they called me, and… I'm sorry, Hugh."

I groaned. Eclat Magazine was one of Rafa's bucket-list clients. He'd been working on getting a contract with them for ages, and getting to plan their Golden Era Gala's after-event was like making it to the party-planning Super Bowl. "Damn it, Rafa. Now I can't even be angry. Get out the fancy wine," I ordered.

Rafa eyed me warily. "Are we drinking to forget?"

"Come on." I shoved his shoulder gently. "Did you think I'd let worry over Jared stop me from congratulating my best friend? You booked Eclat! We're drinking to celebrate."

But I wasn't feeling very celebratory the following day. While trolling the park for couples to interview for TikTok, it hit me all over again that I was back to being dateless for Abby and Dex's party. And I hadn't been lying when I told Rafa that I didn't need to bring a boyfriend… but a small, petty part of me needed Jared to know I was doing just fine without him.

Oscar was my first thought as an alternate date—no surprise since he was the first and last thought my mind touched on, even now—but I quickly dismissed that idea. The idea of him coming with me had felt strangely risky even when he'd first suggested it. After Cape Cod, after the implosion of our friendship, it was a nonstarter.

Or it should have been.

I certainly tried hard enough to convince myself it was.

But when I found myself contemplating a few guys on my semi-friendly list of recent dates, wondering which of them would react least-terribly if I asked him to pretend to adore me at my sister's wedding, I finally gave up and texted Rafa.

Hugh

Tell me not to invite Oscar to Abby's party. Tell me it's the worst idea in the history of ideas. Tell me I'll regret it forever.

Rafa

OMG, brilliant! You should definitely invite him. He's a professional wedding guest AND he owes you a favor AND he might throw you a bone at the end of the night, which is more than you'd get if I was your date. Also, he's hot, rich as fuck, and guaranteed to make Jared jealous. What's not to love?

Hugh

You're a terrible wingman.

Rafa

I'm the BEST wingman. You need an impressive date and he's a friend who fits the bill. Boom. Done. What more do you need?

Hugh

Oh, IDK. Maybe some pride? Maybe a shred of self-protection? Also, we're not friends anymore, remember? He probably won't even agree.

Rafa

Bet he will. Bet he misses you—who wouldn't?—and you'd be doing both of you a favor. And it'll be on YOUR terms, Hugh. Party date and a little bonus benefit of sex after, then you both return to your lives as if nothing happened.

Hugh

That's not something I'm capable of doing and I believe you know that.

It would be the equivalent of re-breaking a bone that had only just begun to knit itself together…

Or had begun to contemplate knitting, at least.

Rafa

Which is the lesser evil? Asking him and potentially being slightly more miserable than your current state of miserable afterward? Or being single and alone while Jared and his drummer hang all over each other?

"Fuck," I groaned, throwing myself onto a nearby park bench. I put my phone down and rubbed my face with both hands. "Fuck!"

The devil on my shoulder spoke in Rafa's voice. The angel sounded a bit like me during an ugly cry after a particularly bad breakup.

I told myself I was too smart to listen to the devil. Anyone with a brain in their head knew this was a bad idea.

But, dammit, I was tired of doing all the right things to find my happily ever after and having fuck all to show for it but a "current state of miserable." Maybe Abby was right—maybe holding out for perfection wasn't all it was cracked up to be. How well was that working out for me, anyhow? So maybe just this once, I could let myself have a little bit of happy right now with the gorgeous man I couldn't stop thinking about… and let the happily ever after chips fall where they may.

I grabbed my phone again and made a call.