Merritt motioned to the lobby. “I should get back upstairs to Alec.”
“I think I’ll stay down here a bit longer. I need a few more minutes for all that adrenaline to die down.”
Merritt leaned down and kissed me on the top of my head. “I’m right down the hall if you need me.”
Three Old-Fashioneds later, I staggered to the elevator and up to my floor. I let myself into the room, a beautiful suite with views of Central Park. It was empty now, but tomorrow the park would be filled with thousands of people. Runners circling the reservoir, children sailing boats at the basin, couples picnicking on the Great Lawn. The sun would rise and set for all of them, and life would resume as normal. For me, it would never be the same. It’d only been a few hours, and I already missed Sam with every molecule of my being.
I threw myself across the large bed and crawled up to the pillows. Sliding under the heavy comforter, I reached over to the side of the bed that was normally Sam’s. The noticeable emptiness of the space beside me filled my chest until I could hardly breathe, and I wondered how it was possible that someone could so completely break your heart, and yet you could still love them with all the little pieces that once made up who you used to be.
Chapter Nine
True to her word, Merritt stayed in New York to cancel the wedding plans with me. She studied contracts, negotiated terms, and basically took the lead in every conversation. Considering I couldn’t even say Sam’s name without breaking down in tears, I was extremely grateful for her help. Most of the vendors were understanding, agreeing to return the money we’d already paid, minus our initial deposits. As the photographer told us, Sam wasn’t “the first groom in history to be caught with his pants down before the wedding.”
I was most worried about our seemingly iron-clad agreement with the The Pierre Hotel, but fortunately, there was a couple from Japan interested in getting married there the same weekend our wedding had been booked. The coordinator had them on a cancellation waitlist and let the couple know our slot had opened, which they immediately jumped on. We lost our sizable deposit, but the hotel refunded the rest of the money we’d already laid out.
“Now that we’ve settled your housing situation, all that’s left is the dress,” Merritt said as we stepped out of The Pierre and onto Fifth Avenue.
Merritt had managed to help me find an apartment in record time, especially for a tight real estate market like New York. Her friend Nick was directing a brand-new Netflix television series in Vancouver for the next six months and was looking for an immediate subletter. Merritt signed the paperwork and gave a two-month deposit before I had the chance to object. She even arranged for movers to pack up and take my things to my new place.
“And you really can’t talk to anyone at the bridal store until next week?” she asked.
“Their Wedding Unwinder isn’t available until Tuesday.”
She stopped in her tracks. “Wedding Unwinder?”
“They apparently have someone on staff who was hired just to deal with broken engagements.”
Merritt dug around her purse for her sunglasses. “That’s some job, although, after this week, I could probably apply.”
Merritt looked up and saw the pained expression on my face. She slipped her arm around my waist and pulled me in for a squeeze.
“I’m sorry. It’s way too soon to make light of anything,” she said.
“No, it’s fine. Wedding Unwinder sounds completely ridiculous to me too. Why don’t they just call the job what it really is, the person who keeps jilted brides from throwing themselves off the 59th Street Bridge.”
She pushed her sunglasses onto her head. “You weren’t jilted.”
“No, that’s right, I was just cheated on and betrayed.”
She threw her hands up in the air. “Well, that settles it, I can’t go home tomorrow.”
I tilted my head to the side. “Mer, you have a wife, a child, and a job. You have to go home eventually.”
“Who’s going to make sure you’re eating and sleeping? I mean this in the most loving and sisterly way, but you look like shit. You’ve dropped at least another couple of pounds, and those bags under your eyes are getting darker by the day.” Merritt took me by the hands. “Joey, maybe it’s time to talk to somebody. An Ambien prescription can do wonders.”
I forced a smile on my face and nodded. I could see there was no way she’d get on a flight home unless I threw her a bone. “You know, you’re right. I’ll make an appointment for next week.”
“Good. Stephen said to take as much time as you need, right?”
“Not quite, but he gave me the rest of this week to deal with this mess.”
“What about Sam?”
I jerked my head up. “What about him?”
“You two need to talk.”
“I don’t see why. His name is the one on the mortgage for the apartment, not mine. We have separate credit cards, bills, even phone plans. I told him just to keep the engagement gifts. I don’t want them.”
“I’m not talking about your finances. Sam wasn’t just some guy you dated for a few months. Don’t you want to hear what he has to say? God knows, I’m not saying to forgive him, but he’s been in your life for far too long to just abruptly cut him out of it.”
“So, what are you saying, Merritt?” I snapped back in a tone far harsher than I intended.
“You need some form of closure. It’s the only way to begin to move on.”
“And what if I can’t? You know, move on?”
“I know it feels that way now, but it won’t forever.”
“Truthfully, the only thing I feel is numb.”
Merritt put her hand on my shoulder. “Come on, the florist is expecting us at 3:00.”
A few days later, I gave my name to the front desk receptionist at the wedding salon, who quickly ushered me to a small office on the lower level of the shop, far away from the shopping brides. The room was painted a tranquil sky blue with a deep-seated light gray velvet couch in the center of the space. In the corner was a small table with a blue-and-white porcelain tea set. The receptionist let me know to make myself comfortable and told me Regan, the Wedding Unwinder, would be in to join me shortly. I settled onto one of the cushions, while Enya’s “Only Time” hummed out of a ceiling speaker. Apparently, this was how they kept jilted brides from jumping off the 59th Street Bridge.
A few minutes later there was a light knock on the door. A petite woman who looked to be around my age entered the room holding a large manila envelope and garment bag. She had dark brown hair pulled back into a loose bun and was wearing a simple white button-down shirt, a classic strand of pearls, slim trousers, and kitten heels. She poured two cups of tea and carried them over to the couch, passing me one as she sank into the seat.
“You must be Joanna,” she said, handing me her business card. I glanced down to read it. Regan Westman, MFT.
I looked up. “MFT?”
“Marriage and Family Therapist.” Regan reached behind her for the envelope and pulled out a stack of papers from inside. “I know this must be a difficult time, but I’m here to make this as painless as possible.”