She might be right. Neil’s gruff handling of informing our wedding guests may be his retaliation for my charging everything to his credit cards. But it was the only tool I had to make him “pay” for cheating … so, sorry-not-sorry, Neil.
My phone starts ringing in my purse and I pull it out. It’s my mother. I hit decline call. Still holding my phone, I flop onto the sofa in defeat. “Can we just open that bottle of wine in your bag? I don’t know if I can go anywhere right now.”
“Of course.” Jordan heads to my kitchen for glasses and I continue to stare at the email, this time on my phone since Neil so courteously cc’d me. My mother calls again, and I hit decline call again and then shut off my phone. I can’t talk to her or anyone right now.
Jordan hands me a full glass of wine and orders, “Drink this.”
“Thanks.” I take a large gulp.
We polish off the bottle quickly and mostly in silence.
When I lift up the bottle for the last pour and realize it’s empty, I set it back down and say, “So that’s that.”
“Should we open another?”
“Sure.” I shrug. “But I wasn’t just referring to the bottle.”
Jordan scoots to the edge of the sofa and turns to me. “I think we should go out.”
“Ugh,” I sigh. “I don’t know if I can go out anymore. I think I just want to hide out here.”
“Nope. I think we should go out and celebrate that you’re rid of Nasty Neil and that he took Shitty Stacey with him.” I give a small laugh, which Jordan takes as encouragement. “We should go someplace amazing and drink champagne!”
I heave another big sigh, but I’m game. After all, Jordan just accompanied me to my fitting and bought a bridesmaid dress she won’t be wearing.
“And!” Jordan claps her hands Darlene style. “We should dress up!”
“O-kay.” I give her a strange look. “Do you want to borrow something? Cause, honestly, if you leave to change and come back, I’ll lose my mojo and probably fall asleep.”
She shakes her head no and has a mischievous gleam in her eye. “We’re wearing our dresses.”
“What dresses?”
“My bridesmaid dress and your wedding dress.”
“No, no, no!” I wave my hands at her. “I’m willing to venture outdoors, but there’s no way I’m going out wearing that. That’s ridiculous!”
“Is it? Or is it more ridiculous to buy an expensive dress and then never wear it?” She gives me a meaningful look. “I’ll open another bottle of wine to help you decide.”
ANOTHER BOTTLE OF wine later and Jordan and I are dressed in our gowns and sitting in the Signature Room Lounge on the 96th floor of the Hancock building overlooking the city.
“This is fantastic,” Jordan declares as she sips her champagne.
I laugh and say, “I feel ridiculous.”
She shrugs. “Whatever. Nobody cares. We just look like we’re going to a black-tie event or something.”
I’m pretty sure the buttons on the back of my dress are askew, and I’m not quite sure how I’m going to get out of it later, but, weirdly, I’m enjoying myself. This whole evening seems like the most fitting way to close the book on my relationship with Neil.
Jordan is in full-on celebration mode and keeps raising her glass and making toasts. “And here’s to getting a more fabulous job,” she says and reaches over to clink her glass against mine.
“To that,” I say dully. Suddenly I’m no longer enjoying myself.
“Oh, come on. Cheer up! You know you’ll get something awesome.”
“I’m not so sure.” And before Jordan can give me a pep talk, I fill her in on the recruiter’s call and my meeting with Suzy.
“Oh my god!” Jordan is so horrified she sets down her champagne flute and has both palms plastered to her cheeks while she keeps repeating “Oh my god,” as if she’s doing an impression of Macaulay Culkin in Home Alone.
“I know! It’s crazy! I don’t know what to do?”
“You need to find the source and confront them. What the hell? Who does that?”
“I don’t know.” I shake my head. “Someone who hates me and/or wanted my job?”
“Do you think it was Kate?”
“Granted, she’d been acting weird and has gone MIA. But I don’t know why she would hate me or want my job.” I don’t even think Kate wants her job, let alone mine.
Jordan picks up her flute, takes a sip of champagne, and ponders. “But how can a rumor that’s so wrong also be that pervasive? Does Kate even have that kinda clout in the industry?” She gives me a disbelieving look.
“Not really. She rarely goes to events or hangs out with other PR folks outside of work.”
“Maybe she just really wanted to get out of being your bridesmaid? Where there’s a will there’s a way.”
I laugh. Kate, though, is not one to go above and beyond duty. That was a large reason why she was so efficient at work—she wanted to be out the door at five, not burning the midnight oil. So if not Kate or Stacey, who? Could it have been a client? Paige did say clients had complained about me, but I can’t possibly call up all my old clients to find out.
Panic seizes me. “Oh my god, Jor. What if I can’t find any job? Or what if I do apply for entry-level jobs, but then have to work my way up again? If I’m going to do that, is this even what I want to be doing with my life?” I down the rest of my glass.
“Okay, okay. Calm down. Let’s save the big life decisions for when we’re sober. Tomorrow is another day,” she says, while pouring more champagne into my glass. “Tonight is all about celebrating thank-god-that-bastard’s-out-of-your-life, okay?” She clinks her glass against my full one.
Then in her alcohol-induced state, Jordan is distracted from our conversation by some good-looking guys in suits who just walked in.
“Do you think they’re here for a conference?” she whispers loudly, causing one of them to look over in our direction. With that, she’s off on the hunt and my troubles will have to wait till tomorrow.
Waking up the next morning in my rumpled wedding dress, I vaguely remember the events leading up to donning it, but the details of why I’m still wearing it and how I got home last night are a little spotty. A loud snore from my living room makes my heart stop. Oh, god. Did I take someone home with me?
I steel my nerves and say a little prayer before tiptoeing out of bed to peek into my living room. My prayer is rewarded when I see that it’s just Jordan, also still in her bridesmaid dress, passed out on my sofa. After breathing a sigh of relief, I quietly head to the kitchen. My head is killing me and I could go for some coffee, but I don’t want the sound of beans grinding to startle her. I drink a full glass of water and then pour myself another and begin to head back to my bedroom to figure out how to get out of my dress. My shuffling though wakes her.
“Hey,” she says from the sofa, rubbing her eyes and smearing her mascara even more than it already is across her eyelids. “What time is it?”
“It’s a little after eight.”