Chapter two
619 Words
Day one after The Wedding Incident, I cried so hard my mascara welded itself to my pillowcase. My eyes swelled up so much I looked like a pufferfish.
Day two, I swapped crying for rage-snacking. There are currently three empty pizza boxes on my counter, a graveyard of Pringles tubes on the coffee table, and what used to be an entire cheesecake in the fridge. “Saving it for later” lasted for about twelve minutes before i ended up finishing everything.
By day three, I’d entered what I call the slob zone. This involves:
The same hoodie for 48 hours straight.
A Netflix autoplay loop which inluded some random asmr videos, self help videos shout out to Wizard Liz and a kids show that i have no idea how it got there.
Talking to inanimate objects, mostly snacks.
Jeremy called twice. Both times I let it go to voicemail. I listened just long enough to hear him start with, “Aria, we need to talk..” before deleting it. Because nothing good has ever followed that sentence.
I did get one text from him that just said, Can we meet?
I considered replying with, Sure. Meet me in Hell, but decided against it.
Growth.
I wasn’t just sad; I was embarrassed. Not just because he cheated…. I mean he’s the one that should be embarrassed but because I’d been that girl who brought him as her date, introduced him to everyone, and sat there smiling like we were a Pinterest couple, while Lisa-from-brunch was clearly plotting her hallway ambush.
By late afternoon, I was mid-snack on a pack of Oreos when I heard my door unlock. Only one person has a key: Stacy.
She walked in looking very kept together, the opposite of me right now. “You look like a raccoon that’s been living under a bridge,” she announced cheerfully.
“Thanks,” I mumbled from my blanket nest on the couch.
“I brought carbs.” She dropped a paper bag onto the coffee table. Two giant croissants, a chocolate muffin the size of my head, and a cinnamon roll.
“You’re my favorite person,” I said, accepting the muffin.
“I know.” She grabbed the remote, paused my Netflix spiral, and handed me a glass of wine she’d poured without asking.
We ate in silence for about thirty seconds before she sighed. “Alright. You’ve got one more day to wallow, then I’m staging an intervention.”
I took a giant bite of muffin. “Define intervention.”
“Fancy dresses. Champagne. Probably some poor life choices.”
I blinked at her. “What?”
“Masquerade ball,” she said like it was a perfectly normal suggestion for a woman currently wearing pajama pants with pizza stains. “It’s on Saturday. My cousin bailed, I have an extra ticket, and you’re coming.”
I snorted. “I don’t even want to see men right now, let alone be trapped in a room full of them.”
“Perfect. You can drink and judge their outfits. You’re amazing at that.”
I tried not to smile. “I am amazing at that.”
She leaned forward. “Exactly. And who knows? You might meet someone tall, handsome, and completely the one for you.”
I rolled my eyes. “And if I don’t?”
“Then you drink champagne, eat free cake, and go home in swag. No gain no loss.”
She had a point.
“Fine,” I said, shoving the last bite of muffin into my mouth. “But I’m wearing comfortable shoes.”
Her grin was pure mischief
. “Oh, honey. We’ll see about that.”
- Writer
