I have to call off the wedding. This occurs to me the next morning when I wake up bleary-eyed in my bed after a night of crying and feeling sorry for myself. It will be an exercise in humiliation, and yet there is no way around it. How do you tell all your friends that your fiancé has left you for an Emily? Some part of me expected to wake up to the announcement having already been made, the delusional part of me that thought Derek would actually do... well... something.
But when I force myself to check the wedding group chat, there's nothing from him.
Then another part of me whispers that maybe he's having doubts right now, regrets even. Maybe the reason he hasn't posted anything is that he's having second thoughts, that he doesn't actually want to cancel the wedding.
My hands tremble as I scroll through the wedding group chat—the endless threads of dress fittings, catering questions, playlists, and color schemes—all the little details that once felt important, monumental even. Now, they just feel like a bad joke.
I stare at the blinking cursor in the message box, my heart hammering in my chest. This is ridiculous, I tell myself. But I don't know how to say it. How to put something so personal, so heartbreaking, into a message meant for dozens of people—Derek's friends, her friends, people who'll judge and gossip and speculate. I wonder how many of them already know about Emily. Some of Derek's coworkers are in the wedding party. His boss Joseph, who's been a close friend of his dad's for decades, for example.
I picture Joseph, a jovial, heavy-set guy in his early sixties, with his full beard and glasses and his year-round Santa vibe. Joseph was always nice to me. He liked me, even told Derek what a great catch I was. But it occurs to me now that not only does he know her, he hired her. I don't want to be mad at Joseph for that - Derek deserves all my anger - but I can't help feeling betrayed.
My fingers hover over the screen. *Do I have to explain? Should I soften the blow? Or just… rip the Band-Aid off?* What if people won't even be surprised? What if everyone except me has seen this coming for weeks?
I bite my lip, tell myself that it's not in my power to change anyone's reaction, and before I can overthink it, I type:
**"The wedding is off. Sorry for the inconvenience."**
I hit *send*.
There. Done.
The bubble sits in the chat app like a big turd, dropped by me. I had to admire the purity of the statement, the brevity. Just the cold hard fact of our failure out in the open for everyone to see.
I stare at the screen, bracing myself for what's to come. Seconds pass like hours, each one dragging me deeper into the silence of the apartment. I swear I can hear the house groan, the neighbor's faucet drip. If a pin dropped, the noise would be deafening. Then, the group chat begins to explode, notifications lighting up the screen as the phone buzzes in my hand.
*What? Are you serious??*
*What happened? Is everything okay?*
*Wait, why?*
*Skye, are you alright?*
*Derek?? Anyone around?*
I watch the messages roll in, dozens of question marks and exclamation points, a flurry of confusion and concern, but I can't bring herself to respond. Every time my phone buzzes, it feels like another stab to the heart. Another reminder of everything that has fallen apart so quickly, so unexpectedly.
I toss my phone onto the couch, the screen lighting up again with more questions, more shock. I don't care. After a while it all blurs into one thing and I can't deal with any of it right now. The thought of typing out any kind of explanation makes stomach churn. What am I supposed to say? *Oh, you know, Derek decided he has feelings for someone more fun. Turns out I'm not Emily enough for him.* It would all just be bitter and cliché.
I let out a humorless laugh, wiping the tear that slips down my cheek. It's all so stupid. The wedding dress, the planning, the cake tasting, the dreams of our future— I put so much effort into it all, I envisioned this perfect event meant to celebrate a love that, it turned out, hadn't even existed anymore. The whole time, Derek had been thinking of some other girl. The only thing that'd kept him with me was a sense of obligation and maybe general cowardice. He'd never liked confrontation.
My chest tightens once again, the by now familiar pressure of anxiety building, and my thoughts shift, unbidden, to my parents. *Thank God they're not here for this.*
A small, bitter smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. It's cruel to think, but part of me is relieved. If my parents were still alive, there'd be disappointment, forced sympathy, endless questions. My mother would have been devastated, my father quietly stern, always expecting better of me. They would've asked why I couldn't keep my relationship together. Why I hadn't noticed sooner that Derek was pulling away. Why I hadn't been… smarter, quicker, better.
But they are gone, and the thought of their absence has always been like a dull ache in my life—until now. Now, it feels like a strange sort of mercy. They're not here to witness my humiliation, not here to tell me I should've done things differently, that I should've *fought* harder for him.
My phone vibrates again, and I pull myself together enough to pick it back up and glance at the screen. More frantic messages from the wedding group chat, my friends, Derek's groomsmen, people I barely know. My mind starts to drift, imagining how Derek is dealing with it. Is he already talking to Emily? Is he relieved it's over, does he feel free to do whatever he wants now? Is calling off the wedding like this huge burden coming off his chest? Is he reading the chat now, and will he reply? I want him to. I want him to step up and take some responsibility.
I watch the bubbles pile up, feeling myself emotionally pull away. It's like looking at a computer screen, at a game someone else is playing.
*Let them wonder. Let them speculate. It doesn't matter.*
Or so I thought, until the newest message catches my eye. "Derek Williams has left the group."
"Are you actually kidding me right now?!" My sudden exclamation surprises even myself. The words burst out of me, as urgent and involuntary as blood spewing from a deep wound. I toss my phone back down, watch it bounce on the cushions and hear the dull thud when it falls off the couch and lands on the carpet.
So that's really that. There won't be an attempt from Derek to turn this thing around, no declaration of renewed love, not even an explanation to their friends. Nothing. He's just decided to completely stick his head in the sand. *Or into Emily* an evil little voice in my head whispers.
Okay, I try to calm myself down, to hold back the tears welling up again. I don't want to keep crying. It's so pathetic.
Acceptance, how exactly can I get there?
Okay. I can't change Derek. He's not who I thought he was and that's just the way it is. There is nothing I can do.
*
I don't answer my phone for the day, especially not when Derek's mother, Susan, calls, but I do post a generic *I'm alive and more or less okay. Derek and I have broken up, sorry, again, for the inconvenience. Please don't worry. I just need a little time* into the group chat, hoping that will be enough to discourage people from showing up at my door. I very much want them to go bug Derek instead.
Another thing I want to do is call in sick to work, but then what would I do instead? Sit here and weep? That's not an option. So I sniffle, drag myself into the bathroom and think about doing my hair. I almost flinch when I see myself in the mirror over the sink. Puffy-faced and bleary-eyed, my dark, wavy hair a tangled mess. It looks as if an entire murder of crows nested in there overnight. My eyes are red-rimmed, the skin beneath them and the tip of my nose also red and irritated. I wash my face with cold water and when I raise my gaze again, I look like a drowned rat.
One hot shower later I may not be back to my old self, but at least I feel a little better, like some life has finally returned to my body. My mind might still be replaying endless loops of Derek telling me about Emily, but I've gained some perspective. Derek was vague and weird during the cake-tasting and after, but he'd been evasive for a while. I didn't see it because I didn't want to and because I was so focused on wedding stuff, putting all this pressure on one day while letting the actual time I was supposed to spend with my fiancé pass me by.
At this point, Kaylee would interject if she were here. She'd tell me to stop blaming myself when Derek had all this time to speak up and at least give me a chance to change my behavior. He didn't do that, instead he looked elsewhere for companionship. Not cool, Kaylee would say.I blow-dry my hair, wrangle it into a messier-than-usual bun, put on a t-shirt and jeans and even manage to do some basic work day make-up. When I'm finished, I look like a person, not a happy one, not by a long shot, but at least not like a mental patient freshly escaped from a facility.
Just a woman in her late twenties. Dark hair, dark eyes, a little chubbier around her middle than would be considered traditionally hot. I sigh as my gaze drifts down to where my high-waisted jeans prevent a muffin-top situation. Considering how very much traditionally handsome Derek is, I always felt incredibly lucky that he chose me.
"He's at least a nine and I'm... maybe a six and a half," I remember telling Kaylee once, pretty early on in the relationship. She'd chastised me then, too. But the truth was, when I first met Derek in high school, I knew he was out of my league. He was on the football team, I was in debate club. And I looked exactly like a girl they'd cast for background debate club member. Me in my dungarees with my braces and frizzy hair because I hadn't yet figured out not to brush it when dry. I couldn't do make-up either, would stab myself in the eye when trying to apply mascara.
Derek wasn't the coolest boy in school but he was definitely up there. He was a junior, I was a freshman, he didn't know I existed and in hindsight, I was glad about that. Only when he moved back here after his dad got sick and I was back after my parents' death did we connect. We ran into each other in the street. Derek had just come from the hospital. He was dazed and stressed and he was in a hurry.
I can still see him, the way he looked that day. It was a grey morning, the pouring rain had slowed to a drizzle. Derek was all but drenched, wavy blond hair flattened to his head. He didn't even have a jacket on, just a flannel shirt open over a t. As he strode past me, my umbrella got caught on the fabric of his shirt sleeve. He didn't notice and kept moving, pulling the umbrella from my hands, then he whipped around when he felt the tug and my umbrella clattered to the ground, saw me standing there in the rain and started to apologize. I remember my gaze being captured by the drops of water clinging to his skin, how they rolled down his cheeks like tears and hung trembling under his jaw.
I swallow hard, pushing thoughts of Derek into the farthest corner of my mind as I leave the bathroom and grab my things. I can get through this, I tell myself. At least none of my co-workers are in the wedding group chat. If I'm lucky, no one will ask any questions.