Yeah, I send back, relieved it抯 not more Jay.
I open an email and attach the timeline and the 搃vory package.?I have no idea why Isabella the designer named it that when most wedding dresses are just plain white. We抣l come up with a better name internally…
Try again, Lincoln texts a second later. Only one attachment came through.
My eyes do a double roll.
Jeebus. If one went through, they both did. He抯 probably too dumb to find both.
Whatever. For Mr. High and Mighty, I send the damn email again.
I抦 rewarded with another ping! that grates on my eardrums.
Jay: Don抰 you ever think about us, Dakota? About what we could have been? About what we could still be?
Not anymore, I send, gritting my teeth. And it doesn抰 matter. You just said my personality sent you running.
Jay: Really? Even after all the years we spent together you never think where we could be now? I made a mistake. I抦 man enough to admit it. You had our whole lives planned out. This doesn抰 have to be who you are.
Oh my God, stop.
But he doesn抰。 My phone keeps chiming, bringing back the horrible face of a man I don抰 want to remember.
Jay: You抮e not some bitchy loner, Dakota. I know you. The caring girl I remember with a mean-ass talent for words has gotta be in there somewhere. I still play the song you wrote sometimes…
I hate having this conversation, but I really hate hearing that Jay still carries around any piece of me. Of us.
Assuming he抯 not just lying through his teeth for sympathy, which is always possible.
But my vision blurs anyway like a heavy, unwelcome rain sweeping in.
Don抰。 Just leave me alone, I send back with trembling fingers.
Of course, he doesn抰 listen.
He never did.
Jay: Dakota, please, just one chance. One hour to talk to you, to try. I抦 telling you I fucked up. But we don抰 have to let it end like that.
Yep. I抦 fully crying now, ducking down in my chair so nobody else can see the mess rolling down my red cheeks as I bury my face in a tissue.
I could, but I don抰 want to. It抯 too late. I抦 blocking you, I send a minute later.
Jay: I love you.
Dakota: I fucking loathe you.
Jay: I want you back.
He抯…he抯 drowning me. It hurts to breathe. I muster just enough energy to tap at the screen and send one more frantic F-you.
You don抰。 You DON扵， Jay, and I抦 not interested in trying or being your fucking little pity game. Text me again and die. You抮e blocked.
It抯 a miracle I抦 almost alone by the time I log off in a huff, grab my purse, and run for the elevator.
I barely manage to scramble on my bike and pedal home, counting every breath and every second until I抦 nestled in the sanctuary of my bed.
My ex抯 comeback attempt by text couldn抰 be more pathetic.
Except, I feel pathetic, wrapped up in the blankets and forced to remember so many times I抳e spent the last year teaching my brain to delete from my head.
Leave it to this human virus to short-circuit what little memory immunity I had.
Leave it to him to bring me back to the biggest disaster of my life.
My stomach flutters with a trillion butterflies.
I抦 waiting with Dad in the church foyer under a balmy North Dakota sun. Dallas isn抰 much compared to the big cities, but this small town knows how to make it classy.
There抯 an antique getaway car waiting for us after the ceremony, on loan from Thelma Simon and the McKnights with their massive car collection.
The decorations are laid out like a dream, all courtesy of Grace Barnet, a local girl who married a literal movie star. She rocks a rustic style to die for and her projects are booked out for months. I think I抳e been teleported back to my nineteenth century dream along with the church.
The dress I抦 wearing is sleeveless and modern and beautiful. I shiver against the breezy air conditioning.
揕et抯 get out from under this vent before we go blue,?Dad says with a chuckle.
I take small steps to the other side of the foyer, heels clicking against the marble floor. The dress is so tight I can barely breathe.
Dad matches my small steps like he抯 wiping away my jitters just by walking.
Mom comes in wearing a pale-blue dress. She抯 stunning, but I wonder why her face looks like that.
揇on抰 freak out,?she says with a forced smile. 揃ut the groom and his boys aren抰 here quite yet, and it抯 almost time to start. Maybe you should call Jay??
My stomach sinks and my mind goes off like a rabbit being chased by all the things that could go wrong.
Jay抯 a big drinker when he parties. His whole band is.
I hope to God they didn抰 smash it too hard and drive last night. I hope he抯 okay.
I know桰 want to believe梙e wouldn抰 miss the big day for the world.
I pick up my phone to call like Mom suggested, and there it is.
The text from hell.
I抦 sorry, Dakota. I have to follow my heart. Music is my life and my truest love. I can抰 be tied down with a wife. I抦 real sorry I didn抰 realize it sooner, but it抯 better like this. It抯 better than if we抎 gone through with it and I figured it out too late.
I blink in disbelief.
But the hot tears rolling down my cheeks don抰 lie.
揌oney, what抯 wrong??Mom asks.
I hand her my phone before it falls out of my hand.
揑桰 need to go home.?The words barely come out in a hoarse whisper. I look at Dad. 揗y car isn抰 here.?
揑抣l walk you to the old Ford. It抯 yours for the day. Take it wherever you want. Your mom and I will handle everything.?
He抯 fawning all over me with easy words, the kindest he can muster, but it抯 a day late and ten dollars short.
My stomach shifts from tremors to violent lurching.
I barely disappear behind the truck so I don抰 have an audience before I squeeze my eyes shut and heave.
When my stomach empties out, I remind myself to take a few deep breaths so I don抰 choke.
I抦 light-headed and probably not the safest driver. Fortunately, it抯 a small town on a bland day with virtually no traffic.
I get to our not honeymoon suite and slam the door so I can be alone.
The room is paid for in full. Someone might as well use it, I guess, even if it抯 turned into a fancy-looking torture chamber.
I can抰 figure out how to get out of the wedding dress by myself, so I梩he bride who arrived alone and sick, that has to be rare in this town of ever afters梘o to the front desk and ask to borrow scissors.
Back in my room, I cut through the silk and satin like they抮e prison ties.
I free myself from this damn dress and leave the tattered scraps on the floor.
I抣l pick them up tomorrow, or else I抣l just leave a really big tip for the cleaners.
Tonight, I live in the hotel bathrobe, collapsing into frantic red dreams.
Dark-grey fog swirls, blowing the wedding away.
I sit on my bed alone, scrolling through my Facebooger feed. A North Dakota wind whips through the fields and howls through narrow alleys, barraging the hotel like my own fist of a heart.
A mutual friend tagged Jay in a post.
A grungy little man who still laughs like he抯 fifteen and beats the drums, always out of sync except for the rare days when he抯 sober enough to find rhythm. He congratulates my heartless ex on having the courage to 揹o the hard thing, but dude, the RIGHT thing. For you and Sam.?
Sam?
Aaand that抯 how I find out Jay has been shacking up with his curvy vocalist since our last winter trip to California. It should抳e been a huge red flag that he wanted to spend so much time with 'the crew' while he left me exploring Redding alone.