Page 130 of How to Walk Away

“I’m not!”

“It’s not disloyal to me. I’m fine.”

“He cheated on you! He gave up on you.”

“It was a messy time.”

She didn’t need to be mad for me. She really didn’t. Hadn’t we all lost enough?

I got it. I did. Best friends are not easy to come by. The two stayed friends, and they avoided talking about either one of us, until one day Evelyn just had to tell her about the upcoming nuptials.

My mom got the scoop: Chip had been promoted not once, but twice, and had risen through the ranks of his investment bank in exactly the way you’d expect a guy as handsome and WASPy and confident as Chip to rise. He was highly promotable. In fact, they’d transferred him to their Brussels office.

“Chip is living in Belgium?”

My mom nodded.

“He doesn’t even speak French!”

I felt a flash of resentment—quick but distinct. Chip got promoted? To Europe? The crash sure hadn’t slowed him down. Was his life really going to be that easy? I got that sour feeling that comes when you make the mistake of thinking someone else is beating you at life.

But then I took a mental breath.

So what? Chip was in Brussels. But I was genuinely okay in Texas. We had both moved on. We could both be okay at the same time. We weren’t on a seesaw, for Pete’s sake! There was plenty of okay to go around.

Just because Chip had gotten what he’d wanted so easily, without ever having to question it, without ever having to struggle—that didn’t necessarily mean that what he got wasbetter.

“I’ve known about the wedding for a while,” my mother confessed. “Evelyn warned me.”

“You didn’t tell me?”

“I thought it would fall through,” my mom said. “Apparently, that girlfollowedhim to Brussels. She showed up at the airport with all her bags and announced she was coming along.”

I shrugged. You had to give it to her. “Ballsy.”

My mother closed her eyes. “Please don’t talk about balls at dinner.” Then she went on, “The good news is, it’s in Europe, so no one could possibly expect us to go.”

“Did you know they were going to invite everybody but me?” I asked, showing her the envelope.

From her face, she didn’t. “That must be a mistake,” she said.

That calligraphy did not look like a mistake to me, but before I could say so, my mom’s phone rang.

It was Kit.

My mom put her on speaker.

“Did you hear about the wedding?” Kit demanded.

“We just got the invitation,” my mom said.

“And I’m not on it,” I added. “They invited everybody but me.”

“I think it was an oversight,” my mother declared.

“Maybe they’re sending you a special one,” Kit suggested.

I gave my mom a look. “Unlikely.”

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