Page 31 of My Ex-Fiance's Best Men
Tears prick my eyes as I reach my floor and stumble into the hallway, their replies echoing in the back of my head.
“Don’t be a stranger, Phoebe,” August had requested.
“I won’t, I promise,” I told him.
“We’ll see you soon,” Dominic said.
“Text us when you’re settled,” Theo added.
I feel awful and on the verge of tears upon reaching my door. My guilt is overwhelming, along with the ease of my self-sabotage.
“What the…” I mutter as I notice the note taped to my door.
I recognize the writing. Black ink on a yellow Post-It.
Dinner at our place tomorrow night. 8 p.m.—sharp. Bring the groomsmen. Love, Mom.
“Oh, shit,” I groan, realizing I’m about to deal with the downfall of my Hawaiian escapade, fully aware that Dominic, August, and Theo probably received similar invitations of their own, taped to their doors.
Once I’m inside my apartment, the feeling of home envelops me. For a moment, the thought gives me comfort. But the ghosts of my past quickly return to haunt me, their laughter and harsh words stinging, taking nasty bites out of my soul. I wonder what my mother has planned for dinner while I unpack, then jump into the shower.
“Hey, Mom,” I call her afterward, putting the phone on speaker as I pat myself dry in front of the bedroom mirror. “You left a note on my door.”
“Oh, you do know how to use the phone,” Mom replies in a flat tone. Passive-aggressive as always. Forever true to her personal brand. “Welcome back.”
“Glad to be back.”
“Really?”
No, but she doesn’t need to know that.
“Of course,” I reply in an equally flat tone. “There’s no place like home. So, you mentioned something about dinner?”
“Yes, darling. I’m expecting the four of you tomorrow evening at our family home,” my mother says. “I’ve extended invitations to the three dashing groomsmen you eloped to Hawaii with, as well. And I’m not taking no for an answer if that’s what you’re calling about.”
“Actually, it is what I was calling about—wait, eloped?”
“That’s what those people on social media called it.”
“We didn’t elope,” I reply with a sigh. “I just didn’t want to miss out on an already paid two-week trip to Hawaii, given the circumstances.”
“Circumstances for which you share part of the blame.”
“I’m going to hang up, now, Mom,” I bluntly end the conversation.
I want to throw the phone against the wall, but I take a deep breath to temper myself instead. I sit on the edge of the bed, searching my reflection in the mirror.
In Hawaii, I felt beautiful. Even naked, I liked the woman smiling back at me.
In New York, however, she’s the same Phoebe who got dumped on the eve of her wedding. Waves of hot tears come over me. Tears I thought I’d already shed. I cry my heart out, curled up on my bed, wishing for a better ending to my story.
Nobody and nothing changed while I was away.
As evening fallsover the city, I sit at the window in my living room with a glass of iced tea. My eyes feel puffy, my soul heavy. I missed my home, my little safe corner of the world. When I got this apartment, it didn’t come with a separate decorating budget, and my job at my father’s company didn’t pay enough to cover everything I wanted to do with the place. But I do like the way it turned out, with its gray walls and earthy tones, plush seating and eclectic artwork. Each piece tells a story of where I found it and how I came to buy it. Mostly from flea markets and tiny art shops across Yonkers.
There’s a little piece of me in every inch of this place, and the view makes my heart grow every time I look out and see the green layers of Central Park unraveling before my eyes.
A knock on the door startles me. Penny left less than twenty minutes ago. She must have forgotten something. But as I open the door, my breath leaves me.
