He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet, then yanks a business card and pen out from somewhere. He scribbles a number on the card and then passes it over to me. On one side, embossed in glossy black letters, is his name:
Quinn Young
Producer and Creative Director
And on the other is a phone number with the name Andrea Nguyen.
"You're going to walk back into that party with a plan," he says in his deep, comforting voice as he looks into my eyes. "You're going to have the poise and grace you've shown all night when you go say goodbye to the bride and groom...and then, first thing when you wake up, you're going to call that number."
"Yours?" I ask.
He grins. "No... not mine. Andrea. She's a therapist."
I gape at him. "You're telling me I need therapy?"
"We all need therapy, Maddie," he says with a laugh. "Just...go back to the party and plan to call the number. And I'll walk you to your room when you're ready to go, okay?"
I glance back at Kylie and my father and remind myself to breathe. I remind myself, too, that Kylie is my best friend—that, in any other circumstances, I would stay at her side until we all went to bed.
She needs me.
And I can do this.
"Okay," I say. "Party. Bed. Then therapy."
"That's the spirit," he says, squeezing my shoulders. "You ready?"
I nod. "Let's go."
Quinn takes my arm, and together, we walk back to the party. Somehow, I manage to stay perfectly cordial, calm, and collected, showing the grace that I've had all night.
But there's one thing on my mind as I drift off to sleep in one of the many guest rooms on my dad's property.
When Quinn came out to the lake, he said he found me there by accident. He said he didn't plan on meeting up with me, that my dad didn't send him, that he wasn't worried, and that he just needed some space for himself.
Which begs the question: why did he have two water bottles?
Chapter two
Madison
Igohometoan empty apartment. I don't think we talk enough about roommates when it comes to weddings. Because your best friend, who you moved to the city with, goes off and falls in love...and then you come home, and your house is empty. You can't talk to her about anything and everything, and you're happy for her because she's so happy, but you're selfish and...
...yeah.
Maybe Quinn is right.
Maybe I really do need therapy.
I get home from the wedding and toss my bag unceremoniously on the floor. Things have been pretty messy around here—life gets chaotic when you're the Maid of Honor—and that combined with Kylie's move to produce true anarchy in my apartment. The walls are empty of missing artwork and photos that she took with her, there's a ring of dust on the floor where she used to have her favorite chair, and the place is just...well, generally too quiet.
I do my usual routine—go to my room, change into comfy pants, make sure I have my phone and a glass of water—then I crash on the couch. I don't have any plans for the day, and I took tomorrow off, too, just in case I needed it, though I kind of wish I had the distraction of work anyway. I've been working as an assistant at an architecture firm, and I normally hate it, but now I don't have anything else to do.
I turn on the TV and start to flip through the channels, browsing through anything and everything. It doesn't interest me—nothing does lately. Any other week, I would have settled into my end of the couch while Kylie curled up in her armchair, and we would've watched The Bachelor.
Not tonight.
We've agreed to meet up and continue to do that anyway, but tonight, she's on her honeymoon.