AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Even two months after Cape Cod, I still got the urge to text Oscar.
Sometimes, I went as far as pulling up our old text thread. Once or twice, when something amazing or terrible or hilarious happened, I’d begin typing out a message before realizing what I was doing. Even when I’d changed his name in my contacts from “Oscar Overton” to “Do NOT Text Under Any Circumstance,” the urge hadn’t entirely gone away. In fact, avoiding him seemed to only get harder as time went on.
But it was necessary, I told myself. So necessary.
It had been difficult enough after spending two days and nights steeped in the sight and scent and feel of him, after watching that beautiful beach wedding surrounded by a bunch of his loved-up friends, after letting myself hope, to have him pull his disappearing act.
Far, far worse, though, had been the realization I’d come to while sitting in gridlocked Cape traffic on my way home with only my own thoughts for company: I wasn’t just angry at Oscar. I wasn’t just hurt. I was bereft. I was heartbroken. Because I was no longer poised on the edge of the friendship cliff. Sometime over that incredible weekend, I’d fallen hard.
And I’d fallen alone.
In the weeks that followed, it was really tempting to revert to my old post-breakup habits—to throw myself onto the sofa and binge-watch something romantic until I actually merged into the furniture—but something told me this time, there was no love story on Earth schmoopy enough to distract me from my pain. I was in love with a man who didn’t believe in love at all anymore, and even Shonda Rimes couldn’t save me.
So instead, I kept going as best I could. I honestly couldn’t remember much of what I did in those first days and weeks because for a long while, I marked my time by what I deliberately didn’t do. I didn’t stop working on my social media accounts or cancel any wedding contracts, even when capturing happy couples in love made my own heart ache. I didn’t stop dating, although looking back, I couldn’t recall the name or face of a single guy I went out with, and I’m sure they all found me as lively and emotionally available as a charcoal briquette. And I didn’t contact Oscar even once… no matter how many times each day I thought about him.
If it hadn’t been obvious by his abrupt departure, I’d have known by the tone of his nonapology in our last text conversation—blasé and dismissive, every inch the playboy billionaire—that Oscar had sensed my growing feelings or his own and had retrenched behind his protective hedgehog spikes.
I hated that for him, but I really hated it for me because although being without Oscar’s friendship killed me, in order to smother the fire I felt for him, I knew I had to cut off its supply of fuel entirely.
No more chatty texts. No more fashion consults. No more date postmortems. No more Frank pics.
No more torturing myself by falling harder every single day for a man who couldn’t—more like wouldn’t—commit.
After the first few painful weeks, I was able to find joy in my HEA TikTok account again. It allowed me to channel all my frustrated romantic feelings into something positive, and it was also growing enough to get attention from several couples who later hired me as their photographer.
Business was booming because love still existed in the world…
And someday, it would be my turn.
In early October, after a busy weekend shooting two weddings, I met Abby in the city for dinner. She’d called me Sunday night and asked if we could go for sushi at her favorite place, just the two of us. I assumed she was excited to discuss her wedding plans… or possibly so stressed about her wedding plans she’d rather discuss anything else. Either way, I was here for it. But as soon as I slid into the small booth across from her, I could tell it was neither of those things.
“What’s going on?” I demanded after five minutes of nervous laughter and failing to meet my eyes. “Are you okay? You don’t have bad news to share with me, do you?”
Her smile wavered. “No. Not bad… exactly. In fact, it’s good. Just unexpected.”
“Abs, out with it. You’re making me nervous. Are you pregnant? Switching careers? Moving away?” I couldn’t bring myself to guess anything truly terrible, but if it was a cancer scare, we’d get through it. She had good health insurance through the school district. I grabbed her hand on the tabletop and held it. “You can tell me anything.”
She took a deep breath. “Dex and I got married.”
I stared at her. Anything but that.
“Yesterday,” she went on. “We went to the local courthouse and said our vows during our lunch break.” She watched me with worried eyes. “Surprise?”
“I can’t tell if this is a joke or not…” I began. “I’m sorry. But… are you serious? Because?—”
She held out her hand so I could see the shiny gold wedding band next to her familiar engagement ring. “It’s not a joke. Please don’t be mad.”
I glanced from the ring up to her face. She was so worried about my reaction, my usual instinct to comfort her snapped automatically into place. “I’m not mad. I’m just… wow. Married. Why? I mean, why now?”
She pulled her hand back and clasped both hands tightly in her lap. “Last weekend, Dex and I got in a huge fight over roses. Rainbow roses, specifically. They were going to cost five thousand dollars, which is almost double our budget for flowers, and Dex said that was an insane amount of money, and couldn’t I be happy with just pink ones? And I reminded him that he was the one inviting literally three dozen second cousins, even though he doesn’t know most of them by name, so who was he to talk about economizing? He got so angry he stomped off, and I burst into tears. It was awful.”
“Oh, Abs—” I shook my head. “I’m so sorry.”
“No, it’s okay though.” She leaned forward. “Dex came back and hugged me, and we talked for hours. We realized we’ve spent so long arguing over details, spending all our free time scrolling wedding websites—which is kind of a joke because we have no free time since we’ve both been working so many hours trying to pay for every damn thing—that we lost sight of what the wedding is about in the first place. It’s about us, Hugh,” she explained when I stared at her blankly. “Me and Dex. And how much we love each other.”
I blinked. “Well, yes, obviously. But I still don’t understand. It’s because you love each other that you wanted it to be just right?—”
Abby shook her head like I was missing the point. “It doesn’t matter if the roses are pink or rainbow or nonexistent. It doesn’t matter if we have a band or a DJ or whether we get married in Dex’s mom’s church or at the beach. The whole point is to be with the person I care about. To build a future with him. To make sure he can get updates on my condition if I’m ever in the hospital again,” she added wryly.
