We, meaning Marianne, John, and I, got to the venue early to let the decorators in. Marianne wanted to make sure everything was perfect, so she had us supervise the crew as they were setting up and instructed us to find her immediately if something looked off to us. I was not the right person for the job. Everything looked expensive and bougie and the decorators were professionals. They would have fixed errors before I would have even caught them. Marianne didn't need to know about my inadequacy on top of her stress, though. The lavishness of the ambience simply dazzled me too much to be detail-focused.

Andrew and Laura, and I suspected to a large extent their parents, had chosen a beautiful estate on the Hudson which would have fit up to 150 guests, but they had put their foot down and insisted on inviting "only" about a hundred people. To compensate, they had gone overboard with the menu and thus catering expenses, Marianne had told me in confidence. I had tried to get a good night's sleep which had proved easy with my exhaustion from the long drive and willing myself not to speak to John more than what was necessary. Marianne hadn't outright asked me about it, but her knowing looks said she still had a pretty good idea of what was going on. Maybe John had even talked to her about our falling out. They were closer than he let on.

John and I and the five feet of strained silence between us were watching the decorators preparing the tables in the ballroom, careful not to scratch the hardwood floor—when from across the room, someone called: "Johnny? Little Johnny, is that you?"

I turned around curiously. The textbook TFB to whom the voice belonged was about Andrew's age, a few inches taller than John, buff, and had dark, wavy hair which was meticulously done. He was a classic case of a man wearing a suit and not a suit wearing a man. My guess was: a lawyer at a gigantic New York firm in which he was essentially invisible but was grateful for every degradation they offered him, thinking it would make him tougher and valuable to the firm until he'd be promoted to partner one day.

"Hey, Tom. Long time no see." John's response was less enthusiastic, no doubt due to the nickname.

Tom engulfed him in one of these bro hugs you didn't usually see at formal occasions like these: the kind of hug where you thought the men were going to shake hands and then they patted each other on the back while never once letting go of each other's hand. It was a bizarre ritual.

After letting go of John, he gave me a quick once-over.

"And who might this be, your girlfriend?"

I rolled my eyes. "I'm right here. That gives you the privilege to talk to me instead of about me."

The laugh John suppressed turned into a smirk.

Tom donned an amused attitude. "Oh-ho, alright then. Who might you be, Johnny's girlfriend?"

"A friend of John's from college if you must know. Grace." I didn't get into the nuances.

Staying polite, I extended a hand to him which he shook firmly like a normal person.

"Tom. I'm Andrew's best friend from high school. God, how time flies, eh? I haven't seen Johnny here," he clapped his back forcefully, "since he was the tender age of 10 or 11."

John opened his mouth, possibly to inform Tom that he went by John, but closed it again. I couldn't blame him. This guy wasn't worth his time. It was hard to believe that respectful straight-shooter Andrew had been friends, let alone best friends, with a guy like Tom, and was apparently still friends with him if he had invited him to his wedding. A short period of silence ensued as Tom eyed me benevolently.

"Tom, why don't you go instruct the decorators how to set up the arch in the other room?" John eventually suggested, impatience lacing his syllables.

I narrowed my eyes at him and shook my head ever so slightly to say 'what are you talking about?' Apart from the fact that this was a bullshit task, Tom couldn't have and wouldn't have helped with it even if it had been meaningful. Marianne would have slapped John over the head with her clipboard if she had known he was attempting to put guests to work.

"Fine," John pressed the words through his teeth, "I'll do it myself."

Tom shrugged. The decorating crew had almost finished. Right on time, because the caterers began to roll in the trays and the bulk of the guests would be arriving in a few minutes. Now awkwardly standing around, I started blowing up balloons to help the staff. Marianne would have scolded me had she been in the room.

When Tom asked if he could help, my head was getting lighter and lighter, so I said yes. To my surprise, his hand dug into the bag of gold and white and grabbed a balloon to blow up. At least he was a TFB who wasn't too good to lend a hand. The bonus was that he couldn't continue to spew nonsense in the meantime.

After working side by side for a while, Tom suggested to take 5, motioning at my face which was beet red, I was sure. I could not have cared less, however. I wouldn't let anyone make me feel embarrassed for having worked. Tom sensed I merely tolerated his presence for the moment and started a last offensive at engaging me in a conversation.

"So, a friend from college if you must know, what brings you to this wedding?"

I gave the briefest explanation possible: "Laura and Marianne invited me."

"Cool, cool." After a long moment of awkward silence, he added: "Hey, I feel like we got off on the wrong foot." I arched an eyebrow. You think? "Can we start over? Hi, I'm Tom."

I hesitated for a moment, but he looked at me so earnestly that I eventually shook his hand and replied: "Grace."

"Nice to meet you, Grace. Shouldn't you be getting changed if your hair is already done so nicely?"

My hand flew to the curls in my hair which had by now begun to dissolve into waves because I had refused to put an entire can of hairspray on them.

My eyelids fluttered rapidly. "Excuse me, sir, have you seen this Tom guy? Tall, buff, chauvinist extraordinaire?"

He shot me a lopsided grin. "I deserve that. Do you want something to drink?"

While he was off getting me some water, I pulled out my phone to check for messages. Nothing new. Liam was still being petty, and if there was one thing I excelled at it was being petty. So instead of dropping him a line, I texted Linh to ask how far they had gotten on their trip to Greg's family's in Ohio. I pushed my phone back into my back jean pocket when Tom returned and extended a small bottle of water to me. I accepted it and thanked him.

"Who were you texting?" This time around he was more friendly than pushy.

"My friend. She's spending winter break with her boyfriend and his family in Ohio."

"Where in Ohio?" Tom sounded sincerely interested. This guy was a riddle.

"I actually don't know. John probably would, my friend's boyfriend is his teammate."

"I went to Cincinnati on a business trip last fall and really enjoyed it. It's not New York, of course, but it's an up-and-coming city. We were fortunate enough to catch a play on the quasi-Broadway they have. It was excellent!"

Was it possible that Tom was a reasonably interesting person to talk to after all? I wouldn't have bet my savings account on his suddenly emerging nice guy act, but I wasn't complaining.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw John approaching before he rested his hand on my waist. I flinched from the buzz it gave me, narrowed my eyes and shot him a challenging look. Even as he withdrew his hand, he didn't step away.

Instead, he deadpanned in the direction of Tom: "Would you excuse us for a second," then guided me a good fifteen feet away without so much as waiting for the other's reply.

When we came to a halt, I opened my mouth to protest his ill manners, but before I could get anything out, he shot: "Stop."

My brain had already forgotten I had been rudely pulled away from my chat with Tom and was now trying to adjust to this unknown script which had been forced upon it.

"Right... and tell me again what I should stop?" To my regret, my confusion kept me from coming up with a quick-witted response.

His eyes looked anywhere but at me. "You all but ignore me on the drive down here yesterday, barely say a word to me today, but you go have a nice chat with a tool like Tom?"

Oh.

"I get it, I missed my shot with you. But you don't have to rub it in."

O—Come again? What was I supposed to make of that? My patience with this conversation was wearing extremely thin. He knew how I felt about him, why did he keep saying shit like this? And why did his admission make my stomach flutter so badly? If he was toying with me again... I couldn't get my heart broken by this man a second time. I wouldn't.

"John, I don't know anyone here and I'm trying to be sociable. Not everything is about you."

But, sadly, even after all these weeks, after all the pain, it was. I could deny it all I wanted, but the way my heart jumped in my chest when I brushed past John betrayed me. Maneuvering my way through the throngs of people who had since arrived and now crowded the place, I snuck to the buffet. In my mind, I replayed what had just transpired, including my knee-jerk inappropriate reply. This would have been the opportunity to clear the air—if only I knew what my goal was.

Where was this suddenly coming from? He was the one who had made it clear in December where he stood. And now he had the nerve to pull me aside at this social gathering and tell me... what, exactly? He was jealous of this random guy? He had feelings for me? I'm not reading too much into this, right? Goddamnit, John, why do you always keep me guessing?

The point was the same one it had always been: he had a girlfriend, I had a boyfriend, what were we even talking about here? There was no wiggle room. Were his emotions running wild because of the wedding? It was a big deal to see one's sibling off to marriage, I had to assume. And with some people so teary-eyed before they had even set foot across the doorstep, I could see how that might have caught onto the brother of the groom. But then he should have slipped out for a minute to collect himself instead of harassing me. Right? After all—

"Grace!" Laura said loudly.

I spun around, still disoriented.

"I said: are you going to eat that cupcake or twist it in your hand some more while staring off into space?"

"What do you mean?" I quipped. "This is an essential step in the intricate process of the ideal consumption of cupcakes." I hadn't realized I was even holding one of the pink monstrosities topped with 2-inch high snow white icing with edible gold glitter. Looking around, I noticed the buffet hadn't been opened yet, but now I had already picked something up.

"Care to share what's gotten you in such a daze?" She put on what I assumed was her best you-can-tell-me face.

Little did she know her second or third best would have sufficed at this point. I had no one else to talk to at the moment, so of course I was going to tell Laura. She was the closest thing to a friend I had here.

"John pulled me aside to tell me that he regrets not having asked me out? I think?" Laura's moss-colored eyes widened, I tried to specify: "He said I didn't need to rub it in that he missed his shot with me by ignoring him and talking to strangers instead."

"Holy—he said that?"

"Right?"

"Those Jay boys wouldn't talk about their feelings if their life depended on it—at least not in broad daylight," she scoffed.

"I mean, it's sweet in an overstepping way—or maybe it's overstepping in a sweet way?—but isn't that super unfair to his girlfriend?"

If it isn't the traitor herself who's suddenly acting all virtuous. Regardless, It felt good to let all of the thoughts pour out that had plagued me ever since Thanksgiving break. Jessica was an angel, but I couldn't burden her with all of the John thoughts on my mind.

"Huh?" Laura was distracted as she observed something or someone over my shoulder. "Oh. Ah... what did he have to say about that?"

"Nothing, I ended the conversation before he got the chance to say anything."

"I think you should go back and talk to him." Her stare didn't allow for objections.

Taking note of the time displayed on the delicate silver watch on her left wrist she then excused herself to find her maid of honor who was to help her slip into her gown for the imminent ceremony—something she should have already been doing. I was left to the cupcake tower. My eyebrows knitted together in suspicion as she waltzed away in her pre-ceremony white sundress.

"How are they?"

Andrew had silently stepped beside me and pointed at the still untouched cupcake in my hand. Why was everybody asking about the baked goods of all things? Just because the buffet hadn't been opened?

"I don't know, but I fully expect this one to single-handedly satisfy my sugar requirement for an entire week."

"Fair." A grin spread across his face, but I could see through it to the nerves underneath. "Anyway, please try them and tell me they're the best pastry you've ever had as convincingly as you can. I don't even want to think about how much we paid for those. The flavor is probably fairy dust or some other God-awful nonsense."

"Actually, Andrew, can I ask you something? I know it's not the most important thing today, so if you have to go..."

He shrugged. "Sure, ask away."

"Has your brother said anything to you?"

He looked at me blankly. "We have had conversations before, yes. You're going to have to be a little more specific."

I exhaled in frustration. Sometimes you don't realize how difficult it is to ask something without asking it.

"Do you know why his girlfriend didn't come?"

"Wait, he's seeing someone?"

I must have looked at him like he was an idiot, which, to be fair, wasn't far from my thoughts, because he caught my drift.

"Oh, you mean Jenna? They broke up weeks ago. That's why Mom invi—"

All color drained from my face. Oh my God.

When he noticed my open-mouthed, outright shocked face, he pursed his lips.

"Oops, I thought you knew. Crap. I know you'll want to talk about it to him, but be a darling and don't tell him I told you. I would like to live to see myself tying the knot with the most beautiful woman in the world."

He, too, excused himself and left me to myself once again. My appetite had disappeared if it had even been there to begin with. I should have seen this coming. Why didn't I see this coming? As I carefully set the pastry in my hand back on the bottom tray of the tower, an older man in a hideous purple polka-dot tie eyed me.

His dirty look bounced right off me. "I didn't lick it, alright?"

John and his girlfriend were broken up. Separated. Nottogether anymore. He was single. Oh myGod.