“Surprise!” a chorus cries out just before I’m wrapped in hugs, multiple pairs of arms circling me.

“Congratulations, wifey!” James’s booming voice reaches out over all the others, loud enough to act as a gut punch on top of the shit sundae of the last twenty-four hours.

Could this day get any worse?

One of my best work friends, Tessa, grabs my hands, squeezing way harder than necessary. I do my best not to cry. Or throw up. Not sure which would be better (or worse) at this point.

Tessa’s fingers are probing my most-definitely-bare left hand, as if by poking and prodding she might uncover a hidden diamond. When she finally accepts there’s no shining ring to be found, she loosens her grip and meets my eyes. “Oh, honey. What happened?”

I don’t know if it’s her words or my overall appearance or the fact that I’m still standing in the doorway completely frozen, but a hush falls over the room.

“We broke up,” I finally manage to choke out. And combined with the cryptic DM from Seth and the surprise phone call from my mother, it doesn’t even feel like the worst of my problems right now. But it is the easiest one to say out loud. “He broke up with me. He dumped me.”

“On your engagement night?” Corey shrieks, her voice so shrill I wince.

The room explodes with various cries of outrage and disbelief, every euphemism for male genitalia rocketing around the room so fast my already wobbly head spins.

Finally, a firm set of hands lands on my shoulders, shooing Tessa aside. Natasha’s pale but bronzed, wrinkle-free face hovers inches away from mine. She has to squat to lower herself to my eye level. “Lana. Ignore everyone else in this room and tell me what happened.”

And because I am nothing if not a dutiful employee, I open my mouth and spill everything, from the restaurant to the martinis to the blinding hangover. I leave out the DM from Seth and the second wave of drunk therapy it inspired, as well as the call just now with my mom—there’s a limit to the amount of pity I’m willing to subject myself to. When I finish up with my word vomit—thankfully avoiding any real vomit—Natasha guides me to a chair and pushes me down.

Everyone else has already found a seat by this point, and somehow they manage to stay quiet until Natasha takes her spot at the head of the table. She remains standing, towering over all of us.

“What a fucking dick,” Corey mumbles from my left.

Tessa, on my right, reaches over and squeezes my hand. “He doesn’t deserve you.”