I have a hazy beginning of an idea, but I don’t know what to make of it. I’m definitely not emotionally prepared for it yet, and I don’t know if it’s even possible. If—and this is a Mount Everest–sized if—I could find a guy willing to pretend to be my groom, could I pass us off as a couple? Could we stage a wedding? It wouldn’t have to be legally binding. It would only have to look real. I could let Blake heal in peace and give him the space he deserves; my reputation would survive intact; I could make a last-ditch attempt at saving Brooklyn Jewels; and even if the sales spike from a wedding isn’t enough to justify signing the new lease, at least I’ll have tried.

But I don’t think I’m strong enough to do that right now. Missing Blake feels like the deafening roar of an airplane engine in my ears, like a gut punch, like bumping a deep purple bruise. Even if I could manage to pull off a fake wedding, I don’t think I could make it down the aisle without tears in my eyes and a lump in my throat. I can’t fathom having enough space in my head or heart to welcome a new relationship—not even a fake one.

I’m brought back to reality by Jess’s hand on my shoulder.

“Hey, I have to go,” she says apologetically. “I really hope you’re okay. I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Oh!” I stand up and feel a rush to my head. “Yeah, yeah, of course. Thanks for coming out. It really means a lot to me.”

She hugs me goodbye.

“We’re actually going to head out, too,” Sophie says.

She and Liv take turns saying goodbye.

“Honestly, consider this a bullet dodged,” Liv says. “The divorce rates for couples who meet and marry in under a year are astronomical, believe me.”

“And there’s the annoyingly practical comment I’m sure you’ve been holding in for months,” I retort.

She holds up her hands. “Just telling the truth.”

“Oh god, let’s go before you make this worse,” Sophie says, pulling her wife toward the door. Then she turns back to me, calling out, “Love you! Night.”

The rest of the group starts to stand, now that the circle of people has been broken.

“You okay?” Carmen asks. She rubs my arm sympathetically. “You kinda spaced out there for a bit.”

“Yeah. No? I don’t know,” I say, shrugging. “This has been the best night, really. It’s all just sort of hitting me. You know, the pile of shit I’ve buried myself under.”

“You’ll find your way out,” Sasha says encouragingly.

“And if not, you should go see my therapist,” Caroline suggests. “She’s amazing.”