Chapter Two

I don't leave the venue.

I should. Should get in my car and drive home and never think about this night again.

But I'm contracted for four more hours and I need that two thousand dollars more than I need dignity.

So I hide in the bathroom. Reapply my makeup with shaking hands. Stare at myself in the mirror until the girl looking back stops crying.

Professional. I can be professional.

I walk back out. Avoid the main party. Head to the cocktail area where I'm supposed to be shooting candid moments.

That's when I see them.

Brandon and her. The blonde. His fiancée I guess. They're laughing with his parents. His mom's hugging the girl. Admiring the ring.

My ring.

My stomach turns.

I raise my camera. Force myself to focus. To do my job.

Through the lens I watch Brandon's hand on her back. The way he looks at her. The same way he used to look at me.

Four years of my life and he moved on in what? Days? Weeks?

How long has this been happening?

The shutter clicks. I'm shooting on autopilot now. Capturing their happiness. Their perfect moment.

I want to throw up.

"You okay?"

I jump. Lower my camera.

It's Tyler. Brandon's brother. The groom. He's looking at me with something like pity.

"Fine," I lie.

"You don't look fine."

"I'm working."

"Sloane." He says my name soft. Careful. Like I might break. "I didn't know. About Brandon and Kelsey. I swear if I'd known I never would've hired you for this."

Kelsey. So that's her name.

"It's fine," I say again.

"It's not fine. He's an asshole."

I almost laugh. "Yeah."

"You don't have to stay. I'll still pay you."

"I need the photos for my portfolio."

It's a lie. I need the money. But I'm not saying that out loud.

Tyler studies me. "He didn't deserve you. For what it's worth."

"Thanks."

He squeezes my shoulder and walks away.

I go back to shooting. Smile at guests. Adjust lighting. Pretend everything's normal.

An hour passes. Then two.

I'm photographing the cake when Brandon appears beside me.

"Sloane."

I don't look at him. Just keep shooting.

"Can we talk?"

"I'm working."

"After then."

"No."

"Sloane, please."

I lower my camera. Turn to face him. He looks nervous. Good.

"What do you want, Brandon?"

"I want to explain."

"Explain what? That you were cheating on me? That you bought a ring for someone else? That you wasted four years of my life?"

People are staring now. I don't care.

"Keep your voice down," he hisses.

"Why? Embarrassed?"

"You're making a scene."

"I'm making a scene?" I laugh. It sounds unhinged. "You proposed to another woman at a party I'm photographing and I'm making a scene?"

"I didn't know you'd be here!"

"Oh so that makes it better?"

He grabs my arm. Pulls me toward a quiet corner. I yank free but follow because I don't want an audience for this.

We end up in a hallway. Away from everyone.

"Let me explain," he says.

"Go ahead."

"Kelsey and I, it just happened."

"It just happened. You just accidentally bought a ring and proposed."

"It's not like that."

"Then what's it like, Brandon?"

He runs a hand through his hair. The same way he always does when he's frustrated. I used to find it endearing.

Now it makes me want to hit him.

"You and I," he starts. "We were comfortable. Safe. But there was no passion anymore."

"So you cheated."

"I didn't cheat."

"You were engaged to me in your head while dating her. That's cheating."

"We were never engaged, Sloane."

The words hit like a slap.

"I found the ring," I say quietly. "In your apartment. Three days ago."

His face goes pale. "You went through my stuff?"

"I was putting away laundry!"

"You had no right to do that."

"I had no right? I've been your girlfriend for four years! I do your laundry, cook your meals, clean your apartment, and I had no right to accidentally see a ring?"

"That's exactly the problem." His voice is cold now. Mean. "You're so clingy. So desperate. Always pushing for more. Marriage, kids, the whole thing. I felt suffocated."

I step back like he hit me.

"I'm clingy?"

"Yes. You're obsessive. Always going through my phone, my stuff."

"I never went through your phone."

"You would've. Eventually. Because you're insecure and paranoid and honestly Sloane, that's why I could never marry you."

The words keep coming. Each one sharper than the last.

"You're mediocre. As a photographer. As a girlfriend. Kelsey is successful. Confident. She doesn't need me to validate her entire existence."

My hands are shaking. I ball them into fists.

"Are you done?"

"I'm trying to help you understand."

"Understand what? That you're an asshole? Got it. Understood."

"See? This is exactly what I'm talking about. You're so emotional. So dramatic. You turn everything into a fight."

"I turn everything into a fight?" I stop. Take a breath. "You know what? You're right."

He blinks. "What?"

"You're absolutely right. I am emotional. And dramatic. And clingy. And you should definitely marry Kelsey instead."

"Sloane, wait."

"I hope you're very happy together."

I turn to leave.

"Wait."

I don't.

"Sloane, stop."

I keep walking.

He grabs my wrist. Spins me around.

"Don't walk away from me."

"Let go."

"Not until you listen."

"There's nothing left to say."

"I still care about you."

"You have a funny way of showing it."

"I'm trying to be honest!"

"You're trying to make yourself feel better about being a shitty person!"

My voice echoes down the hallway. Too loud. Way too loud.

Footsteps behind us.

"Is there a problem here?"

It's Tyler again. And his fiancée. And several guests. All staring at us.

Brandon drops my wrist. Steps back.

"No problem," he says smoothly. "Just talking."

"Didn't look like talking," Tyler says.

"Sloane and I are just clearing the air."

"The air seems pretty clear to me." Tyler looks at me. "You good?"

I nod. Don't trust my voice.

"Maybe you should go," Tyler says to Brandon.

"This is my brother's engagement party."

"And you're making our photographer uncomfortable. So go."

Brandon's jaw tightens. He looks at me. "This isn't over."

"Yes it is."

He walks away. Kelsey appears from somewhere and links her arm through his. They disappear into the party.

I'm left standing there. Shaking. Humiliated.

"I'm sorry," I tell Tyler. "I'll go."

"You don't have to leave."

"I do. I'm sorry. I'll send you the photos I got. No charge."

"Sloane, please."

But I'm already walking. Past the guests. Past the whispers. Past everything.

I make it to my car before the crying starts.

Four years.

Four years of my life and he called me mediocre.

Clingy. Desperate. Obsessive.

Maybe he's right.

Maybe I am all those things.

My phone buzzes. Maya.

**Maya: Where are you?**

**Me: Leaving Tyler's party**

**Maya: What happened?**

**Me: Brandon proposed to someone else**

My phone rings immediately.

"WHAT?"

I tell her everything. The ring. The proposal. The fight. All of it.

"I'm coming over," she says.

"You don't have to."

"I'm already in my car."

She hangs up.

I sit there in the parking lot. Makeup ruined. Dress wrinkled. Camera equipment in my passenger seat.

This is my life.

Twenty-six years old and I have nothing. No boyfriend. No savings. No prospects.

Just a mediocre photography business and a whole lot of regret.

My phone buzzes again.

Unknown number.

I almost don't open it.

**Unknown: I saw what happened. Brandon's an asshole. You deserve better.**

Who is this?

**Me: Who is this?**

**Unknown: A friend**

**Me: I don't have friends I don't know**

**Unknown: You do now. And trust me, you're better off without him.**

I stare at the message. Should probably block the number.

Instead I type: **Thanks I guess**

**Unknown: Get home safe, Sloane**

They know my name.

That should be creepy but somehow it's not.

I drive home in a daze. Maya's already there when I arrive. Sitting on my apartment steps with a bottle of wine and ice cream.

"Come here," she says.

I collapse next to her. She opens the wine. We drink straight from the bottle.

"He called me mediocre," I say.

"He's an idiot."

"He said I'm clingy."

"He's a lying idiot."

"He said that's why he could never marry me."

Maya's quiet for a long moment. Then: "Good."

I look at her.

"Good," she repeats. "Because you don't want to marry someone who thinks you're mediocre. Who makes you small. Who tears you down."

"But what if he's right?"

"He's not."

"You don't know that."

"I do." She takes the wine bottle from me. Drinks. "You're talented. You're kind. You're loyal. And Brandon is a narcissistic asshole who couldn't handle having a girlfriend who might actually succeed without him."

"I'm not successful."

"Yet. You're not successful yet."

I want to believe her. Want to think there's something better coming.

But right now all I feel is empty.

We sit there until the wine's gone. Until Maya has to leave for work tomorrow. Until I'm alone again in my mediocre apartment with my mediocre life.

I check my phone one more time before bed.

Another message from that unknown number.

**Unknown: Tomorrow will be better. Promise.**

I don't believe them.

But I save the number anyway.