Chapter 2

At nine-twenty the next morning, Queenie called me twelve times.

I didn't answer a single one.

At nine-thirty, she sent a message.

Queenie: [You're late.]

At 10:03, she sent another message: [The screening clinic isn't busy today. There's still time if you come now.]

At 10:27, she sent another message: [I don't like it when people break their appointments.]

I looked at the screen and replied with one word. [Canceled.]

She replied almost instantly. [Reason.]

I didn't reply again.

The manager of the wedding company called me this afternoon to schedule a meeting for later today.

...

"Mr. Macy, Ms. Gibbs asked us to confirm which one is the groom."

I stopped in my tracks. "What do you mean?"

"The program schedule she sent over lists two candidates for the groom. We need the final names. The flowers, the seating chart, and the emcee's script all have to be finalized."

"She didn't tell you?"

The manager looked uncomfortable and handed me a document. It was the program schedule, revised by Queenie herself.

Where it had originally said "Groom: Darren Macy," she'd crossed it out and handwritten a line beside it.

[Pending final evaluation.]

Below that were two names.

A: Darren Macy.

B: Bill Hutley.

I stared at the paper and suddenly felt my stomach churn.

I'd spent eight months planning this wedding.

She'd mentioned offhand that she liked white lisianthus, so I went to three different florists to order them. She didn't like bright red, so I switched the invitations, the tablecloths, and the party favors to dusty blue.

Her mother, Charice Gibbs, had trouble getting around, so I put the head table closest to the elevator and even had ramps laid over the steps in advance.

I had also rewritten my vows seventeen times. Every version had the same name in it.

Now, she'd casually crossed my name out and swapped it for a list of candidates.

I laughed. "Just cancel it."

The manager didn't dare say a word.

I picked up a pen and signed the contract termination page.

The moment I finished, the office door swung open.

Queenie stood in the doorway. She wore a white blouse with her sleeves rolled up to her forearms, and her face was much colder than it had been last night.

"Who said you could cancel? I don't agree to this."

She walked over and pressed her hand flat on the contract. "I haven't backed out. I just haven't decided who the groom is yet."

I looked at her hand on the paper.

They were beautiful hands. Back when she worked overtime until the early hours, I used to warm them for her and rub lotion into them. She said physical comfort was effective at lowering stress.

At the time, I'd thought it was one of her rare moments of letting herself be sweet with me.

Only now did I realize she just needed me to provide value.

"I told you, Bill is only a backup."

"So I'm a backup too."

"Do you have to put it so harshly?" She stared at me. "Darren, do you think doing this will force me to give up Bill?"

She pressed her lips together. "I can wipe his intimacy samples back to zero."

"Even the ones where you slept with him?"

That seemed to stump her.

After a few seconds, she took a tablet out of her bag. "Look at this before you decide."

On the screen was a new spreadsheet. She had lowered Bill's stability score and raised my emotional volatility risk.

The last line read: [Darren's stress tolerance has recently declined. Monitor whether he is suited for joint decision-making after marriage.]

I looked at those words and went quiet.

So after she cheated on me, even being hurt cost me points.

She looked at the screen. "If you keep trying to cancel the wedding, your short-term stability will drop to 83. At that point, even if you want to get married, I won't marry you."

Her words were harsh, but her eyes stayed fixed on me, as if she were waiting for me to get scared.

I just slid the program schedule back across to the manager. "Whoever she picks, you don't need to let me know."