Chapter 1Wrecking My Own Wedding

The eve of my wedding, I got served a video on TikTok.

It was one of those viral trends, a guy doing a funny, over-the-top impression of a dramatic movie scene. Without thinking, I tapped on the comments to see what nonsense people were writing.

The top comment wasn't text. It was a photo.

A man has a woman pinned against the wall in a dimly lit alleyway. He’s tall, dressed in a sharp suit; she’s in a short, burgundy dress, her body electric. Anyone would say they looked good together. Made for each other, even.

Only the crushed diamonds on his watch face caught the light and stabbed me in the eye.

They reflected two letters, E and C, with a tacky, heart-shaped ampersand sparkling between them.

E for Ethan, C for Chloe.

My five-year anniversary gift to him.

And the woman he was kissing? A little rabbit charm, adorned with a red rose, dangled from her purse.

A gift I knitted with my own hands for my best friend.

* * *

I made three of those rabbits.

The day I finished, I’d just put down my needles, not even having had the chance to arrange them on the shelf, when Maya burst in carrying a clinking tote bag.

She made a beeline for the fridge, pulling out mixers with the ease of someone who practically lived here. “Chlo, tonight I’m drinking until I forget my own name.”

I smiled, helping her line up the bottles on the counter. “When was the last time you were drunk enough to actually make it back to your own place?”

Maya loved to drink. She was a mixologist at one of the city’s best cocktail bars, so she couldn’t indulge at work. My apartment was her sanctuary, the one place she could really let go. I have asthma and have to be careful about everything, so it was always Ethan who would drink with her, while I’d sip on whatever non-alcoholic concoction Maya made for me. When she’d had enough, we’d carry her to the guest room and Ethan would take the couch for the night.

She paused, then let out a huge, uninhibited laugh. “You got me. Okay, then—let’s just get wasted!”

Maya’s talents weren’t limited to alcohol; her mocktails were just as incredible. While I stood in front of the open fridge, trying to plan dinner, her eyes lit up and she darted over to the couch.

“Well, look what we have here!” Maya squealed, grabbing one of the rabbits by its armpits and holding it high above her head. “Simba!”

She clutched it to her chest like it was a priceless treasure. “Is this my birthday present?”

“It is.”

Maya ran over and wrapped me in a hug that smelled faintly of lime and bitters. “Oh, thank you, my love! I’m going to kiss your whole adorable face on God’s behalf!”

We ended up wrestling playfully in the kitchen. The cake Maya had ordered arrived, and without a second thought, she swiped a dollop of frosting onto my nose.

“Bet you can’t catch me!” she taunted.

“Hey! You and your long legs!”

I was annoyed, but she was right. I could never catch her. Not when we were kids, not now.

We messed around like that for two hours until we collapsed in a heap, completely exhausted. I face-planted onto the sofa and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

I woke up to the smell of takeout. Ethan was home from work, unpacking containers on the counter. He’d also brought a small, palm-sized cake.

It was from the bakery on the west side. The one I’d been begging him to make a detour for for months, the one he always said was too out of the way.

I leaned against the kitchen island, a pouty, half-joking complaint on my lips, and completely missed the rigid set of Maya’s shoulders.

Ethan arranged the food on plates, then dimmed the lights and sat down next to me.

Maya held up the cake, two crooked candles sputtering on top. “Happy thirtieth to me!” she shouted.

“Happy birthday!” Ethan said, a fraction of a second before I could.

The smile froze on Maya’s face. The air in the room thickened into a strange, uncomfortable silence.

A sudden wave of awkwardness washed over me. I stood up and went to my bedroom to get her real gift.

When I came back, an open gift box sat on the table next to her.

So that’s what had been bulging in Ethan’s pocket.

It was a bracelet. The exact same one I was about to give her.

I froze, unsure what to do. Maya snatched the bag from my hand, tore open the box, and fastened the second bracelet onto her wrist.

She held her arm up to the light, taking a dozen pictures from every angle, her praise a waterfall of superlatives. “It’s gorgeous! I absolutely love it! Chloe, darling, your taste is impeccable! You’re such an artist!”

But her performance didn’t dispel the awkwardness. It amplified it, feeding on the way Ethan’s lips were pressed into a thin, hard line.

“You two are on the same wavelength,” Maya gushed, filling the silence. “Ethan got me the same one. Now we can wear them as friendship bracelets!”

“I’m glad you like it,” I managed to say, my smile feeling like a cheap mask.

Eight years together, and Ethan had never given me a gift that felt like he’d put any real thought into it.

My mind was a tangled mess. I forced myself to smile and listen to Maya’s drunken, off-key singing, staying with her until she was completely wasted.

For some reason, Ethan, who could usually hold his liquor, was drunk even faster than she was.

I was so busy taking care of the two of them that I didn’t notice until Maya was stumbling out the door that she’d grabbed the wrong rabbit.

The one I’d made for her—the one with the red rose—was sitting primly on the shelf next to the rabbit in the little black suit. The one she’d taken was the painter rabbit, the one with the tiny beret and easel. The one that was supposed to be me.