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Hard.
Copyright © 2020 by Caitlin Crews
Keep reading for an excerpt from Undone by Kelly Rimmer.
Undone
by Kelly Rimmer
CHAPTER ONE
Jess
GRANDMA CHLOE, IF you can hear me from wherever you are, you better be proud of me for sticking this out.
My grandmother died four years ago, but I will always live my life by the principles she taught me. She used to say that when your friends or family need you, you move heaven and earth to be there for them. That’s one reason I’m putting myself through the sheer torture of attending a wedding tomorrow—one of my least favorite things to do, by the way, especially in this case, because I’m not just a guest, I’m a bridesmaid. Oh, and did I mention this is the second time I’ve been a bridesmaid for this couple? I’m basically a saint for doing this.
Or maybe I’m doing this because the bride is basically a saint.
Yeah, that’s more like it, and that brings me to the other reason I’m putting myself through this clusterfuck of a weekend: the bride is my best friend, Isabel.
Isabel has big blue eyes and natural curls in a startling shade of ash blond. She’s recently turned thirty-five, but she looks much younger even on rare occasions like this one, when she’s wearing a full face of makeup. I think her anti-aging secret is her wholesome lifestyle, which is obviously an extreme measure and not one I’d ever be willing to try myself. I’m thirty-five too, but when I’m not wearing makeup, I look like an aged, freckled version of Pippi Longstocking, if Pippi partied way too much in her twenties.
It’s fair to say that Isabel and I are the unlikeliest of friends. She’s sweet, I’m sharp. She’s kind and gentle and softhearted, I’m… Well, I’m just not. We’ve had a lot of great times together, but we also have very different approaches to life, and every now and again I wonder why she puts up with me at all. What I don’t wonder about is why I’ve kept her around. Izzy is the lite version of humanity—all of the goodness, none of the calories. She’s easy to love, and for the most part, quite uncomplicated when it comes to her friends—a rare trait, and one I value highly.
I’d be lost without her. Completely, hopelessly lost.
Right now, maybe for the first time ever, I wish that Isabel wasn’t an exceptional human being. In fact, I’m wishing that last year, when she abruptly decided to divorce my business partner Paul, I’d have done what I usually do when people around me do something stupid—told her exactly what I was thinking. If I’d been harsh enough, she’d probably have cut me out of her life. Yes, I’d have been lost and miserable and sad and I’d have missed her forever, but then again, even feeling miserable and lost and sad would have been preferable to what I’m feeling right now.
Anxious. I’m anxious, which isn’t like me at all. I have no idea what to do with such an uncomfortable feeling simmering away inside me, and that’s why I’ve decided to drown it in champagne.
Izzy and Paul sorted their shit out—only this happened just a little too late to stop the divorce, and now they want to get remarried. So here we all are, at their brownstone in Chelsea for the rehearsal dinner before their second wedding takes place tomorrow. There are fairy lights and candles and big vases of fragrant white roses on the long table that centers their dining room. There’s soft, orchestral music playing on the speakers. Isabel and Paul are both radiant. It’s all so joyous and romantic that it makes me a little ill.
Don’t get me wrong: I’m utterly delighted that they sorted their shit out and they’re both happy again. It’s just that all of his haste and love and joy and renewal means that instead of ordering my first wine for the night in a bar somewhere and scanning the room for a companion, I’m sitting here chugging champagne like it’s water and watching the door as if it’s about to burst open to reveal some kind of Jess Cohen kryptonite.
Which it kind of is.
Because Paul’s brother Jake is due to arrive any second now, fresh off a flight from the West Coast, where he now lives. And…okay. I’m not exactly thrilled about being a part of this wedding party tomorrow, but it’s maybe just a tiny bit possible that my imminent encounter with Jake has more to do with my anxiety than the festivities themselves.
“What’s up with you?” The voice belongs to Marcus, my other business partner, who’s sitting to my right. He speaks quietly—keeping his voice low, no doubt so as not to upset the other members of the wedding party. Paul and Isabel are opposite me, and Abby, Marcus’s fiancée, is in the restroom. She’s very pregnant with twins. As far as I can tell, being very pregnant with twins means you spend half your time looking exhausted and terrified, and the other half peeing.
“What’s up with you?” I snap at him unthinkingly, and he slowly raises an eyebrow.
“Ho-ly shit,” he whistles.
“What?”
“Jessica Cohen—are you upset about something?” The incredulity in his tone suggests that the very idea of this is impossible. I’m kind of pleased that I’ve managed to fool him into thinking I really am some kind of superwoman, and also immediately depressed that one of my best friends has no idea I have any emotional depth at all.
“Mind your own damn business, Marcus.”
His expression grows serious, and he leans even closer to whisper, “Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine.”
“Things are clearly not fine,” Marcus says, frowning. He glances down at my hands, and I realize I’m tapping the table. I stop, but as soon as I do, my knee starts to bounce.