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They sent me an invitation.
Like I was a coworker or a distant cousin. I remember holding it in my hands, my name printed in that fake gold cursive.
That night, I stayed in.
I wore Oliver’s old hoodie and watched terrible romantic comedies. The kind where everyone ends up happy and in love by the end. I curled up with a bottle of wine and some popcorn, trying not to picture Judy walking down the aisle in a dress I’d helped her pick out once during a random girl’s day, before everything went sideways.
Around 9:30 p.m., my phone buzzed.
It was Misty.
Her voice was shaking, but she was laughing in a breathless way that immediately made me sit up.
“Lucy,” she said, half whispering, half shouting, “you will not believe what just happened.
Get dressed. Jeans, sweater, anything. Drive to the restaurant.
You do not want to miss this.”
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