T-MINUS 25 DAYS.
On day five of my liberation from Zachary Sun, Dallas called in reinforcements.
I groaned at the hanger she tossed at me, sitting on the edge of her duvet. “For the last time, I’m not depressed.”
Truly, I wasn’t.
Since I left Zach’s, I’d vowed to focus on myself. To use these thirty days to sort out my mind and screw my head on straight.
At thirty-three, he had ten more years on this earth to figure out who he was and what he wanted with life. I deserved an extra thirty days.
Plus, now that I knew Eileen loved Zach—way, way more than she let on—my old arrangement with him felt icky. (Though I did find her manipulations to be as charming as one-ply toilet paper.)
Dallas shoved a hanger at Frankie this time. “That’s what all depressed people say.”
Fair enough.
“Why do we need reinforcements?” I shimmied on the fluffy tulle skirt. “We’re not The Avengers.”
“Speak for yourself. I feel like Tony Stark.” Hettie—the head chef at the Costa Estate and the coolest person to grace this forsaken planet—frowned at the boxy red-and-gold tutu Dallas had crammed her into. “We’re going to the club, not a ballet recital.”
“My sister never got a bachelorette party.” Frankie slung an arm around Dallas’ shoulder. “If she wants us to wear these, we’re wearing these.”
“Thank you, Frankie.” Dallas slipped into a white dress that barely fit over her stomach. “Nothing cures depression like a trip to the club.”
I collapsed onto her mattress, covering my face with both palms. “Not. Depressed.”
But she’d already moved on to our shirts, assigning us identical ones to wear. She swiped on cherry-red, pregnancy-safe lipstick, spinning to face us. “Well? How do I look?”
Honestly, like a jilted runaway bride.
But also… “Adorable.”
After the four of us finished dressing, we charged down the stairs two-by-two, arms looped at the elbows.
From the kitchen island, Oliver dropped his spoon at the sight of us. He threw his head back and howled, not bothering to comment.
Romeo frowned, tugging the edge of Dallas’ dress. “Where are you going?”
She stood on her tiptoes for a forehead kiss. “The club.”
“In that?”
While Dallas wore a mini wedding dress and veil, Hettie, Frankie, and I donned bright tutus with hot-pink tank tops that read:
I’M WITH THE BRIDE.
Dallas smoothed down her shirt. “What’s wrong with our clothes?”
“Doesn’t seem appropriate.”
“It’s just Costco. Wait.” She cocked her head. “Did you think I meant a nightclub?”
“No one refers to Costco when they say club.”
She whipped out her executive card and flashed it at him as proof. “I have a membership, therefore it’s a club.”
As always, Romeo succumbed to his wife’s shenanigans, arranging for his driver to take us. A pang of envy zapped through me. I wanted what Dallas and Romeo shared.
Would I get my happily ever after? The possibility that the thirty days would end and Zach would stand me up licked at the fringes of my brain the entire car ride.
That was the thing about giving someone your heart. There was always a chance you’d never be whole again.
At Costco, we sampled every cart, then went around for seconds, thirds, and fourths until security kicked us out.
Dallas was right.
Nothing cured depression like a trip to the club.
Maybe I was a little down.
After all, I carried the key inside my bra, right above my heart.
The organ that would shatter the second I used it.
