The Promise

The text came at 7:47 AM on a Monday.

I was already having a bad morning, coffee maker broken, hair refusing to cooperate, one pair of work pants staging a protest against my waistline. Then my phone buzzed with a message from my best friend Mia.

So about what you said at the holiday party...

A cold weight settled in my gut. I didn't remember the holiday party. Not all of it, anyway. There had been an open bar and a concerning amount of cheap champagne and at some point I'd definitely started crying in the bathroom.

What did I say?

Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.

You told everyone you were bringing your girlfriend to Elena's wedding.

I read the message twice.

No.

No no no.

I don't have a girlfriend.

I know, babe. That's the problem.

I sat down on my bed, pants half-on, dignity fully gone. The wedding invitation was still on my dresser where I'd been ignoring it for two weeks. Elena Vasquez and Grace Chen request the pleasure of your company...

Elena. My ex. The woman who'd sat me down three years into our relationship and said I was "too much work." Who'd left me for Grace, who was apparently the exact right amount of work.

And now they were getting married.

And apparently, drunk me had decided the appropriate response was to lie about having a girlfriend.

How many people did I tell?

Most of the department. Also Elena's mom called the office to confirm you were bringing a plus one. She seemed excited.

Patricia Vasquez. The woman who'd fed me homemade tamales every Sunday for three years. Who still sent me birthday cards.

This was fine. Everything was fine.

When's the wedding again?

Three weeks.

Three weeks to find a girlfriend, fall in love, and become convincingly couple-y enough to fool my ex's entire family.

My phone buzzed again.

You're spiraling, aren't you?

What? No. I'm fine.

Your left eye is probably twitching.

I reached up. It was definitely twitching.

The invitation mocked me from the dresser.

I'd RSVP'd yes two months ago, when I still had hope of getting over Elena and showing up alone with grace and dignity. Drunk holiday party me had apparently decided grace and dignity were overrated.

I finally pulled my pants on and faced my reflection. Tired and drawn. Hair doing something that could charitably be called "waves" but was really more "chaos given form."

"You're a mess," I told myself. "An absolute disaster."

My reflection did not disagree.

The commute gave me time to panic more thoroughly.

Option one: Tell everyone I was joking. Ha ha, funny Avery, always with the jokes. Elena would know I was lying. Elena would know I was still pathetic and single and absolutely not over what happened.

Option two: Actually find a girlfriend in three weeks. Right. Because I'd had such luck with dating apps recently. My last match had asked if I was "into feet stuff" before we'd even exchanged real names.

Option three: Skip the wedding entirely. Except I'd RSVP'd yes, and Patricia would worry, and everyone would assume it was because I couldn't handle seeing Elena happy.

Which I couldn't. But I didn't want them to know that.

I made it to my desk before anyone could ask about my alleged girlfriend.

Small victories.

My cubicle was exactly as I'd left it Friday, cluttered, covered in Post-its, with a dead succulent named Gerald in the corner. I'd bought Gerald to prove I could keep something alive. That was four months ago.

"Morning, Avery."

I looked up. Jordan Park stood by my cubicle with two coffee cups, because of course she did.

Jordan worked in project management, which meant she was professionally organized, perpetually composed, and everything I wasn't. Her black hair was perfect, her blazer was pressed, and she probably had a color-coded system for her entire life.

"Coffee?" She held out one of the cups.

I took it because I was desperate, not because Jordan being nice was making my brain do something inconvenient.

"Thanks."

"You look rough."

"Wow. Thank you. Really feeling the Monday motivation."

The corner of her mouth twitched. Almost a smile. Jordan didn't really do full smiles, but she had these almost-smiles that softened her whole face. Not that I'd noticed.

"Heard you had an interesting holiday party."

My pulse kicked sideways. "What did you hear?"

"Just that you told half the office you have a girlfriend." She sipped her coffee. "Didn't know you were seeing anyone."

"I'm not. I mean..." I stopped. Took a breath. "It's complicated."

"Isn't it always?"

She walked away before I could respond, which was probably for the best because I had no idea what I was going to say.

I looked down at the coffee she'd brought me. Some kind of fancy latte, not the burnt office coffee I usually settled for.

How did Jordan know my coffee order?

My phone buzzed. Mia again.

Patricia called the office AGAIN. She's very excited to meet your girlfriend. Direct quote: "Avery's been single so long, I was starting to worry."

I put my head on my desk.

Just for a minute.

Just until the universe found someone else to torment.

The day didn't get better.

I had a meeting where I spaced out thinking about my fake girlfriend problem. I sent an email to the wrong person. I knocked over my (now cold) fancy coffee all over a client presentation.

Normal Monday stuff, if you ignored the growing dread in my chest.

By 5 PM, I was hiding in the break room, stress-eating vending machine cookies and wondering if it was too late to fake my own death.

"Those are ninety percent preservatives."

Jordan was suddenly there, leaning against the counter like she'd been waiting. She had a talent for that.

"That's why they're delicious."

She sat down across from me. Uninvited. In my pity party space.

"You're spiraling," she said.

"I'm not spiraling. I'm eating cookies. There's a difference."

"You've eaten seven."

I looked at the pile of empty wrappers. She wasn't wrong.

"Okay, I'm spiraling a little."

"The wedding thing?"

I groaned. "Everyone knows about that, don't they?"

"Most people. Sarah from accounting did a whole recap in the kitchen this morning."

"Great. Wonderful. Love that for me."

Jordan was quiet for a moment. Watching me with that dark gaze that never seemed to give anything away.

"It's in three weeks, right?"

"Yeah."

"And you don't have a girlfriend."

"Thank you for the reminder."

"But you told everyone you do."

"Are we just going to keep stating obvious facts? Because I can do that too. The sky is blue. Water is wet. My life is a dumpster fire."

The corner of her mouth twitched. "I have an idea."

"Is it helping me fake my own death? Because I've been considering it."

"Better." She leaned forward. "I could do it."

I blinked. "Do what?"

"Be your girlfriend. For the wedding."

My brain short-circuited.

"You, what?"

"One weekend. I'll go with you, play the girlfriend, convince your ex and her family that you've moved on. Then we come back, say it didn't work out, move on with our lives."

She said it the way someone offers to help carry groceries. Not like she was volunteering to fake a relationship with me.

"Why would you do that?"

"I like weddings. Open bar. Free food." She shrugged. "And you look like you're about to have a breakdown in the break room. It's not a good look."

"I..." I had no words. None. My brain was just static.

"Think about it." She stood up. "Let me know by Friday."

She walked out, leaving me alone with my cookie wrappers and my complete inability to process what had just happened.

Jordan Park had just offered to be my fake girlfriend.

Jordan Park, who I'd barely spoken to in two years of working together.

Jordan Park, who was too polished and too striking and too... all of it.

I picked up another cookie.

I was going to need more preservatives.