Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 100612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
The mood in the room shifts.
A pang of guilt for how much I’ve been dumping on Macy tonight hits me. My best friend is always here for me, ready with a joke or a bag of snacks to cheer me up, or to listen to my deep, dark secrets. It hits me that I haven’t asked her anything about herself lately.
I AM THE WORST.
“God, I am so sorry. All this talk about how horrid I’ve been. I’m sorry I’m such a mess.”
“Not gonna argue with that,” Macy quips, grinning as she tosses a pretzel into the air and catches it in her mouth.
I swat at her leg with a pillow. “Okay, rude. Seriously, though. I feel like I’ve made everything about me. Tell me what your prom plans are, pretty please. Distract me from my own tragic life for five minutes.”
Macy laughs, reaching out to touch my hand. “Harper, it’s fine. You’ve been going through a lot.”
“I’m sick and tired of talking about myself. I’m literally giving myself empathy fatigue.” She laughs, and the knot of tension I feel inside my rib cage relaxes a fraction. “Are you still doing group dinner?”
Macy stretches her legs out and gives me a small smile.
“Yup. Sticking to the plan for dinner. The seafood place? You should still come, Harper. We’ve got space for everyone—it won’t matter if you don’t have a date. Holly and Delilah don’t, and Gabe is coming stag, too.”
My shoulders fall and she gives me an encouraging nudge.
“Harper Lindsay Conrad, you’re part of the group. Just because things got complicated with Easton doesn’t mean you can’t come. It’s your prom, too.”
“Got complicated? Be real; things got messy.”
“Okay—things are a mess. So what?” Macy shrugs like it’s no big deal.
Easy for her to say! She’s not the one who coerced a classmate into being her prom date and then, whoops, developed actual feelings for him.
Oh god.
When I put it that way, I sound unhinged.
“The last thing I want is to be in the same room as Easton and Maddie freaking Miller.” I continue to buzzkill the shit out of this subject. “I’ll take all the fun out of things with my crappy attitude.”
Macy—bless her heart—laughs at me.
“You have to go. You’ve been looking forward to this forever. You had your dress first out of anyone in our group, joined that stupid decorating committee first—you’re going.”
She’s not wrong.
I have been planning for this for ages, and I shouldn’t let one guy ruin it. Still. The idea of showing up without a date now that I’ve known what it’s like to almost have one?
Blah!
I simply cannot bear it.
“Anyway,” Macy adds, “you’ve got your hair appointment—and you’re going to grab cute coffee on your way there, bring croissants, and look stunning. You don’t need a date to do that.”
I sigh. “True…”
Macy rolls her eyes at my reluctance. I can feel her patience cracking.
“Harper, you are one of the strongest people I know. You don’t need anyone to have an amazing time. Trust me, once we’re all there, you’ll forget this drama.”
Forget the drama I myself created? Not likely.
However. She’s not wrong about the fact I have been so wrapped up in Easton I’ve forgotten what this prom night is really about: celebrating with friends, feeling confident, living in the moment—and that gorgeous dress hanging on the back of my bedroom door.
I turn and gaze at it, admiring how the light catches the sequins and makes it sparkle.
“Imagine what that will look like under a disco ball.” Macy pokes me. “Huh? Huh?”
I giggle. “So sparkly.”
“Way sparklier than whatever travesty Maddie Miller is going to wear.”
That’s a fact.
“Look,” Macy tells me in a more serious tone. “I’m sure you’ve been beating yourself up. I know you—I know you carry guilt. Let it go. Keep your appointments, come to dinner—and show up like you’re the damn main event! Girl, we do not need men to make our night epic.”
A flicker of excitement tingles in my stomach.
“I’ll go.” Slowly, I nod. “I’m sticking to the plan, but let me think about dinner.”
The hurt is too raw.
She understands, shoving me onto my back and shouting, “That’s my girl!”
“Oh my god—get off me!” I laugh, trying to push her off, but she’s already doubled over, giggling so hard she nearly falls off the bed.
“Never!” she declares dramatically, finally rolling off me and flopping onto her side, her laughter still bubbling. “You’re stuck with me. Now let’s figure out how to unfuck your love life, shall we?”
Chapter 32
The Letter
Dear Easton,
This feels weird—writing you a letter like it’s 1995 instead of just saying this in person. Or texting you. But every time I think about trying to tell you face to face, I imagine myself vomiting all over the place because the thought of it makes me sick. So congratulations! You’re getting my confessional in the form of vintage paper vibes.