Page 34 of Save the Date

“Then why are you doing this?” Will asked as he lifted his head up. “Why can’t we just date and get to know each other at our own pace?”

It was a good question and one that Emma had certainly asked herself during his quiet period of contemplation. But she was already too far in. If she gave up now, she’d have no credibility and, more importantly, she might end up right back where she started: single and heartbroken. But older. Which, in an ageist society, was never ideal.

“What part is bumping for you the most? Do you not want to get married?”

“No, I do, eventually. Once I really know the person.”

“Right, except that’s the flawed part. We think a certain amount of time will protect us from making a mistake or getting hurt. But you were with your ex for how long?”

Will rolled his eyes, seeing where this was going. “Four years.”

“Which is more than an acceptable amount of time to commit to someone. And yet…” Emma had the decency to trail off instead of stating the obvious:she still left.

“Look, I know relationships always come with risk. But let’s be real, Emma. This isn’t just about revolutionizing our approach to marriage or whatever you’re telling yourself. This is about subbing in one human being for another one so you can still have a big party and look like a success.”

Emma felt Will’s words hit her like tiny glass shards. The sting was immediate, and the damage would be hard to extract.

She stood up from the table. “I should probably go.”

“Yeah. You probably should.” Will stood too, reaching for her mug as if to clear all evidence of their brief love affair. She hated herself for wishing he would change his mind and ask her to stay.

As he led her to the door, Emma turned to him one last time. “Are you sure you don’t want to take a few days to think about it? I can send you one my videos where I probably do a better job of explaining everything.”

“I’m not going to change my mind. So unless you are planning to change yours we should probably call this thing.”

Emma nodded as she looked down at her watch. “Time of death: 8:52 p.m.”

Fifteen

“LOVE IS A CHOICE. LOVE IS BUILT, NOT SPARKED. LOVE IS…”

Emma let out a groan and hit the delete key on her computer. Rewriting her book was turning into as frustrating a pursuit as finding a new husband.

“You okay?” Imani asked from across the table. They were having one of their legendary after-work work sessions at the coffee shop across from their office. Imani was finishing up client notes while Emma attempted to salvage her biggest career opportunity—and not obsessively think about Will. Or that thing he did with his tongue.

“I don’t know how to write a book. Why did anyone think I could write a book?” Emma lamented as she let a wave of self-pity wash over her.

“Have you looked at the state of the publishing industry lately? It’s not about who canwritea book. It’s about who cansella book. They wouldn’t have given you a contract if they didn’t think you could deliver on that part.”

“But what if the contents of the book are bad? Like, ‘makes no sense, long rambling sentences followed by glimmers of a mental breakdown’ bad?”

Imani shrugged. “Most people don’t actually read self-help books after they buy them.”

Emma had to admit this was somewhat comforting to hear—even if it wasn’t a good sign for humanity. “If I pay you one million dollars, will you finish the book for me?”

Imani smirked. “Show me proof of funds and I’ll consider it.”

“What about five hundred dollars and I’ll handle all your insurance billing for the next year?”

“Counter: ten thousand dollars and you handle all my insurance billing for the nextfiveyears.”

“That’s extortion and you know—” Emma’s phone lit up with an incoming call and she forgot to finish her sentence. “Oh my god. Will is calling me.”

It had been exactly six days since their disastrous encounter. Jackie had spent the entire time trying to get Emma back on the apps, but Emma was still too upset to banter with strangers. They’d finally agreed she was allowed one full week off from the operation before diving back into a sea of awkward messages and the occasional dick pic. The wedding was less than five months away after all; every swipe counted.

“Really?” Imani asked, rather surprised. “Maybe it’s a butt dial.”

“Why are you assuming it’s a butt dial?”

---