Page 8 of Save the Date

“Absolutely,” Jackie agreed without really meaning it. “And if you happen to gain a ton more followers and release a bestselling book as a result, then that’s just a happy accident, right?” Jackie winked at Emma, which was far more disconcerting than she would have expected.

“How would this help the book?” Debbie asked.

“The more followers Emma has before the book comes out, the more people potentially buy the book. And if she announces what she is planning to do, and why she is planning to do it, people will get invested. It’ll blow up,” Jackie explained.

“That would be great for your practice too,” Debbie said, with sudden enthusiasm. “If your book does well, you’ll always have a waitlist of clients. It’s financial security.”

“Aren’t we at all concerned that I might not be able to pull this off? What happens if I don’t find another groom in time?” Emma asked.

“You will. And if not, we spin it,” Jackie declared, her missed calling as a publicist becoming more and more evident.

“I get what you’re saying. I really do. And from a business perspective, it makes a lot of sense—”

“Perfect!”

“Wait. I… I’m just worried that if I share my plan publicly, I might start doing it for the wrong reasons. I might, I don’t know, marry the wrong person just so I won’t look like a loser online.”

“Emma,” Jackie replied, “people have gotten married for much worse reasons than that.”

In the end, they decided on a multitiered approach. Emma had quickly filmed a YouTube video announcing her broken engagement, but she didn’t share anything about what had officially been titled Operation: Save My Date. Debbie had come up with the name after Emma vetoed Jackie’s suggestion ofGroom Swap. In the approximately three-minute recording, Emma had steered away from bashing her ex and instead focused on the importance of prioritizing herself after heartbreak.

About halfway through filming, though, Emma had found it hard to maintain her normally hopeful and upbeat online persona. Her eyes drifted away from the large poster board filled with the talking points they’d meticulously discussed. It was suddenly all too polished to accurately describe the current of emotions coursing through her veins (and stomach). Overwhelmed, Emma had rubbed her face in frustration and opened her mouth without thinking too much for once.

“Look, I’m going to be honest, it isreallyfucking hard to love yourself when your heart is broken. Your brain wants to collect all this evidence that proves youdeservedto be left because it likes to make sense of things. It likes to point to areasonfor all the pain. And the easiest reason my brain can come up with is that I suck. That I am not good enough to marry. But I want it on record, for both me and you, that I reject that reason.”

Emma quickly wiped a tear from her right eye that had had the indignity to escape. “I’m not perfect. I know I’m not cool or chill or low maintenance. But that doesn’t mean I am unlovable. Because despite everything, I continue to love myself. That’s why, even with this massive shock I’mstilltrying to wrap my head around, I don’t want to die. I don’t even want to give up. Which is a huge improvement from how I felt the last time someone left me behind. So I’m going to celebrate that win—even if I’m crying while I do it.”

Emma signed off by swearing that she wasn’t going to give up on love or marriage and to stay tuned for more updates. The video was a wonderful mix of genuine emotion and clever clickbait. She had somehow managed to share the worst news of her life through a lens of hope and self-compassion. Maybe it would even help someone in a similar position. Or, at the very least, not paint her as a total fraud. At this point in her increasinglypublic career, Emma understood that sharing her life online required walking a fine line between authenticity and proactive damage control. It was both exhausting and exhilarating.

By the time they were done and the video was officially uploaded, Emma realized she was running late for once in her anxious life. She was so panicked about beating traffic and finding parking, she didn’t even have the brain power to process what was about to happen until she arrived. She was going to see Tony again. And she was maybe going to ask him to marry her.

Four

AS EMMA SCANNED THE COFFEE SHOP, SHE REMEMBEREDthat Tony had a habit of being a hair past fashionably late to everything. So instead of ordering at the counter and opening herself up to the possibility of being surprised, she maneuvered her way through the cramped tables to snag a seat with a view of the door. As she sat waiting for what might be a life-­changing moment, she felt an overwhelming urge to check her new video’s view count. She genuinely wasn’t sure if she wanted the video to flop so Jackie would lose interest or for it to catch the algorithm wave and make the whole project more real.

At exactly seventeen minutes past the time they had scheduled to meet—and approximately twenty-eight months since they had last seen each other in real life—Tony Moretti walked through the door. Their eyes found each other and suddenly Emma Moskowitz felt eerily certain that despite everything that had happened, despite the heartbreak that was still very much alive and propagating, she was meant to be here in this moment—with him.

“Look who it is,” Tony said with more charm than any single man should be allowed to have.

As he enveloped her in his sinewy arms, Emma was transported back to when they first met, at a rock show. For Emma, a lifelong Blink-182 fan, the fact that for a moment in history she had actually been saved in someone’s phone as “The Girl at the Rock Show” was still a thrill. Whether or not the local indie band they were both casual fans of at the time counted as actual rock was beside the point.

“It’s so good to see you,” Tony gushed as he gave her a playful shove.

Emma’s therapist brain tried not to attach too much meaning to him physically pushing her away so quickly into their reunion. She understood that part of Tony’s appeal was never knowing if he was about to surprise her with the perfect gift or completely disappear into the ether. It kept her on her toes. It also didn’t hurt that with his jet-black hair, short thick beard and classic yet simple wardrobe, he was the epitome of Emma’s type. She loved a man in a flannel shirt and nice jeans. So sue her.

“Thanks for agreeing to meet. I know it was probably out of the blue for me to text you like that.”

Tony shrugged as though it hadn’t even occurred to him to question her invitation. “We’re old friends. Old friends get coffee every few years—that way we can still pretend to know each other.” He pulled out a chair and sat down without ordering any coffee. Emma joined him and launched into her best impression of playing it cool. All while secretly panicking that they were going to get in trouble for loitering.

“You probably heard that I got engaged—”

“You got engaged? Emma, that’s amazing! I know that’s what you’ve always wanted. I think you even said that on our third date. And most of our dates after that.” Tony laughed at the memory of her inappropriate behavior. Emma suddenly had more insight into why she had romantically struggled for so many years, but right now wasn’t the time to unpack that.

“Yeah…well. It didn’t work out. Ryan…left.”

Tony’s face fell and Emma worried that any lingering affection he had toward her was about to turn into pity, which rarely brought about sexual desire—at least not healthy sexual desire. She needed to change the narrative and take back control.

“Work has been good though and my dad’s trying to get me to try pickleball—”

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