Mine Would Be You (14)

Regardless, I find comfort in knowing he’s happy, and I find comfort in the fact that therapy allowed me to be happy with myself. To be happy without him. Going out, brunching with my friends, and being here with my parents reminded me of that girl.

That I was so good without him. That I still am.

This week drew me back down, pushed me under the waves and covered me in clouds, but right now, as the darkness disappears and the sun starts to peek through the clouds, I feel like my head is finally breaking the surface.





“You cannot wear black to a wedding, Valentina Scott.”

I groan, pulling my robe closer and avoiding Harper’s hawk-like eyes. My closet is staring back at me, but nothing is calling to me. All I want to do is pull on my signature black dress, but I can’t as that is apparently against wedding etiquette. So I’ve been told.

Sounds like bullshit to me.

I take a sip of water, trying to hydrate before this monstrous event.

The last twenty-four hours have been a ride.

And honestly, I really should have a reality TV show. Named Valentina’s Missteps, Mishaps, and Misfortunes. Featuring Harper and Sloan. Because not only did we all wake up hungover after Sloan’s birthday celebrations yesterday, but apparently when we were drunk, I also begged Sloan to cut my hair.

And in her just as drunken daze, she agreed to it.

So, in a completely rational decision, I have lost about six inches of hair.

Loose curls that used to hit midback now brush my shoulders. When we woke up in a haze, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t shed a tear.

“Then what are my options?” I ask, exasperated.

“What about the light blue one?”

“That gray one?”

I set my water down and run my hands over my face. All eyes are on me. Jenko’s ears are perked from where he rests on my vanity, Sloan is leaning comfortably against my pillows, and Harper is spinning in my vanity chair.

They both look great. Sloan is stunning in her yellow maxi dress. It’s backless and strappy and compliments her dark skin perfectly as her hair bounces around her in perfectly tight curls. The nude heels she stole from my closet compliment the outfit perfectly along with her signature jewelry.

Harper looks gorgeous. Our matching tattoo is visible on her ribs, the three flowers to represent each of our birth months. She’s dressed in a long sleeve emerald romper that has cutouts right over her rib bones. Her hair is done in her signature purposely loose ponytail. Nude block heels and silver jewelry tie it all together.

So, all that’s left is me.

“Wait, the red one. Wear the red one,” Harper practically squeals as her gray eyes light up.

“Can I wear red to a wedding?” I turn, searching for this dress until my eyes finally find it, tucked away in the corner of my closet. And I don’t care about etiquette anymore. “Oh. It’s perfect.”

Sloan holds up her cup. “I’ll drink to that.”

While I am almost positive that red is against some wedding dress code, I don’t care. I bought this dress from a cute little boutique in Brooklyn on a whim. The editor at Poze had complimented one of my first articles, and I bought this as a celebration.

It’s absolutely perfect.

It’s satin, with a V-shaped neckline and thin straps, and hits right about mid-thigh. It cinches at the waist and makes my small chest look ten times better.

I slip inside my tiny closet and put it on, and when I come out, by the big grins on my friends’ faces, I know it’s the one. My hair brushes the tops of my shoulders, and even though it made me sad earlier, I feel pretty badass right now.

“Let’s get this pregame properly started, ladies.”

• • •

I am bouncing with nerves as the taxi pulls up outside of the venue, fighting memories that pound at my head.

Not even the warm May breeze or the buzz of the alcohol in my blood can stop the nervous energy radiating off me. The Midtown Loft and Terrace is towering above us as our heels click on the pavement, and I’m clutching my purse so hard my hand is turning white.

I won’t even have my parents to help me through this since they had a previous engagement on the same day, a big work party for my dad and his architecture company getting a huge deal. Not that I think they really would’ve come anyway.

Harper and Sloan surround me, linking their arms through mine as we reach the door. The doorman smiles at us, and we’re greeted with a sign with instructions for the Henderson Wedding.

The ceremony is on the rooftop, and the reception to follow is a few floors below.

A rooftop wedding in May with a view of the city to die for. I don’t know if it gets any better.

“We got this. Worst comes to worst, I make a scene and Sloan hauls your ass out of here.” Harper whispers in my ear as we climb into the elevator, and the problem is, I know she’s dead serious. She would absolutely do that for me, and Sloan would absolutely drive the getaway car.

“If it helps, I’ve got a stash of SweeTarts in my purse if you need them,” Sloan offers, and I laugh for the first time all day.

I’d be lost, dead in a ditch, if it wasn’t for these two.

The elevator dings, and we step out onto the rooftop. It’s breathtaking.

The sun is at a perfect height in the sky, painting a warm glow over the city and the ceremony setup. There is an arch set up for the altar, with smooth white chairs lined up and arranged to create an aisle that’s decorated with light purple and pink flowers and gold accents. It’s not the tallest building, we can’t see the tops of every skyscraper, but it makes you feel immersed into the city. There are two groomsmen waiting to greet people coming off the elevator, to lead us to our seats, and I recognize both from high school. Soft smiles come over their faces when they land on us.