Calling Off the Wedding and Finding Myself

I was two hours late the day we went to see the wedding apartment. By the time I rushed over, Serena Dupree had already signed the purchase agreement and was leaning her head against Ryan Hale's, deep in discussion about the renovation. They'd gone from debating a gaming room to a nursery, and now they were arguing over whether the master bathroom needed a bathtub. Nearby, a middle-aged couple watched with amused smiles and teased Ryan. "You two are clearly decorating a newlywed home, young man. In a marriage, the husband listens to the wife." Ryan coughed, awkward, and glanced at Serena, whose face had gone faintly pink. "Fine, fine, whatever she wants." I stood a little way off, watching Serena and Ryan go back and forth, settling every detail of my own future home between the two of them. The three of us had grown up together. When we were kids, they were the ones who decided which school I'd attend, then let me know afterward. When we grew older and Serena and I started dating, they were the ones who picked the restaurant for every date, the destination for every trip, and told me where we were going. This time, even the wedding apartment, apparently, all I had to do was wait for them to tell me. Over the years, I'd turned into the shadow of the two of them. A shadow doesn't get a voice. It just keeps its head down and follows along. But even a shadow gets tired. Even a shadow can stop dead on some overcast day and refuse to take one more step forward. Chapter 1 Tristan's POV When I got back to the office, my boss, Marcus Grant, was still there working late. He looked at me in surprise around a mouthful of bread. "Done looking at the apartment already?" I forced an awkward smile and asked him, feeling out of place. "Mr. Grant, that thing you mentioned before, about taking me to headquarters — does the offer still stand?" Before I'd even finished, his eyes lit up. "Finally came around, did you? Good. You leave next month." I nodded, and for the first time since the wedding date had been set, the knot in my chest loosened. My phone kept buzzing. Serena Dupree's texts poured in one after another. Serena: [Knew you'd be late. Tristan, tell me, what would you even do without me and Ryan?] Serena: [Thank god for me and Ryan, or nothing would've gotten decided today.] Serena: [Oh, and do you have any thoughts on the renovation?] My fingers trembled. Before I could type a reply, the next message had already popped up. Serena: [Never mind, no point asking you. Ryan and I will handle it.] That line burned behind my eyes, sharp enough to catch my breath. There it was again. Never mind. I doubted even Serena herself could count how many times she'd said those words to me. After our high school final exams, she'd looped her arm through mine and asked which city I wanted to go to. My eyes had lit up. I'd been about to say I wanted somewhere by the ocean. But before I could get the words out, she'd already said, "Never mind, no point asking you. Ryan and I already picked out the college and the major you're capable of getting into. We spent three whole days researching it, just for you." I swallowed back what I'd wanted to say and just felt the loss settle in. After that, every date, every trip — I never got a word in over her and Ryan's decisions. Enough time passed that I started believing those choices had been what I wanted all along. It wasn't until today, watching her and Ryan cheerfully hash out the renovation for my own home, that I finally tasted something bitter on my tongue. This was supposedly the place I'd live in for decades. Instead, it looked exactly like Serena and Ryan's newlywed home. I sat at my desk without moving. My phone lit up again. This time it was Ryan, and he'd sent a voice message. "Tristan, do something about Serena, she's picking a fight with me again! She wants an old-fashioned TV in the bedroom. Who even watches TV anymore?" The voice messages that followed were nothing but the sound of Serena and Ryan bickering back and forth. I killed the screen and flipped the phone face-down on the desk, my breath unsteady. It kept buzzing against my palm, lighting up with all that noise on the other end. The two of them argued like the whole world hinged on it. But neither one ever thought to ask the one question that actually mattered — whether the person who'd actually be sleeping in that bedroom wanted a television in it at all. I loved watching TV. I had, ever since I was little. Every weekend night, my parents would watch TV in the living room, and I'd drag over a little stool and sit beside them, eyes glued to the screen, unblinking. Later, when I used to go over to Serena's place, her family's TV was bigger than ours. Ryan used to tease me, "Tristan's a total TV junkie. He'll sit through anything, no matter how bad." Serena would laugh along and promise that someday she'd buy me a huge TV, mount it right on our bedroom wall, and let me watch to my heart's content. But she must have forgotten all about it by now. The same way she'd forgotten I was afraid of the dark, yet always went along with whatever midnight showing fit Ryan's schedule. Forgotten that I'd once wanted to live somewhere by the ocean, that I'd wanted to major in literature, that on our first trip together I'd wanted to head south. I picked up my phone, typed a few words, deleted them, typed again. Over and over. In the end, I didn't send anything at all. Some small, spiteful part of me wanted them to wait on my word, just once — the way I'd always waited on theirs. And after that, I would vanish far from their world. Chapter 2 That night, I went home and started packing. I'd just closed the suitcase when the door burst open. Serena and Ryan tumbled in together, laughing and shoving each other. Ryan hung off Serena's shoulder, doubled over with laughter. "Quit pushing me, you're clearly the one who's wrong here!" Serena shoved him off, laughing just as hard. "You're the one who's wrong." Only once they'd finished laughing and roughhousing did they notice me standing there. Serena pushed Ryan off her and pulled a stack of catalogs out of her bag like she was presenting a prize. "Tristan, I had a friend bring back some wedding-planning catalogs special. Take a look when you get a chance." She held them out to me. I stared at the glossy wedding photos on the covers, hesitating for only a few seconds. Ryan had already pounced and flipped one open. "Whoa, this venue's gorgeous. Serena, look at this one!" Serena leaned in, and the two of them pored over it head to head, fingers jabbing at the pages. "I like this one!" "This hall's a little small, though." "You're so picky. We're getting this one!" They started bickering again as they talked. Ryan reached over and pinched Serena, and she grabbed for his wrist in retaliation, the catalog between them crinkling under the scuffle. Finally, Serena caught him by the ear, scolding him through her laughter. "Keep it up, and I'm canceling with this venue." Ryan hunched his shoulders, begging off. "Okay, okay, I give — let go..." Only then did she release him, giving his hair a playful swat on the way. I stood off to the side, feeling like the single most unnecessary person in the room. Sure enough, Ryan looked more like Serena's groom than I did. The newlywed home had been decorated to Ryan's taste. The wedding, too, was being staged to Ryan's taste. The catalog fell open to a certain page, and Ryan spoke up. "We need white hydrangeas at the ceremony. Huge arrangements of them. I've had it planned out for ages." Serena nodded. "Sure, hydrangeas it is." I stared at Serena as she traded notes with Ryan, and before I knew it, I'd spoken. "I like red roses." Serena glanced up at me, startled for a second. Ryan looked at me too, blinking, and then burst out laughing. "Tristan, are you serious? Who even uses red roses at a wedding these days? So tacky." Serena laughed along and reached over to pat my arm. "Ryan's right. Hydrangeas are so much more elegant. Red roses are what we all liked as kids. You really need to let your taste grow up along with his." Her hand rested on my arm. It was a warmth I knew well, but for the first time, it turned my stomach, and my eyes burned right along with it. I crouched down and pretended to fuss with the suitcase I'd already zipped shut, running my fingers back and forth over the zipper pull — cold, and prickling against my skin. I didn't dare look up. If I did, the tears would fall. The truth was, I had said something. I'd said it plenty of times. Last winter, when we changed out the curtains, Ryan had picked a gray patterned set. I'd stood there and said, "Wouldn't the cream-colored ones feel a little warmer?" Ryan hadn't even looked up. "Gray hides dirt better." Serena, scrolling her phone beside him, hummed in agreement. "Go with what Ryan says. He's got good taste." That row of cream-colored curtains had hung right in front of me, swaying, and neither of them had so much as glanced at it twice. The summer before last, the three of us went on a trip together. Ryan wanted to see the desert out in Arizona. I said I wanted to see the ocean. Serena, busy booking hotels, didn't even look up. "The desert sounds so much cooler. Ryan's had the whole itinerary planned for half a month already." I sat on the couch, quietly listening to the two of them chatter on about the trip, never once able to get a word in. Once or twice, I told myself it was a coincidence. Five or six times, I told myself I just hadn't pushed hard enough. Ten or twenty times, I started to wonder if the things I liked just weren't good enough. Whether red roses really were tacky. Whether cream really did show dirt too easily. Whether a city by the ocean really wasn't worth visiting. So I changed. But no matter how much I changed, they never asked me when it came time to decide. I was like the person who always shows up too late for a hot meal — by the time I worked up the nerve to speak, they'd already finished eating without me. The suitcase zipper had gone damp and slick under my grip. Serena's voice floated down from above me. "Tristan, why are you packing? Going on a business trip?" Ryan chimed in too. "Yeah, where are you headed?" I took a deep breath and looked up, meaning to tell them I was leaving. But the moment I looked up, Serena and Ryan had already bent their heads back down over the catalog. I opened my mouth, then closed it again. Never mind. If I had said something a hundred times and no one heard me, then the hundred-and-first time wouldn't be any different. I bent down, picked up the suitcase handle, and said quietly, "I'm leaving." Serena didn't even look up. "Come back soon. We've got an appointment in a few days to look at reception dresses." Ryan waved a hand at me. "Safe travels, Tristan. Oh, and shut the door on your way out!" Chapter 3 I moved into the company dorm for the time being. A few quiet days passed. Then, a week later, Mr. Grant sent me to the mall to pick up samples from a brand partner. The mall was packed that weekend. As I cut through the clothing section, I caught a glimpse of two familiar figures out of the corner of my eye. Serena and Ryan were standing in a bridal boutique. I stopped short, meaning to steer clear. But Ryan had already looked up and spotted me, and he came jogging over. "Tristan!" He grabbed my arm and pulled me along. "You got back from your trip and didn't even tell us? Come on, come look at the suit I picked out for you." A row of suits hung on a rack. Ryan grabbed a white one and, without waiting for an answer, started steering me toward the fitting room. "What do you think of this suit? It took me all morning to narrow it down to a few options." The instant the silky fabric touched my skin, I yanked my hand back. "I'm fine." Ryan blinked, caught off guard for a second, then smiled and held the suit out again. "Just try it on. Come on." I'd had enough. I pulled my arm free, hard. In the tug-of-war, Ryan's heel caught on a chair behind him, and he stumbled backward, slamming his side into the edge of a clothing rack. He sucked in a sharp breath, and the suit slipped out of his hands onto the floor. Serena's expression changed in an instant. She crossed the distance in two steps to steady him, then turned to me, her voice cold enough to draw blood. "Tristan, what is wrong with you? Why would you push Ryan?" I stood frozen, my hand still hanging in midair. Ryan clutched his side, hissing through his teeth, and tugged at Serena's sleeve. "It's fine, it's fine, I just lost my footing." Serena didn't even look at him. Her eyes stayed locked on me. "Tristan, you'd better apologize, and mean it. Ryan's been running around for your sake this whole time — does he owe you something? What's with the attitude?" I looked at him and said quietly, "Did I ask him to help me? This is supposed to be my wedding—" Ryan froze where he stood, staring at me, his lips trembling like he wanted to say something. "Tristan..." Serena glanced at him, clicked her tongue, and cut me off. "Tristan, you don't know the first thing about any of this. If he hadn't stepped in to help, do you have any idea how much of a mess our wedding would be? "Acting like this in front of us — are you trying to tell me you don't want to get married anymore?" She looked at me, her gaze carrying the certainty of someone passing judgment. In her mind, I supposed, I would always be the guy who bowed his head and admitted he was wrong. I looked at the two of them. At eighteen, we'd stacked our hands together and promised never to drift apart, not for the rest of our lives. And at twenty-eight, I looked at the woman I'd once loved and the friend I'd once cherished, and finally, red-eyed and undone, let the tears fall. Seeing me cry, Serena froze for a moment. She let go of Ryan and stepped toward me, reaching up to wipe away my tears. "Tristan, I was just trying to scare you. Of course we're getting married, I—" I took a step back. "Serena, I'm not marrying you." Her hand went rigid in midair, and her face turned pale with anger. "Tristan, are you still a child? Don't you know which things you can say and which you can't?" The corner of her mouth curled into something scornful, and she shook her head. "There's a limit to how much of a tantrum you get to throw. Not marry me? You can't even cook for yourself without us, you take the subway going the wrong direction — who else but me and Ryan would be stupid enough to put up with you?" I froze for a second, then let out a mocking laugh at myself. There it was again. Same as always. My thoughts, my feelings — to the two of them, it was all just kids playing house. Never taken seriously. Not once. Never mind. I turned and walked away. Behind me, Ryan's voice rang out, frantic. "Serena, go after him! Why are you just standing there?" Then I heard Serena's voice, unhurried, laced with impatience. "Why would I chase him? Let him go. He'll come crawling back once he realizes he can't survive without us. Might as well let it teach him a lesson." Chapter 4 The day before I left the country, my boss gave me the day off, specifically so I could spend some time with my family. Before I'd even gotten through the door, waves of laughter were already spilling out of the old house. My mother's laugh rang out the loudest. "Oh, Ryan, if you were my son, I'd wake myself up laughing in the middle of the night." My hand paused on the door handle. I pushed it open, and the whole room, faces lit up with smiles, turned toward me all at once. It made me feel like I didn't belong. Serena sat right in the middle of the couch, eating an orange. The moment she saw me, the smile fell off her face, and she let out a short, cold huff. My mother shot me a look, already gearing up for a fight. "Tristan, what's going on with you? Serena said you two have been at odds lately?" I didn't answer. I just poured myself a glass of water. My mother rolled up her sleeves and started to get to her feet. Ryan glanced at me and jumped in to smooth things over. "Mrs. Rodner, it's nothing. Tristan's just been busy with work lately." My mother slapped the arm of the couch. "Busy? Looks to me like he's gotten too big for his britches, scowling the second he walks in the door. "Just look at Ryan. If you had half his sense, your father and I would be living the easy life." Ryan, sitting beside my mother, flushed with pleasure at the praise, though he shot me a careful glance out of the corner of his eye. He got up, carrying a plate of sliced fruit over to me, and held it out with something close to a plea in his expression. "Tristan, have some fruit. I cut up the mango, the kind you like." I didn't take the plate. I looked him in the eye and, out of nowhere, asked, "Ryan, do you have feelings for Serena?" The whole room went silent for a beat. Ryan's hand jerked, and a few pieces of mango tumbled off the plate and onto the floor. His face turned red in an instant, visibly, and his lips moved without any sound coming out. The living room stayed silent for three full seconds. Then Serena shot to her feet, her face gone ashen. "Tristan, what is wrong with you? What kind of question is that to ask him? What's going on in that head of yours?" My father rose from the couch too, frowning. "Tristan, watch how you talk. Ryan's practically family. We watched him grow up." My mother was worked up now too. "What has gotten into you lately? Ryan's so good to you, and you..." I stood by the dining table, facing three familiar faces. My father. My mother. And Serena, whom I'd known for twenty-six years. Every single one of them wore the same look of disappointment and disapproval — all because of Ryan. I forced a smile, my voice flat, like I was delivering a bad joke. "Relax, I was kidding." Serena froze. Ryan just stared at me, and my name came out of his mouth in a hoarse, broken voice. "Tristan..." In the end, it was Serena who scratched her head in defeat and threw up her hands like she was surrendering. "I really can't win with you. Fine — every decision we made before, forget it, we'll scrap it all. I'll do whatever you say. Happy now?" I looked at her. She came closer, her tone weary, the way you'd talk to a sulking child. "Don't be mad anymore, okay? It's all sorted now. Whatever you want, that's what we'll do. "Tomorrow, on your lunch break, I'll come pick you up and take you to see the wedding venue. Sound good?" No, it didn't. I'd already said it. I wasn't marrying her. Early the next morning, I boarded a flight with Mr. Grant, bound for a city thousands of miles away. On my phone, Serena had sent a string of messages in the middle of the night about wedding preparations. I calmly switched my phone off and flew straight toward my future.