The hardest call was Lauren’s father, Thomas Whitmore. I liked him. Over four years we had gone fishing twice, repaired part of his deck together, and developed the sort of relationship where neither of us needed to talk constantly to enjoy being in the same room.
He answered with, “Everything ready for tomorrow?” My throat tightened. I told him the wedding had been canceled.
Thomas did not speak for several seconds. Then he asked whether someone was sick. I said no and repeated Lauren’s words as closely as I could.
I did not tell him his daughter was selfish or cruel. I told him she had informed me she planned to spend the night with Mason because she needed closure before marriage and expected me to accept it. When I finished, Thomas said, “She said that to you tonight?”
“Yes.” He breathed out slowly.
“Where is she?” “On her way to Mason, I assume.”
Another silence followed. Then Thomas said, “I’m going to call her.” I told him something before he hung up.
“Please don’t convince her to come back for me.” Thomas sounded confused. “Garrett?”
“I’m not canceling the cancellation if she changes her mind after talking to you.” This time the silence felt different.
“I understand,” he said. I believed him.
By eleven thirty, most of the wedding party knew. My phone filled with messages ranging from kind to useless. One friend offered to drive downtown and find Mason, which was exactly the sort of idea people get when someone else’s pain makes them feel helpless.
I told everyone not to contact him. I did not need somebody punched. I did not need Lauren humiliated outside a hotel.
I needed the wedding gone. That part was already happening.
Derek made grilled cheese at midnight because neither of us had eaten dinner. I sat at his dining table scrolling through old photographs on my phone without really seeing them. That was when I remembered Natalie Kerr.
Three months earlier, Mason had posted a photograph from a charity gala in Chicago. He stood beside a dark-haired woman in a green dress, one arm around her waist. The caption had tagged Natalie Kerr, and underneath it somebody had written, Beautiful couple. When’s the wedding?
I had asked Lauren about it at the time. She shrugged and said Mason and Natalie had been “basically over for months.” I did not think much about it because Mason’s relationship status had not seemed like my responsibility.
Now it did. I searched Natalie’s public profile.
The first photograph showed her and Mason at Thanksgiving. The next showed them skiing in February. Another showed Natalie holding up a left hand with an engagement ring while Mason kissed her cheek.
The caption was dated four months earlier. Finally said yes to my favorite problem.
I looked at Derek. “He’s engaged.”
Derek lowered his sandwich. “Mason?” I turned the screen toward him.
“Looks like it.”
For a few seconds we both stared. Then Derek said, “Does Lauren know?”
“I don’t think so.” I searched for a way to contact Natalie without behaving like a stranger stalking someone’s personal life.
She worked as a marketing director for a healthcare company and had a professional contact page. I wrote a short message and forced myself to remove every dramatic phrase.
My name is Garrett Cole. I’m sorry to contact you unexpectedly. My fiancée, Lauren Whitmore, told me tonight that she intends to spend the night with Mason Reed before our wedding tomorrow. I believed Mason was single because Lauren told me his previous relationship had ended. Your recent public posts suggest that may not be true. If I am mistaken, I apologize for intruding.
I read it three times. Then I sent it.
Derek asked whether I felt better. “No.”
“Good.” I looked at him.