Page 31 of Sunny Side Up

What is all of this for?! I thought. It doesn’t make the wedding more fun.

You don’t get some prize at the end of the night for being your ideal weight.

It doesn’t make your relationship stronger.

It doesn’t make the marriage last. I was fuming, suddenly furious at myself.

It sure as shit doesn’t change the fact that I said yes to a guilt-driven proposal despite a banner of red flags flapping in my face.

I stood up, excusing myself to go to the bathroom. I didn’t trust myself at that moment. I knew if I stayed, I was sure to cause a scene.

Even as I battled my own frustration over gaining weight this year, I started to see that women of all sizes were unhappy with their bodies, and I couldn’t stand it anymore.

In the past I would have jumped in and offered to take the bride-to-be to a spin class or do a crash diet with her in solidarity, but now, her comments just depressed me.

It also reminded me, way too acutely, of my own pre-wedding diet: essentially, The Devil Wears Prada starvation program, where Emily Blunt eats nothing until she’s about to pass out, which she then staves off with a single cube of cheese.

All for that stupid, undeserving asshole.

I can’t believe I chose to shrink myself for him.

In the bathroom, while pressing a damp paper towel to my face to try and stop the emotional bloodletting, more thoughts knocked at the door of my brain: the white Missoni caftan I’d chosen to wear for our ceremony on the beach; the swanky Hamptons beach club where the reception was held; the impressive guest list. It was everything I’d wanted growing up: a fashionable wedding in a fashionable town filled with fashionable people.

Now that Zack was getting married, his big-time lawyer father had reopened the family wallet to help his thirty-three-year-old son celebrate this next chapter of his life.

Hence that Cartier ring I’d proudly worn on my finger.

But Zack’s work had been going well, too, I reminded myself. Sponsorships had been rolling in for Zack’s podcast. He was getting incredible press. We were happier than we’d been in years. Jessica Rose Baker had been a blip. Our stunning wedding had proved that the Zack I loved was back.

Until, that is, three months into our marriage, when he came home from LA.

Zack had just flown back home from a successful business trip in LA. There, he’d signed with a New Big Agent for his podcast, with the company that had closed his Spotify deal. It was exciting, a certifiable dream come true. And I wanted to celebrate him, celebrate with him, right as he came home.

I called Zack a car to take him straight from JFK to Il Mulino, our favorite restaurant, where we always went for our celebrations.

When he arrived, I greeted him with a big hug and kiss, tucking his suitcase off to the side.

“I would’ve liked to go home and shower first, Sun,” he scolded me.

I shrugged it off. “I wanted to celebrate! And I figured you’d be hungry.”

He grimaced and sat down. “I can’t do this anymore.”

Five words that would change everything.

“I just don’t think we want the same things anymore.” His face was tight, his arms gripped the edge of the table, and he wouldn’t look at me.

“You deserve better,” Zack said.

I finally swallowed. “I’m sorry, can we back up? What are you talking about? Did I do something wrong?” Ever the fixer, ever the problem solver, I held to the hope that I could fix whatever was causing this reaction.

“No, you were perfect,” Zack said. My brain spun until it latched onto my worst nightmare, the most painful cliché that could cause this.

“Is there someone else?” I whispered.

“No, absolutely not,” he promised.

None of this made any sense.

“So, what, did you just fall out of love with me?” I could hear my voice rising to an inappropriate-for-a-restaurant-conversation height.

“I love you, Sunny,” Zack said, still without looking me in the eye. “I’m just not in love with you. Let’s stay best friends, okay?” Zack stood up, put a twenty on the table. “Come on, let’s go. We can talk about this more at home. But it’s over, Sunny. I’m sorry.”

Nonononononononono . That was all I could think as he picked up his bag and headed toward the door.

I wanted to scream at Zack to turn around.

I wanted to beg him to change his mind, to let me figure this out.

I wanted to fight for him.

But in the end, I didn’t.

I trailed after Zack, out of the restaurant, hailing a taxi to bring us back to our Lower East Side apartment. My mind raced but I didn’t say a word. Neither of us did.

I was numb, but I also felt like this was, strangely, everything I’d expected.

It was proof of the deepest, darkest fears I’d always had.

I was unlovable.

I was too much, too big, too wrong.

Maybe I was a consolation trophy, a placeholder. Zack proved that. I wasn’t someone’s first-place prize. I wasn’t a wife . I’d been with Zack for almost seven years, and our marriage couldn’t even last a year.

What had I been expecting?

I gripped the sink, staring at myself. The telltale spiral of a panic attack had already begun: clammy skin, hot neck, hives rising up on my chest. Either that, or I was going to start crying for the eight millionth time since Zack had smashed my heart on the ground.

I reminded myself to breathe: In, two, three, four—out, two, three, four…

I could stop this. I had the power to stop this.

In, two, three, four—out, two, three, four…

This time, my body listened.

I ran my wrists under water to cool myself off, looked in the mirror, and let a new voice command my attention: mine, only kinder.

“You’re okay, Sunny. You’re better than okay. And you are worthy of everything good in your life.”

Every time a mean thought about myself tried to barge in, I imagined knocking it on its back:

My marriage ended because I am a failure became Actually, I am an extremely successful businesswoman who’s currently managing two companies, one of which just got funding because of my creativity, research, and killer pitch.

My breath started slowing down.

All your friends left you to side with Zach became Those people were never your friends. The women who are there for you now—old friends who still call to check in, catch up; the First Wives Club, your biggest cheerleaders—those are the real people who matter. And they are ride-or-die as hell.

The hives were retreating.

Look at you. All that extra weight. Of course no one would want you became Nope. You want yourself, and that’s enough.

I straightened my shoulders. Removed a smudge of mascara.

Plus Ted really, really wants you. You should relisten to that voicemail he just left you…

Suddenly, the bathroom door creaked open, and Michael’s face appeared.

My brother stood in the doorway with a puzzled look on his face and a massive, beautiful bouquet of flowers in his hands.

He must have showered at the Chelsea Piers before leaving earlier than I’d expected.

His light-brown hair was styled with some sort of product (since when?), his baby face, clean shaven.

It was my little brother, all grown up into the groom-to-be.

Before he could say anything, I enveloped him in a big hug.

“Those flowers are perfect,” I said, finally letting him go and pushing him back a step so I could take a full look at him. “Well done.”

“Thanks for the florist rec. You nailed it, per usual,” he said. “Are you ladies having fun?”

“Aunt Pat has only complained about the salt level in the food twice, so yes. Today has been a success.”

Michael laughed and shook his head.

“Sunny, you’re being really cool about all of this. I know how hard today must be for you…”

I rolled my eyes.

“And look, I just want you to know: There’s no pressure to bring a date. Ellie said you’ve made it some kind of mission, which just sounds really stressful, and—”

“I’m fine , Michael.” Whoops. Guess Ellie read Sunny Side Up . I ran through the most recent posts in my head, trying to decide whether I felt embarrassed or flattered. I landed on flattered.

“Ellie looks beautiful, by the way.”

“She texted me already saying how perfect it’s been.” He smiled. “I can’t believe we’re at her bridal shower. I mean, I honestly can’t believe I’m getting married.” He pushed his hair back with his fingers. He always did that when he felt overwhelmed.

“Me either,” I said, reaching to pull his hand down so that he didn’t mess up his hair. “It’s amazing. I’m so happy for you.” I meant it.

“Then why are you hiding in the bathroom? I can only imagine all the shit the wedding stuff is bringing up…”

“I’m not hiding, a-hole. I’m fixing my makeup. Why are you stalking me in the bathroom?”

“Avery said you were in here. Mom told her it’s time for games?” He grimaced and looked at me out of the corner of his eye. “I’m a little afraid.”

“You have nothing to worry about,” I said, hand on his shoulder. “It’s going to be great.” He looked skeptical, but a little more relieved.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” I said in my best attempt at a 1960s dating show host voice, just to make Michael cringe, “let’s go meet the almost-newlyweds!

” I hooked my elbow around his and led him toward the party, remembering how we used to make each other laugh as little kids by having full conversations in the weirdest accents we could muster.

My baby brother was about to get married.

I promised to make the most of it. My past didn’t have any bearing on Michael’s future.

“Gross, Sunny,” he said. “Never do that voice again.”

As Michael and Ellie answered questions about each other, proving their compatibility in quintessential Newlywed Game fashion, I let myself breathe easy.

Ellie knew all of Michael’s quirks, and Michael answered all of Ellie’s questions right, too—except for one.

He refused to answer “What does Ellie do around the house that annoys you the most?” because he emphatically swore that Ellie could never do anything that annoyed him, and the whole room swooned.

I let my heart flutter and tried to ignore the pang of loneliness that was surfacing again in me, the only single family member.

“Eighty-eight days until the wedding!” My dad cheered.

Eighty-eight days. I knew Michael had just said I didn’t need to bring a date.

What I didn’t feel like explaining to him was that it wasn’t about the date .

It was about me. It was about proving to myself that I had moved on.

That I could have fun with anyone.… And yes, maybe it had been a little bit about Zack at the beginning: I’d had the caption planned for my “Go fuck yourself” Instagram post for months now.

But it had evolved into showing everyone, including myself, that I was better than “fine”: I was thriving.

The guy was just there to give me a nice twirl or two on the dance floor so that I could really show off.

I absolutely did not bother getting into this with my mom either. She’d pulled me aside earlier in the day by the DIY Bloody Mary bar.

“Your father and I know Michael gave you a plus one, but there’s no pressure to bring a date,” she’d said. “Michael said that Ellie said you were doing the online dating, and I just don’t want you to bring some stranger in who’ll ruin the photos, or steal something…”

I made a face and a mental note to unsubscribe Ellie from my mailing list as soon as I got home to my computer. “What would he even steal?!”

“I don’t know, silverware ? Flower arrangements!”

“You and your sisters always take the flower arrangements from weddings,” I said.

“Sunny! That is different ! It’s not stealing when you’re a real guest .”

I also didn’t bother telling her that since I’d recently deleted my apps, I no longer had a constant rotation of tryouts.

I hadn’t been worried; there was time. But now that both my mom and my brother had told me that I didn’t have to bring a date…

I felt a competitive, almost defensive surge run through me.

They don’t think I can do it. Well, watch me .

I considered my present options: I’d had a dizzying street make-out session with Ted.

I knew he looked great in a suit, knew which fork to use (I did not), and was such a charmer that no matter what my crazy aunts said to him, he’d put the whole room at ease with his dazzling smile.

Ted had said flat-out that he’d like to see more of me, so if I accounted for the fact that he’d need to know by the beginning of May, at the latest , for a June wedding, that gave me three and a half more months to see if Ted Manns was Greene-family worthy.

That said… I’d found myself unable to stop replaying the way Dennis had looked at me, beaming, every time I cry-laughed at his stupid jokes on Valentine’s Day.

Sure, that was the longest conversation I’d ever had with him, and yes , he had straight-up rejected my goodnight kiss.

But I don’t know… something about him. Something about his kind soul, that impish grin, and his willingness to be in a good mood, down for whatever, told me he’d just be so much fun . The ultimate wedding date requirement.