Page 2 of The Four Engagement Rings of Sybil Rain
I swallowed, trying to push down the lump in my throat that bobbed up every time I thought about what happened with Jamie.
My stupid Runaway Bride routine. His callous coldness when I returned, finally ready to bare my soul to him.
Our fight at the altar. The shocked look on all the guests’ faces.
The chaotic, messy tears. My girls helping me stuff my gown into the back seat of an Uber as I fled the Malibu wedding venue.
I’ve tried to tell myself that things falling apart between us was inevitable.
That a failed engagement is better than a failed marriage.
But that doesn’t mean remembering that day doesn’t still tear my heart to shreds.
Especially since it wasn’t even my first broken engagement but my third .
Two had always just seemed like bad luck, but three?
It was starting to seem like some sort of jinx.
“We just want you to be happy, Sybil,” Nikki said. “And it feels like you haven’t quite been the same since… since then.”
In that moment, it suddenly became clear to me why the girls had all converged upon LA for this “impromptu, early first birthday” celebration.
I was simultaneously annoyed that Emma and Willow had lied to me about “just happening to be in town” and immensely grateful that they all wanted to be here with me on the anniversary.
Emma tucked her hair behind her ear. “Also, I got an alert that those refund vouchers for the hotel and flights are going to expire at the end of June if you don’t book something.” She glanced at Nikki and then back at me. “We really think you should use them and take a trip.”
A trip. The idea wasn’t unappealing. I’d been working like a dog for months, developing a new Flowies social marketing campaign and training the Spring interns.
I hadn’t even made it home to Dallas for Easter, much to my mother’s disappointment.
Spending a week lying on a beach—okay, a different beach than the ones that surrounded me on the west side of LA—sounded pretty great, actually. Except…
“Wait, are you saying I should go to Halia Falls—as in, my honeymoon destination —alone? Now? After everything?”
“Totally!” Nikki nodded emphatically. “It would be such a waste not to.”
“I would love to go with you, Sybs, but, you know—baby.” Willow shrugged, bouncing a cooing Nora on her hip.
“And I think Mrs. Perry might literally murder me if I don’t get her kitchen remodel done on time,” Emma said with a cringe.
“Niks?” I turned back to her with desperation in my eyes.
“My filming schedule is unpredictable,” she said apologetically, before plastering on a megawatt smile honed from many years on the pageant circuit.
“But I think this could be so good for you, Sybs! You love to travel, and it’s been ages since you got out of town.
I actually started looking, and it seems like the resort has availability the first week of July—”
“That’s in two weeks!” I protested. “I know my office is a little less formal than some, but I still have to get approval if I’m going to take vacation.”
“Maybe it could be a working trip!” Nikki said.
Emma smiled encouragingly. “Yeah, Sybs, you do content creation—can’t you do that from anywhere? If you’re going to be working, you might as well be working from Hawaii.”
I felt a prickle of defensiveness. It’s one thing to admit to yourself that your life hasn’t been that great lately.
It’s another to have that fact unceremoniously thrown in your face by your best friends.
“Why are you guys doing this? Do I really seem so depressed that you needed to stage a coup to get me on vacation?”
Once again, they all responded at the same time.
Emma: “This is so not a coup!”
Willow: “Because you deserve it?”
Nikki: “We just want the old Sybil back.”
I USED THAT SAME argument—the one about this being a working trip—with Meredith when I pitched the idea to her the following Monday. To my surprise, she was immediately on board—once I confirmed that the company wouldn’t have to pay for my hotel or flights.
“Really?” I asked, sitting across from her in our offices on Wilshire Boulevard.
“I do have lots of ideas for content. I saw there’s supposed to be this eclipse thing happening while I’m there.
They call it a ‘blood moon.’ I was thinking maybe we could lean into that?
Do a post about femininity and the moon, maybe even do a live stream during the eclipse?
We could connect it back to the fertility campaign we did—”
Meredith held up a hand to stop my rambling.
“Sorry,” I said meekly. “I used to be really into space as a kid; it was kind of my thing.”
Meredith smiled. “Sybil, that all sounds great. I trust you.”
I let those words wash over me. Honestly, it’s something I’m still learning to accept.
That my boss trusts me to do my job well.
That I am actually good at this. Before Flowies, most of my jobs were a bit more…
shall we say, eclectic? I was a temp receptionist at an art gallery for a while.
I was briefly a barista at a bespoke coffee shop.
I even served as a personal assistant for a D-list soap star, which mostly entailed bringing her beloved dog to regular grooming appointments.
(With all those treatments, Gigi the cocker spaniel definitely had healthier hair than me—better natural highlights too.) Flowies isn’t a Fortune 500 company or anything, but my role with them is the most legit, most stable job I’ve ever had. And I desperately want to do well.
“Go ahead on the trip, and try to have some fun while you’re there too,” Meredith said.
So that night, I pulled up the website for the Halia Falls Resort.
The photos were as gorgeous as I remembered—plunge pools and natural hot-spring spas, five-star restaurants and fun tiki bars.
I clicked through to the page that described their adventure excursions, trying to get myself excited about horseback riding and sea kayaking.
This is good , I told myself. This is proof that you’re moving on.
And with a few clicks, it was done. The confirmation email from the hotel and the airline made it official.
So now, two weeks later, I’m finally going on my honeymoon.
I just happen to be going alone.