Page 35 of The Four Engagement Rings of Sybil Rain

But for some reason—maybe because of the conversation Seb and I had earlier tonight at the street fair—my mind skips past the silly stuff and flashes to prom night.

The smell of the antiseptic soap still clinging to my hands.

Sitting next to Finn in the waiting room and spiraling out while he holds my now-raw hand and rubs my back.

Finn’s keys cool in my palm as he says, You deserve better than this .

There’s the slick stab of shame and the physical pain in my abdomen as I lie to Emma on the dance floor about why I was late, Rihanna singing in the background.

Even now, I can feel the bass pumping in my skull.

I realize it’s the sound of my own heartbeat, and I take in a breath that only dips into the tops of my lungs.

“Sybil?” Ash’s voice drifts through the haze of my anxiety and anchors me back to the present moment.

“You gotta answer or drink,” Dani says.

“I’ll pass,” I say, prompting cheers of “Drink! Drink!” to go up from the group. I force a grin, salute the crew with what’s left of my beverage, and finish in one long pull.

E VENTUALLY, EVERYONE STARTS PAIRING off, the cloud of pheromones working its particular brand of magic. Ash and Dani say good night and walk back toward their room, arms slung around each other, heads bent together, the picture of easy intimacy.

I slip away from the dwindling crowd and wander alone down the beach, the sand cool and soft beneath my feet.

As I walk, the music and laughter fade behind me, replaced by the rhythmic roar of the waves crashing against the shore.

I round a bend in the coastline, and the lights of the main resort come into view, twinkling like a constellation against the velvet night sky.

Reaching the stone steps that lead up to the main lawn, I pause, pull out my phone. Willow picks up on the second ring.

“Hey, Bill,” I say, cradling the phone between my ear and shoulder.

“Hey, Bill,” she echoes back. Over the years, Willow got shortened to Wills which morphed into Bill, which is also the last syllable of my name.

Since at least middle school, maybe earlier, it’s been what we’ve called each other.

Our mothers, who both gave us the wispy, feminine names of romance novel heroines, hated it.

One time, when I called the landline at Willow’s house and asked for “Bill,” her mother hung up on me three times until I finally caved and asked for “Willow.” But I think the nickname suits her.

Unconventional, but still, in its own way, classic.

“What’s up?” Willow asks through a yawn.

“Did I wake you up?”

“No, no. Don’t worry—Nora’s teething, so I just got up for the fifth time tonight to settle her.

” And I feel a warm sensation skate over me, like slipping into a hot bath with a glass of red wine.

It’s the way Willow makes everyone feel.

And it’s exactly why she was the one I needed to call right now.

I try to picture her calm face, framed by soft bangs—effortless, like a brunette Brigitte Bardot—her warm brown eyes and gentle smile. “So what’s up? Talk to me.”

“I just… This trip was supposed to be this refreshing, cleansing vacation, but I’ve been thinking a lot about the past.”

“About Jamie?”

“Well, yeah, but also…” I don’t even know what I’m trying to say, exactly.

But I try to let the words pour out of me anyway.

“Like, the deep past. The Liam days. And you know, the whole PCOS thing. Aside from irregular periods, I’ve been super lucky so far when it comes to symptoms. And because of that, I haven’t really had to worry about it.

I could kind of put the whole thing in the past. Try to pretend it didn’t exist, you know? ”

Willow hums encouragingly on the other end of the line.

She was one of the first people I told about the diagnosis, and ever since, I’ve always known I could count on her—whether for an emergency tampon or a hook-up to French pharmacy skincare to combat the occasional acne flare-ups, or most importantly, for an ear to listen.

“But I guess what I’m saying is, the miscarriage last year messed me up more than I thought it did.” I feel my throat closing up, and I’m trying not to cry.

Willow lets out a deep sigh. “Oh, honey. Of course it did. And that’s okay. That’s totally normal. When I had mine before Nora, it was scary and devastating, and the worst thing is how life just seems to go on around you, no one having any idea what you’re going through. And what you’ve lost.”

I take a shaky breath. “Exactly.” I hate that this is something Willow and I have both suffered, but I’m grateful that our shared experience makes us both feel less alone.

“The thing is, with Jamie, I thought the miscarriage and the breakup were kind of two separate things, you know? It was just bad timing mixed with the inevitable. Jamie had been waiting for the other shoe to drop for probably the entire length of our relationship anyway. Or that’s what I believed. But now…”

“Now?”

“Well, I just wonder if I was the one putting up the walls, afraid of not being…”

“Not being what, Sybil?”

“The wife he wanted.” Now I’m crying despite my best efforts, and thankful for the cloak of darkness, the moon and stars obscured by thick clouds. “Am I really the person he thought he was marrying? How do you even know if you are who people think you are? Am I even making sense?”

“Wow.” Willow’s deadpan voice in my ear brings me back to our phone call. “You go for the big existential questions, huh?”

I huff out a laugh. “Sorry.”

“Nah, it’s okay. I get it. I always start questioning my life path around the full moon. That shit brings up all kinds of big feelings.”

“Tell me about it.”

I hear Nora start to cry again through the phone and try to imagine the four of us bouncing from small Mediterranean town to small Mediterranean town, like we did when the Core Four took our first trip abroad.

Eating bread and cheese until we pass out somewhere in a patch of sunlight.

Nothing different from that first trip except Willow’s baby strapped to her chest.

Of course, it couldn’t really be that simple. There would be nap times to plan around; international phone calls to husbands and fiancés back home. Probably some camera crew trailing Nikki for a LovedBy featurette about finding love abroad. People change. Lives change. Maybe that’s okay.

Even if it sometimes still feels like a kind of loss.

After a few minutes of silence on the line, Willow speaks. “Can I ask you something, Sybil?”

“Of course!”

“Why do you think it’s been so hard for you to just say all this to Jamie?”

I blink back the fresh tears that threaten, and swallow through the lump in my throat. “Because he’ll feel so guilty. And—I couldn’t tell him that weekend. I didn’t want him to marry me out of guilt. I couldn’t do that, Bill. I couldn’t let that happen.”

“But you’re not together anymore. Don’t you think he’d appreciate getting the full story?”

“Well, it’s a bit more complicated than that.”

“How so?”

“I know it’s going to sound crazy, but since seeing him again, there’s this…

spark between us. Like whatever was there before…

it’s still alive. Bill, if I’m being honest, I don’t think I ever got over Jamie,” I blurt out.

It’s shocking to hear myself say it out loud, and yet it feels so completely obvious as soon as I do.

“Not really, anyway. Sometimes, it feels like I never will.”

“Maybe you won’t have to,” Willow says, and my breath hitches with hope.

After we ended our marriage in front of all our friends and loved ones, my crew was quick to swoop in and tell me that I deserved better.

But secretly, I just want to deserve him .

“I have a good feeling about this, Bill,” she says.

“The fact that he’s there with you. It means something.

Just be open to whatever the universe sends your way.

Maybe it’s Jamie, maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s just about finally making some peace with yourself.

” Willow’s words are a balm, and exactly what I need to hear.

Stop thinking about the past and start living in the present.

I let out a deep breath. “Thanks, Bill.”

“Anytime, Bill,” she says, and I can hear the smile in her voice.

We say our goodbyes, and there’s a scuffle over my shoulder as I pull the phone from my ear. I turn and follow the sound.

It’s Jamie.

T HE SOFT GLOW OF moonlight settles on Jamie’s skin, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw and the tousled mess of his dark hair.

My breath catches in my throat. He lifts his hand in a small wave.

He’s wearing a faded T-shirt and shorts, and I notice his feet are clad in a pair of old hiking boots.

I wonder if he’s been out on one of those evening cultural walking tours he was so excited about back when we were planning our honeymoon last year.

The thought brings a bittersweet ache to my chest, a reminder of all the shared dreams we once had.

But then I see the expression on his face—curious, and even a little hopeful.

And that flicker of hope in his eyes is enough to rekindle my own.

Did he overhear my words to Willow? I don’t think I ever got over Jamie.

Is it possible he feels the same way?

I give a gentle wave back, and Jamie’s lips quirk up in a small smile.

A gust of wind lifts his hair, and the hem of my dress is also sent fluttering. The wind has steadily been picking up over the course of the evening. What was just a light breeze earlier this afternoon has turned into the start of a full-blown storm.

Without saying a word, Jamie starts to walk down the stone steps that lead from the main lawn down to the sand. Even in the dark, I can see a slight sparkle in his warm brown eyes. With each step he takes, my heart starts to beat faster.

Maybe this is our moment. The universe, the approaching full moon, the melodic sounds of some new pop band blaring through someone’s portable speakers farther down the beach—all of them guiding Jamie to me so we can finally make things right between us.

Maybe this is the second chance we both deserve.

And then—the moment is broken by someone shouting from the distance. “Sybil!”