Who could live in such a place?

“Stephannie!” Daria squealed as she hugged a girl who looked like the dark-haired version of her. They held each other for what seemed to be a century before disconnecting. Daria introduced us and told Stephannie (who pointed out that her name was spelled with a double N. Why couldn’t rich people just let normal names be?) that I couldn’t talk, but I could hear and text, waving it off like it was hardly an issue.

And so, Stephannie didn’t treat it as one. It was definitely refreshing.

“Where is Penn?” I asked Daria as we wandered to the deck, where she began arranging drinks on a long table.

She tossed her glossy hair, her signature move. “Oh, trying on suits with his friends in New York. He’s taking the wedding thing uber seriously.” She rolled her eyes, laughing.

“Don’t you?” I panicked. One thing we could credit our parents for—they sure gave us good examples of how successful, happy marriages should look.

Daria shrugged, pouring champagne into tall, thin glasses with a precise accuracy that would make an AA counselor flinch. “I take the marriage seriously. The wedding? Not so much.”

My eyes raked over her face, searching for clues. Daria was one of the most materialistic people I knew, so hearing her say that surprised me.

She put the empty bottle of champagne on the table, popping open a new one.

“Look…” She turned to me. “When you find the one, all the other details blur together. I don’t know what I want to wear when I wed him. I don’t know what my hair is going to look like, or how many guests I want to invite, or if I want a beach wedding, or one in a fancy hotel, or to elope in Vegas. All I know is that I want to be with Penn. Every hour. Every day. Every year. And that’s enough for me. It’s more than enough. It’s everything. Don’t you feel like that about Knight?” She cocked her head.

I wasn’t so sure anymore. Our relationship was such a mess. He was torn apart by his mother’s situation and me sleeping with someone else, and I was scrambling to become normal, finally out of my parents’ nest, with banged-up wings and frayed feathers. We both had so much going on. Communicating effectively was not our strong point these days.

An hour later, the place was jam-packed. Vaughn came with a bunch of his artsy friends, skulking in the corner of the room. They looked much older and terribly worldly. Knight walked in with Poppy on his arm. She wore a canary yellow mini dress and a sweet smile. They were talking and laughing.

They looked happy.

Genuinely happy. I didn’t know what had happened between the day before Christmas, at the shelter, and now. But whatever it was, they seemed to have overcome it. Overcome me. Maybe I needn’t fulfill Rosie’s wish after all. Maybe Poppy would be there to pick up the pieces so I didn’t have to.

So I didn’t get to.

“Don’t look at him, and definitely don’t say hello,” Daria warned fiercely when she saw me looking.

I cradled my glass of champagne and glared at the wall. This wasn’t me. I wasn’t one to play games. Then again, Daria was now blissfully engaged to a guy who’d once made a promise to ruin her life and hated her guts but now adored the ground her fancy heels walked upon. I was morbidly single. She obviously had game, and I could use a few pointers.

Hours dragged. Music played. People laughed. When it became apparent that Knight and Poppy weren’t going to acknowledge us, too engrossed in their own little universe, Daria dragged me to the dance floor and convinced me to shake my butt. It was nearing midnight, and the acute sense of time running out slammed into me.

“The plan isn’t working,” I complained to Daria as she twerked against my thigh, throwing her head back and forth to “Lollipop” by Lil Wayne. I felt like a broken Cinderella. My carriage was going to turn into a pumpkin soon, only this was not a fairytale—more like a Halloween nightmare. I hated that Knight could see what I said if he wanted to. Even from across the room.

“Honey, making a guy jealous is like getting a fine ass. You have to work hard for it.” She waved me off, twirling in place and sipping on her champagne. “Act like you don’t care.”

“I do care.”

“Ugh, I know. Which is so awful, isn’t it? Guys are trash.”

We danced until my feet screamed in agony, threatening to fall off. The entire party seemed to pour itself onto the deck for the ten-second countdown welcoming the next year. Everyone stared at the dusky sky, dotted with stars, holding their drinks. I realized to my horror that, other than myself and Daria, everybody was hugging a significant other they could kiss. Jesus Christ. How had I not noticed it before? We were going to look so pathetic.