You Chose My Best Friend, So Why Are You Jealous?

The wedding binder was three inches thick, and I knew every tab by heart.

Florals. Seating chart. Vendor contracts. Honeymoon.

I flipped to the last one and smoothed the page flat on the restaurant table, right between my iced tea and Evan's half-finished burger.

"Okay, final round," I said. "The florist confirmed peonies, the DJ has the do-not-play list, and your mom finally stopped trying to seat Uncle Ray next to the bar."

Evan laughed and reached over to squeeze my knee under the table. "See? This is why I'm marrying you. You're terrifyingly organized."

Across from us, Chloe raised her wine glass. "Maid of honor seconds that. I've never seen a Pinterest board with a budget column."

I smiled. Chloe had been my best friend since sophomore year of college, back when we split a dorm room the size of a closet and lived on ramen and gossip. She'd helped me pick my dress. She'd cried harder than I did at the fitting.

"Last thing," I said, tapping the itinerary. "Tulum. We land on December fifteenth. Your trip to Denver won't run into it, right? You said it was the twentieth?"

Evan's hand went still on my knee.

It was a small thing, a half-second pause, his mouth open with nothing coming out. I noticed it the way you notice a missing stair in the dark.

"Oh, that got moved," Chloe said, easy as anything. She dragged a fry through ketchup. "It's the week before the wedding now. He flies out the eighth, back the twelfth. Hotel's already booked, the Hilton near the convention center. Totally fine for the honeymoon."

I looked at her. Then at Evan.

"It got moved," I repeated.

"Yeah, a few days ago," Evan said. He picked up his napkin and wiped his fingers, one at a time. "Client pushed the timeline. It's not a big deal."

"When exactly?"

He shrugged. "Monday? Maybe Tuesday."

Today was Thursday.

"So three days ago," I said. "And Chloe knows the hotel."

Chloe set down her fry. "Nora, I just happened to be around when he was dealing with it. He was stressing about flights, so I pulled up a few options. That's all."

"Around where?"

"Babe." Evan's voice dropped into that patient, reasonable tone he used on customer service reps. "She was helping me. I was slammed, the airline app kept crashing, and she offered. What's the problem?"

"The problem is you're flying out five days before our wedding and I'm hearing about it over a burger." My voice came out steadier than I felt. "From her."

"I was going to tell you."

"When? At the rehearsal dinner?"

He exhaled through his nose and leaned back against the booth. "Come on. Don't do this."

"Do what?"

"Turn it into some kind of guy-girl thing." He glanced at Chloe, almost apologetic, like I'd embarrassed him in front of company. "It's Chloe. She's your best friend. You're acting like I got caught texting some random woman at two in the morning."

Chloe laughed softly and shook her head, as if the idea was too silly to entertain. "Seriously, Nor. I'd tell you if he was being shady. You know that."

The waitress drifted over to refill our water, and all three of us went quiet until she left. I watched the ice settle in my glass and tried to tell myself they were right. That I was tired. That six weeks of seating charts had fried my brain.

"Did you at least get a decent flight?" I asked finally, because someone had to say something normal.

"Seven a.m. out of O'Hare," Evan said. "Brutal, but it's direct."

"Aisle seat, though," Chloe added, nudging his arm across the table. "He switched. No more window. He says he's sick of climbing over people to get to the bathroom."

Evan grinned. "Getting old."

I stared at the place where her fingers had touched his sleeve.

For four years, Evan had taken the window seat. Every flight. Every time. He liked leaning his head against the wall to sleep. On our trip to Nashville last spring, he'd practically sulked when the airline stuck him in the middle.

I hadn't known he'd switched.

She did.

"Since when?" I asked.

Evan blinked at me. "What?"

"The aisle thing. Since when?"

"I don't know. A couple of trips ago?" He frowned. "Why does that matter?"

It didn't. That was the worst part. It was nothing, a tiny, stupid detail. But it was the kind of tiny, stupid detail you only know about someone if you're paying attention. If you've been there.

Chloe's smile had thinned a little. "Nora, it was literally on the booking screen. I saw it when I was helping him."

"Right," I said. "The booking screen."

Normally, this was where I fixed it. I'd laugh, say I was being crazy, blame the wedding brain. I'd order dessert for the table and ask Chloe about her new apartment, and Evan would squeeze my knee again, and by the time we got the check, the whole thing would be smoothed over like a wrinkle in a tablecloth. I'd been doing it for years, keeping the three of us easy and warm, making sure nobody felt left out.

I didn't feel like doing it tonight.

I closed the binder. The snap of it made Chloe flinch.

"Nora," Evan said. "What are you doing?"

"Going home." I tucked the binder under my arm and slid out of the booth. My purse caught on the edge of the table, and I yanked it free. "You two clearly have the logistics handled."

"Oh my God." Evan rubbed his forehead. "You're seriously leaving over an airline seat?"

"I'm leaving because I'm the bride, and I'm the last person to know my fiancé's schedule." I looked at Chloe. "Thanks for booking his hotel."

Her mouth opened, then closed. For once she didn't have an easy answer.

"Nor, come on," she said quietly. "Sit down. You're making this weird."

"I'm not the one who made it weird."

I walked out without waiting to hear what came next.

The October air hit my face like a slap, cold and sharp after the heat of the restaurant. I made it to the corner before my hands started shaking. I pulled out my phone and opened the rideshare app, thumb hovering, the binder pressed hard against my ribs.

He'll come after me, I thought. He always does.

I waited for the door to swing open behind me. For Evan's footsteps. For him to say my name the way he did when he knew he'd messed up, low and a little sheepish.

Nothing.

I turned around.

Through the restaurant's front window, I could see our booth. Evan was still sitting there, signing the check. He said something, and Chloe laughed and pushed her hair behind her ear.

A minute later, they came out together. Evan clicked his key fob, and the headlights of his gray Audi blinked in the lot. He didn't look toward the street. He didn't look for me at all.

Chloe walked around the front of the car, opened the passenger door, and slid inside like she'd done it a hundred times. She adjusted the seat without even looking for the lever.

That was my seat. I'd picked those heated leather seats out myself.

Evan got in beside her. The engine started.

My phone buzzed in my hand. Your driver is 2 minutes away.

I didn't move. I just stood there on the corner, holding a binder full of my own wedding, and watched my fiancé and my best friend drive away together in the direction of his apartment.