Chapter 55 An Invitation
Crew's POV,
Harper's phone rang during breakfast and her entire face went pale when she looked at the screen.
"Who is it?" I asked, setting down my coffee.
"Unknown number. Seattle area code." She stared at it like the phone might bite her. "What if it's Joel again?"
"Then you don't answer. We already established boundaries." I reached across Maya's kitchen table. "Give it to me. I'll answer."
"No." She hit decline and set the phone face-down. "I'm not letting Joel ruin my morning. We have too much to do today anyway."
The phone immediately started ringing again. Same number.
"Persistent bastard," Maya muttered from where she was making eggs at the stove.
Harper growled and answered, putting it on speaker. "Joel, I swear to god if you don't stop calling me I will file a restraining order so fast your head will spin."
"Ms. Sinclair?" An older woman's voice came through, surprised and slightly amused. "This is Catherine Cross. Brianna's mother. Is this a bad time?"
Harper's eyes went huge. She looked at me in panic. I gestured for her to keep going.
"Mrs. Cross. I'm so sorry, I thought you were someone else." Harper's voice shifted into professional mode instantly. "How can I help you?"
"Well, I'm calling because I'd like to extend an invitation to you and Mr. Lawson. For the rehearsal dinner. Tomorrow evening at the Edgewater Hotel." Catherine paused. "I realize this is unusual given the circumstances, but I'd very much like you both to be there."
Harper mouthed 'what the fuck' at me. I shrugged.
"Mrs. Cross, I appreciate the invitation, but I'm not sure that's appropriate. Your daughter and I aren't exactly on good terms."
"Which is precisely why I'm inviting you. Brianna and I have had several long conversations about what happened between you two. About my husband's actions. About the lawsuit and the corruption and all of it." Catherine's voice was kind but firm. "My daughter made mistakes, Ms. Sinclair. Significant ones. But she's trying to take responsibility now. And part of that responsibility is facing the people she's hurt."
"With all due respect, I don't owe Brianna anything. Including my presence at her rehearsal dinner."
"You don't owe her anything. You're absolutely right. But perhaps you owe yourself closure. A chance to see that Joel is marrying someone he doesn't love, in a wedding that's making everyone miserable, while you've moved on to something better." Catherine laughed softly. "I'm not trying to manipulate you, dear. I'm trying to give you the satisfaction of seeing that you won."
Maya turned from the stove, spatula in hand, mouthing 'I like this woman.'
Harper looked at me. I gave her the 'your choice' face I'd been practicing in therapy.
"Can I think about it?" Harper asked. "And call you back?"
"Of course. I'll text you my personal number. The dinner starts at six. Cocktail attire. And Ms. Sinclair? I really do hope you'll come. I think it might help more than you realize."
After she hung up, Harper just stared at her phone.
"Well," Maya said, sliding eggs onto plates. "That was unexpected."
"She invited us to the rehearsal dinner. Brianna's mother invited us to the rehearsal dinner." Harper looked at me. "That's insane, right? That's objectively insane."
"It's definitely unusual," I said carefully.
"Unusual? It's psychological warfare disguised as hospitality." She started pacing. "Why would she do that? What's the angle? Is it a trap? Is she trying to humiliate me in front of Joel's family and friends?"
"Or," Maya offered, bringing plates to the table, "she's genuinely trying to make amends for her husband trying to send you to prison."
"By inviting me to watch her daughter marry my ex-boyfriend?"
"Stranger things have happened." Maya sat down. "Harper, what do you actually want to do? Forget about whether it's weird or appropriate. Do you want to go?"
Harper stopped pacing. She looked at me again, like I might have answers she didn't.
"I don't know," she admitted. "Part of me wants to go just to see Joel's face when we walk in. But another part thinks this is a terrible idea that will end in disaster."
"Both of those things can be true," I said, echoing something Dr. Okonkwo had told me about conflicting emotions being normal. "You can want to go AND think it's a bad idea simultaneously."
"That's not helpful."
"I know. But it's honest." I reached for her hand. "Harper, we're already going to the wedding on Saturday. If we're going to do this thing, we might as well do it completely. Go to the rehearsal dinner. Face Joel in a smaller setting first. Get the awkward reunion out of the way so the wedding itself is less intense."
"Or we skip the rehearsal dinner, go to the wedding, and minimize our exposure to Joel's misery."
"Also a valid option."
She sat down heavily, pushing eggs around her plate without eating them. "What do you think I should do?"
"I think you should do whatever makes you feel most empowered. If going to that dinner gives you closure, go. If it feels like torture, skip it." I squeezed her hand. "But Harper, you need to be honest about WHY you want to go. Is it closure? Or is it revenge?"
"Can't it be both?"
"Sure. But revenge disguised as closure usually ends badly. Trust me, I've got twelve years of grudge-holding experience with Joel. It's not as satisfying as you think."
Maya pointed her fork at me. "Therapy has made you annoyingly wise."
"I have sessions four times a week. Eventually something sticks."
Harper was quiet for a long moment, staring at her phone like it might provide answers. Finally she picked it up and typed out a message.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"Texting Catherine Cross. Telling her we'll be there." She hit send before she could second-guess herself. "We're going to the rehearsal dinner. And then the wedding. And then we're moving to Vancouver and never thinking about Joel Hartley again."
"That's a solid plan."
"It's a terrible plan. But we're doing it anyway." She finally took a bite of eggs. "Oh god, what am I going to wear? I have the wedding dress but I don't have anything for a rehearsal dinner. Do I need to go shopping again? I can't handle another shopping trip, Maya. I'll have a breakdown in a dressing room."
"You have that black dress from your grandma's funeral," Maya offered.
"I am NOT wearing my funeral dress to Joel's rehearsal dinner. That's too on the nose even for me."
"Then we'll find something online. Amazon Prime exists for exactly these situations." Maya pulled out her laptop. "What's the vibe we're going for? Classy and unbothered? Sexy and moved-on? Business casual with a hint of 'I'm better than this but I'm being polite'?"
"All of the above somehow?"
"Challenge accepted."
While they scrolled through dress options, I pulled out my phone and texted Mike, my sponsor.
Going to Harper's ex's rehearsal dinner tomorrow night. Should I be worried about triggers?
He responded within minutes. Weddings are high-risk. Open bar, emotional stress, social pressure. What's your plan if you get overwhelmed?
Leave early. Call you. Breathing exercises Dr. Okonkwo taught me.
Good. Also bring hard candy. Keeps your mouth busy when you want to drink or use. Sounds stupid but it works.
Thanks man.
You got this. 42 days clean is huge. Don't let one dinner derail your progress.
I looked up to find Harper watching me.
"Everything okay?" she asked.
"Yeah. Just checking in with Mike about tomorrow night. Making sure I have a plan if things get intense."
"Are you worried about relapsing?" Her voice was quiet, careful.
"I'm worried about being in a room with Joel, watching him get married, surrounded by alcohol and people asking questions about my rehab stint. So yeah. A little worried." I set my phone down. "But I've got strategies. And you'll be there. That helps."
"What if I'm part of the stress? What if watching me interact with Joel makes things worse?"
"Then we leave. That's the beauty of having our own car and staying in a hotel. We can bail anytime." I stood up and moved behind her chair, rubbing her shoulders. "We don't have to be heroes, Harper. We just have to show up and survive."
"Surviving seems like a low bar."
"In early recovery, survival is the highest bar there is."
Maya closed her laptop. "Found three dress options. All Prime eligible for tomorrow delivery. You're welcome."
Harper leaned back into my hands. "What would I do without you two?"
"Probably wear your funeral dress and have a panic attack in the hotel lobby," Maya said cheerfully. "But lucky for you, we're here to prevent that."
My phone buzzed. Text from Dr. Okonkwo, who I'd messaged earlier about the rehearsal dinner situation.
Remember: you can't control how others behave. You can only control your response. If Joel provokes you, that's his choice. How you react is yours. Practice the grounding techniques we discussed.
I typed back: What if I want to punch him really badly?
Then you excuse yourself to the bathroom and punch a towel instead. Or call me. I'll be available all evening.
You're really earning your paycheck this month.
That's what I'm here for. Good luck tomorrow. You've got this.
I showed Harper the texts. She smiled, some of the tension leaving her face.
"Your therapist is better than mine," she said.
"Your therapist doesn't specialize in addiction recovery. Mine basically expects chaos and plans accordingly." I kissed the top of her head. "We're going to be fine tomorrow. Uncomfortable, but fine."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
Maya ordered the dresses. Harper picked the one that looked most like "I've moved on and I'm thriving." I made a mental note to pack extra anxiety medication just in case. We spent the rest of the day packing more of my house and trying not to think too hard about what we'd agreed to.
That night, lying in bed at Maya's apartment, Harper turned to me in the dark.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"For what?"
"For agreeing to this. For going with me to my ex's wedding events even though it's weird and painful and you'd probably rather be anywhere else."
"Harper, I'd go anywhere with you. Even into the depths of awkward social hell." I pulled her closer. "Besides, I want to see Joel's face when we walk in. That's going to be satisfying."
"You're not supposed to find satisfaction in other people's misery."
"I'm not supposed to do a lot of things. Doesn't mean I won't."
She laughed against my chest. "We're going to be disasters tomorrow night."
"Probably. But we'll be disasters together."
"That's almost romantic."
"I'm working on it. Give me time."
She fell asleep eventually, her breathing evening out against my shoulder. I stayed awake longer, staring at the ceiling, running through worst-case scenarios and exit strategies.
Tomorrow night we'd walk into that rehearsal dinner. We'd face Joel and Brianna and all the complicated history between us. We'd smile and be polite and prove that we'd moved on.
And then we'd go back to our hotel room and collapse and maybe have minor breakdowns in private.
But we'd survive it.
Because that's what we did now.
We survived things together.
Even when those things were our own terrible decisions disguised as closure.