The second the Miata appears I bolt, flinging open the driver’s side and tossing the first bill in my pocket at the guy.

“Thank you!” he shouts as I peel out, half-blind and turning the wrong way, ignoring road signs. I need wind. I need air.

I need space.

But most of all, I need to get away from the one person I invested so much of myself in, the one who turned out to be such a disappointment because I was too clueless to face reality.

Not Carrie.

Me.

CARRIE

It feels like about a week since I woke up this morning.

My weekend started with coffee on the beach and ended with cocktails in a ballroom, went from blue jeans to near-black tie. In between, I have appeared on local television and smiled through approximately two thousand wedding photos (both professional and Instagram). I’ve laughed at the punchlines of everyone’s toasts and been a really good sport about the stupid bouquet-tossing ritual (dodged that bullet when Jessie caught it). I have pretended to remember all of Jenny’s cousins, to tolerate cougars, to like Kevin, to love Ryan and not to love Ryan. Most of it while wearing four-inch heels and being pulled into videography sessions more choreographed than the Oscars.

I am completely exhausted.

“Have you seen Ryan?” I ask Angela. She’s got her now-wilting flowers in one hand and a bottle of water in the other and appears to be headed for the door. With Aiden’s brother, Nolan. Who is carrying her purse.

Huh. Weddings.

“Not since you were dancing,” she says, glancing around the still-crowded ballroom. It’s after ten p.m. “He must be here somewhere. See you tomorrow.” She kisses my cheek, unconcerned, and puts her arm through Nolan’s as they move on.

Very true. He must be here somewhere. I make one more circuit of the room, but no luck. Not by the bar, not at our table, not on the dance floor. The only place I can’t look is the men’s room. I retrieve my bag from under my chair and pull out my phone.

Hey where can you be? I type and send, then squint at the screen, which says: Hey when can you bed?

Damn autocorrect.

*where* I add. *be*

Nothing.

“Carrie!” Jessie comes over to me, breathless. “We forgot to get a picture of you with your fabulous centerpieces. It’ll make a hole in the scrapbook. We need you to hold this empty wine bottle and we’ll photoshop in a centerpiece later.”

An hour later, the photographer has 244 versions of me holding an empty wine bottle.

I check my phone. No text from Ryan. No actual Ryan. What on earth is going on?

I hydrate. I eat yet another piece of white wedding cake with a fondant rose. I make small talk with Aiden’s grandmother’s cousin’s plumber (who had to be invited as an exchange for someone in Aiden’s family being invited to his daughter’s wedding). I find blisters on my feet and change into the flipflops Jenny gave us.

Still no Ryan.

I force myself to do the Funky Chicken Dance. Without Ryan.

Ryan, I text again. I’m worried. Please reply. Where are you?

Three bouncing dots appear, and then:

nowhere

Well, that’s odd. What does he mean? A little stab of worry pierces my stomach.

I’m so tired all of a sudden, want to leave? I send back.

No response. The worry stabs again. It’s a familiar feeling.

Maybe he’s already gone up to the room. I should say polite goodnights to everyone, but Jenny and Aiden are surrounded by a group of people I don’t know, chatting and laughing. Guiltily, I take my bag and my bouquet and slip out the door. I’ll see them in the morning.

On my way, I check the wing chairs in the lobby and poke my head around the corner to see if Grind It Fresh! is still open. Ryan might have felt the need for caffeine after all the partying? I could use a latte myself. But it’s closed up tight.

When I let myself in, our room is dark and blessedly silent after the noisy reception. I snap on a light and drop my things on the bed.

“Ry?”

Still silent. I check the bathroom. Just my pink-striped makeup bag on the counter. His shaving kit isn’t there. I spin around and scan the bedroom. A few quarters on the desk, and a half empty water bottle, but nothing else of his. I run to the closet and pull it open.

One suitcase: mine. His hangers are empty.

I grab my phone again and type out: Ryan where are you? My fingers are shaking. I switch to the recent calls list and press his number.

I know there’s not going to be an answer, but I try three times anyway. The little stab of worry is now a giant sword of hot fear.

“What could have happened? Why won’t he pick up?” I am talking out loud, anything to fill up the silence, to hear a voice. I can’t understand this, we were having so much fun! I mean, weren’t we?

Eventually I get undressed and pull on a t-shirt. It’s a lot easier getting out of the dress by myself than it was getting into it. I strip off my stockings and jewelry and stuff it all in my bag. I feel pain and numbness, physically in my feet from dancing in heels.

Dancing. With Ryan.

I lay down on top of the bed with my phone in one hand and wait for morning. Which eventually comes. It always does.

Hours later, when the sky begins to grow light, I turn off the bedside lamp and pick up the phone:

Ryan, please, where are you? Are you okay? I’m so worried

Nothing for a moment, then my heart leaps as the three dots appear.

Then disappear.

And reappear.

Then, nothing. No dots. No answer.

There’s a farewell breakfast on the terrace at 9:30 a.m. That’s three hours from now, which is so long, it might as well be Tuesday. What on earth am I supposed to do for three hours? I pace around the room, considering my options. They’re not good.

1. Call Angela and pour my heart out? I’m guessing Nolan would not appreciate that right now. Or Angela either, for that matter.

2. Go for a run on the beach? Right. The only time I run is when the subway doors are closing.

3. I can’t think of anything else.

Suddenly I stop pacing, so fast that I almost lose my balance. I am getting out of here, now. They do not need me at the farewell breakfast, and in fact probably no one will even notice my absence. I brush my teeth, pull a pair of grey yoga pants and a pink top out of my bag, and gather up the few last items in the room. I drop my bouquet in the wastebasket, where it lands with a thump.