True to her word, Merritt stayed in New York to cancel the wedding plans with me. She studied contracts, negotiated terms, and basically took the lead in every conversation. Considering I couldn’t even say Sam’s name without breaking down in tears, I was extremely grateful for her help. Most of the vendors were understanding, agreeing to return the money we’d already paid, minus our initial deposits. As the photographer told us, Sam wasn’t “the first groom in history to be caught with his pants down before the wedding.”
I was most worried about our seemingly iron-clad agreement with The Pierre Hotel, but fortunately, there was a couple from Japan interested in getting married there the same weekend our wedding had been booked. The coordinator had them on a cancellation waitlist and let the couple know our slot had opened, which they immediately jumped on. We lost our sizable deposit, but the hotel refunded the rest of the money we’d already laid out.
“Now that we’ve settled your housing situation, all that’s left is the dress,” Merritt said as we stepped out of The Pierre and onto Fifth Avenue.
Merritt had managed to help me find an apartment in record time, especially for a tight real estate market like New York. Her friend Nick was directing a brand-new Netflix television series in Vancouver for the next six months and was looking for an immediate subletter. Merritt signed the paperwork and gave a two-month deposit before I had the chance to object. She even arranged for movers to pack up and take my things to my new place.
“And you really can’t talk to anyone at the bridal store until next week?” she asked.
“Their Wedding Unwinder isn’t available until Tuesday.”
She stopped in her tracks. “Wedding Unwinder?”
“They apparently have someone on staff who was hired just to deal with broken engagements.”
Merritt dug around her purse for her sunglasses. “That’s some job, although, after this week, I could probably apply.”
Merritt looked up and saw the pained expression on my face. She slipped her arm around my waist and pulled me in for a squeeze.
“I’m sorry. It’s way too soon to make light of anything,” she said.
“No, it’s fine. Wedding Unwinder sounds completely ridiculous to me too. Why don’t they just call the job what it really is, the person who keeps jilted brides from throwing themselves off the 59th Street Bridge.”
She pushed her sunglasses onto her head. “You weren’t jilted.”
“No, that’s right, I was just cheated on and betrayed.”
She threw her hands up in the air. “Well, that settles it, I can’t go home tomorrow.”
I tilted my head to the side. “Mer, you have a wife, a child, and a job. You have to go home eventually.”
“Who’s going to make sure you’re eating and sleeping? I mean this in the most loving and sisterly way, but you look like shit. You’ve dropped at least another couple of pounds, and those bags under your eyes are getting darker by the day.” Merritt took me by the hands. “Joey, maybe it’s time to talk to somebody. An Ambien prescription can do wonders.”
I forced a smile on my face and nodded. I could see there was no way she’d get on a flight home unless I threw her a bone. “You know, you’re right. I’ll make an appointment for next week.”
“Good. Stephen said to take as much time as you need, right?”
“Not quite, but he gave me the rest of this week to deal with this mess.”
“What about Sam?”
I jerked my head up. “What about him?”
“You two need to talk.”
“I don’t see why. His name is the one on the mortgage for the apartment, not mine. We have separate credit cards, bills, even phone plans. I told him just to keep the engagement gifts. I don’t want them.”
“I’m not talking about your finances. Sam wasn’t just some guy you dated for a few months. Don’t you want to hear what he has to say? God knows, I’m not saying to forgive him, but he’s been in your life for far too long to just abruptly cut him out of it.”
“So, what are you saying, Merritt?” I snapped back in a tone far harsher than I intended.
“You need some form of closure. It’s the only way to begin to move on.”
“And what if I can’t? You know, move on?”
“I know it feels that way now, but it won’t forever.”
“Truthfully, the only thing I feel is numb.”
Merritt put her hand on my shoulder. “Come on, the florist is expecting us at 3:00.”
A few days later, I gave my name to the front desk receptionist at the wedding salon, who quickly ushered me to a small office on the lower level of the shop, far away from the shopping brides. The room was painted a tranquil sky blue with a deep-seated light gray velvet couch in the center of the space. In the corner was a small table with a blue-and-white porcelain tea set. The receptionist let me know to make myself comfortable and told me Regan, the Wedding Unwinder, would be in to join me shortly. I settled onto one of the cushions, while Enya’s “Only Time” hummed out of a ceiling speaker. Apparently, this was how they kept jilted brides from jumping off the 59th Street Bridge.
A few minutes later there was a light knock on the door. A petite woman who looked to be around my age entered the room holding a large manila envelope and garment bag. She had dark brown hair pulled back into a loose bun and was wearing a simple white button-down shirt, a classic strand of pearls, slim trousers, and kitten heels. She poured two cups of tea and carried them over to the couch, passing me one as she sank into the seat.
“You must be Joanna,” she said, handing me her business card. I glanced down to read it. Regan Westman, MFT.
I looked up. “MFT?”
“Marriage and Family Therapist.” Regan reached behind her for the envelope and pulled out a stack of papers from inside. “I know this must be a difficult time, but I’m here to make this as painless as possible.”
I swallowed to clear the lump in my throat. “I appreciate that.”
She placed her hand over my own and squeezed. “Of course. So, it looks like you made the final payment on your Georgica Goldstein gown just a couple of days ago?”
“I think I just owe a bit more for the final alterations.”
“Right, I see here that the dress needed to be taken in pretty significantly.” She arched her left eyebrow. “Benji’s Boot Camp?”
“He’s the best.”
Regan smiled and turned the stack of papers over. “In these situations, we offer our brides three options. Option One, you pay the remaining balance and take the dress home today. Option Two, we resell the dress as a sample at a reduced price point. You likely wouldn’t recoup the full amount you’ve spent, but you’ll get some portion back.”
“What’s Option Three?”
“Some of our brides aren’t ready to say goodbye to their dress but find it too difficult to have it in their home. Once you pay the remaining balance, we’ll store it here for you for no extra charge. You may come to realize that while you may not have found the perfect man, you did find the perfect gown.”
“I seriously doubt that.”
“I understand you feel that way now, but I can rattle off the names of dozens of women who’ve sat right where you are and came out the other side.”
I reached for the box of tissues on the side table, pulled one out, and dabbed the corners of my eyes, which had become like faucets these last few weeks.
Regan reached into the envelope and pulled out a small pamphlet. “Here, this is for you. I can’t recommend this program enough. A former classmate of mine runs it out of Topsail Island in North Carolina.”
I scanned the top page. “Retreat House Breakup Boot Camp?”
“It’s a two-week retreat that includes sessions led by the top psychologists, behavioral scientists, coaches, energy healers, meditation teachers, and personal trainers. Heartbreak is a real thing. An all-consuming thing. It’s like having a broken rib. Nobody can see it, but it hurts every time you breathe.”
“Yes, it’s exactly like that,” I admitted.
She nodded and continued. “The resort’s a beautiful beachfront property with surfing and yoga. All the meals are cooked by an on-site chef, using organic and local ingredients. It’s really the perfect place to take a timeout and heal.”
“You sound like you speak from experience?”
“I was in an almost four-year relationship with the man I thought was going to be my husband. Looking back now, I can see how I ignored dozens of red flags, but I was in love. So in love, that when it ended, I could barely function. I fell apart. A friend of a friend had attended the Boot Camp and recommended it to me. Admittedly, I was a skeptic, but the weeks I spent there absolutely changed my life.”
I folded the pamphlet into my tote. “I’ll think about it.”
She nodded. “And the dress? Any decisions there?”
I stood up and walked over to where my wedding gown was hanging off a large hook and carefully unzipped the garment bag. Regan came up behind me.
“It’s a stunner,” she said.
Tears were brimming in my eyes. “Why don’t you keep the dress here. I haven’t even moved into my new place yet. I’m not sure if I’ll have the room to store it.”
“That’s not a problem,” Regan said, zipping the bag back up.
“Is that it, then, are we finished here?”
Regan nodded and passed me the envelope. “Joanna, I urge you to consider the Boot Camp. We employ people to help us fix things all the time, dish washers, car engines, bones. Why should a broken heart be any different?”
A broken heart, sure, but what about a shattered one?