My ex-husband’s wedding invitation came through a text message.

“Come to my wedding with Claire and bring the girls. Your invitation comes with a +1, although we both know you don’t have anyone.”

That was so Max.

We had been married for nearly thirteen years and had two daughters, aged ten and three, when he decided I no longer looked the way he wanted me to.

“You don’t look like you used to,” he said.

Then I found out about Claire.

His personal trainer.

When I confronted him about the affair, Max didn’t even apologize.

“What did you expect? Men are visual. Claire is perfect.”

I stood in our bedroom as he packed his things.

“You cheated because I gained weight?”

“You used to have a slim waist, Ronnie. When was the last time you even looked at yourself in the mirror?”

After that, I kept looking.

At my stomach.

My arms.

My reflection from the side.

I started changing clothes because I could still hear Max’s voice telling me what I needed to hide.

Then he announced that he was going to marry Claire.

I could have chosen not to attend the wedding, but our daughters were going, and my oldest kept asking whether I would be there.

So I agreed.

Then I noticed the +1.

I wanted Max to see that I was doing fine.

Better than fine.

That was how I ended up standing beside my coworker Edward’s desk on Monday morning.

“I need a favor.”

He looked up.

“That sounds expensive.”

“Come to my ex-husband’s wedding with me.”

“As emotional support?”

“As my boyfriend.”

He stared at me.

“Pretend boyfriend,” I added.

“Oh. Much healthier.”

Edward had become one of my closest friends during the divorce. He listened without constantly trying to solve everything, brought me coffee when the divorce became official, and once helped me rewrite an angry message to Max before I sent something I would have regretted.

He was also tall, athletic, and irritatingly handsome.

Exactly the kind of man Max would notice.

“Why me?” Edward asked.

I tried to make a joke.

“Because you’re ridiculously presentable.”

He continued watching me.

“Veronica.”

I sighed.

“I want Max to see me with you and wonder whether leaving me was a mistake.”

Edward leaned back.

For some reason, that answer seemed to bother him.

Then he nodded.

“Okay.”

I probably should have questioned why he agreed so quickly.

Instead, I spent the entire week worrying about my dress.

Max had trained me well.

I turned down dress after dress because I could still hear his old comments about my waist and arms.

Eventually, I picked the one I had liked before I started imagining what he would think.

Edward picked me up on Saturday.

A large cardboard box sat in the back of his car.

“What’s that?”

“Donation stuff.”

I didn’t ask anything else.

The wedding was huge.

Flowers were everywhere.

White tablecloths.

Champagne.

More chandeliers than the room possibly needed.

Our daughters were thrilled.

Then Max noticed us.

His eyes moved from me to Edward and then back to me.

For one satisfying moment, he had absolutely nothing to say.

Claire stood beside him in a fitted white gown.

She looked beautiful.

I hated that noticing it still hurt.

Max walked over.

“So this is your plus-one?”

“Max, this is Edward.”

Edward held out his hand.

“Congratulations.”

Max looked Edward over from head to toe.

Then he laughed.

Not politely.

He actually laughed.

Several guests nearby turned toward us.

“What’s funny?” I asked.

“Him?”

Max glanced around as though everyone else should already understand the joke.

“Your boyfriend?”

Claire touched his arm.

“Max.”

He ignored her.

“I don’t believe it. No one would date you. Especially someone like him.”

My face burned.

Then he gave me the same grin he always wore when he wanted to disguise cruelty as humor.

“What did you do, pay him to come?”

For half a second, I was back in our bedroom, watching him pack.

I wanted to disappear.

Edward didn’t raise his voice.

Instead, he smiled.

“Actually, Max, I brought you a wedding gift.”

Max looked surprised.

“For me?”

“Especially for you.”

Edward turned toward me.

“Give me five minutes.”

Then he walked outside.

Max watched him leave and smirked.

“I knew it.”

Five minutes later, Edward came back carrying the cardboard box from his car.

He placed it on an empty table.

“For the groom.”

Max laughed.

“You were serious.”

“Open it.”

By then, several guests were watching.

Max opened the box.

His smile vanished.

Inside was an enormous pair of trousers.

He pulled them out.

“What is this?”

“Mine,” Edward said.

Max looked from Edward to the trousers.

“You wore these?”

“Yes.”

Edward took them back.

“I used to be much heavier.”

Max frowned.

“So?”

Edward looked at me.

“Veronica knows part of this story.”

I stared at him.

“I do?”

“About three years ago, before we became friends, someone brought birthday cake into the office.”

Then I remembered.

Edward had been standing near the break room.

Someone offered him cake.

He refused.

“People who look like me don’t need cake.”

I had been having a terrible week with Max.

Without thinking, I replied,

“Funny. My husband talks about me like that.”

Edward’s smile disappeared.

Then I told him,

“I hate hearing it from him. I don’t like hearing it from you either.”

At the time, I took my cake and walked away.

I had nearly forgotten the conversation.

Edward hadn’t.

“That stayed with me,” he said.

Max looked impatient.

“What exactly is the point?”

Edward folded the trousers over one arm.

“The point is Veronica never told me what I should weigh. She never told me that changing my body would make me more valuable. She simply made me realize that I had started talking to myself the same way someone else was talking to her.”

People were listening now.

Edward continued.

“I stopped putting my life on hold until I looked acceptable. Later, I changed some habits, and my body changed too.”

Max smirked.

“So Veronica inspired you to get in shape. Great.”

“No.”

Edward answered immediately.

“That is exactly what you still don’t understand.”

Max’s smile faded.

“She didn’t fix me. There was never anything wrong with me that needed fixing before I deserved to enjoy my own life.”

Claire looked at Max.

Then she looked at me.

Max gave an uneasy laugh.

“What does any of that have to do with me?”

Edward handed him the trousers.

“Because you looked at me tonight and decided my appearance proved something about Veronica.”

Max shrugged.

“It does.”

Edward held his gaze.

“Then why are you still trying so hard to prove it?”

Max stopped smiling.

A few minutes later, Edward asked me to step into the hallway.

His expression was different now.

“Veronica, Max was wrong about you. But there’s something I should have told you before we came.”

“What?”

“You asked me because you thought arriving with a man who looks like me would prove something to Max.”

My face warmed.

“I know.”

“I agreed because I hoped you would realize that it wouldn’t.”

I stared at him.

“You could have told me that before the wedding.”

“Yes.”

“Instead, you let me pretend you were my boyfriend so you could teach me a lesson.”

“You’re right.”

No excuse.

No argument.

Just that.

I walked farther down the hallway because I refused to cry somewhere Max could see me.

Edward followed, but he kept his distance.

Then I heard a small voice.

“Mom?”

My oldest daughter was standing nearby.

I quickly wiped beneath one eye.

“Hey.”

She looked toward the reception.

“Why did Dad say nobody would date you?”

I crouched beside her.

“He was being unkind.”

She thought for a moment.

“Edward isn’t really your boyfriend?”

“No.”

“Then why did you say he was?”

For a moment, telling a lie would have been easier.

Instead, I told her the truth.

“Because I wanted your dad to think somebody wanted me.”

She frowned.

“But we wanted you here.”

I had nothing to say.

She hugged me.

That one sentence did more for me than anything Edward or Max had said all evening.

After she ran back to the reception, Edward was still waiting.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“I’m still angry with you.”

“You should be.”

Then Max appeared.

His confidence had returned, but now it seemed more fragile.

I stared at him.

“You’re marrying Claire. You got what you wanted. Why do you still need me to be undesirable?”

He didn’t answer.

Claire had followed him into the hallway.

Max glanced at her.

“She’s twisting this.”

Claire looked at me, then at him.

“You told me she stopped trying.”

“She did.”

Claire’s expression shifted.

“That isn’t what I just heard.”

For the first time since Max had packed those suitcases, I wasn’t waiting for him to explain what his opinion meant about me.

Back inside, Edward started putting the old trousers back into the box.

“What are you doing with them?” I asked.

“Taking them to the donation center.”

“Good.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“I’m still mad at you.”

“Fair.”

“You owe me.”

“Also fair.”

“Start by getting those pants out of my ex-husband’s wedding.”

He picked up the box.

“Best fake date you’ve ever had.”

“Only fake date I’ve ever had.”

“Still undefeated.”

I laughed despite myself.

Soon afterward, I gathered the girls.

As we reached the exit, Max called my name.

“So what happens with you and Edward?”

I turned.

Even now, he needed to know.

If Edward wanted me, Max could use that to measure my value.

If he didn’t, Max could measure that too.

“You really need the answer, don’t you?”

He opened his mouth.

I walked away.

Outside, my older daughter stopped beside the car and smoothed her dress.

“Mom?”

“Yeah?”

“Does this make me look weird?”

The question sounded casual.

That made it hurt more.

I could have immediately told her she looked beautiful.

Instead, I asked,

“Do you like the dress?”

She looked down, then spun once and watched the skirt move around her knees.

“Yeah.”

“Then that’s the answer that matters.”

She smiled and climbed into the car.

Her little sister followed, leaving frosting on the door.

“I look sticky.”

I laughed.

“You definitely do.”

After buckling her in, I walked around to the driver’s side.

My reflection appeared in the dark car window.

For a moment, Max’s old question came back.

“When was the last time you even looked at yourself in the mirror?”

So I looked.

But this time, I didn’t examine my waist.

I didn’t turn sideways.

I didn’t wonder what Max would criticize.

I didn’t wonder whether Edward would approve.

I simply looked at myself.

Then my three-year-old shouted from inside the car,

“Mom! Go!”

I smiled, opened the door, and got in.