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

The florist's shop smelled like wet stems and eucalyptus, and my peonies were gone.

I stood at the worktable with my phone out, the mock-up photo I'd approved three weeks ago glowing on the screen. Blush peonies, white ranunculus, low arrangements so guests could see each other across the tables. What Dana, the florist, had laid out in front of me was tall and dramatic. Cream garden roses. Trailing greenery. Gold candlesticks.

"I'm sorry," I said. "This isn't what I ordered."

Dana glanced at her clipboard, then at me, clearly confused. "We updated it last week. Your planner called and said the bride wanted something more elevated."

"My planner."

"Chloe?" Dana turned the clipboard so I could read the note. Per C. Marshall, switch to garden rose package, add candelabras. Bride approved.

The bell over the door jingled. Evan came in holding two coffees, and Chloe was right behind him, sunglasses pushed up in her hair.

"Oh good, you're already here," Chloe said, beaming at the table. "Isn't it gorgeous? I knew you'd love it once you saw it in person."

"You changed my flowers."

"I upgraded your flowers." She set her bag down like she worked there. "Nora, the peonies were cute, but they read a little baby shower. This is a wedding. The photos are going to be insane."

"You told Dana I approved it."

Chloe waved a hand. "I knew you would. You were so buried in the seating chart, I didn't want to bother you with one more thing."

Evan handed me a coffee. Oat milk, extra shot.

I didn't drink it. I set it on the edge of the table and looked at Chloe.

"I appreciate everything you've done," I said, keeping my voice even for Dana's sake. "But I don't need you to help anymore. I've got the vendors. Please don't contact any of them without talking to me first."

The shop went quiet except for the hum of the flower cooler.

Chloe's face crumpled, just slightly, just enough. She looked at Evan.

"Wow," she said softly. "Okay."

"Nora." Evan's hand closed around my elbow, gentle but firm. "What's going on with you?"

"I'm asking her not to change my wedding without asking me."

"Our wedding," he said. "And she's not changing it, she's helping. She's spent hours on this stuff. Hours she doesn't have." He lowered his voice, but not enough. Dana was suddenly very busy trimming a rose. "You're humiliating her. In front of people."

"I'm humiliating her?"

"She's doing this for us." He squeezed my elbow. "Just apologize, babe. Come on. Let's not make this a thing."

I looked at his hand on my arm. Then at Chloe, who had her arms folded and her eyes lowered, waiting.

Dana cleared her throat. "I can give you guys a minute."

"No," I said. "It's fine."

I didn't want to do this in front of a woman who'd be arranging centerpieces at my reception. I didn't want to be the bride who threw a fit in a flower shop.

"Sorry, Chloe," I said.

The words tasted like tin.

Chloe smiled and pulled me into a hug that smelled like her vanilla perfume. "It's okay, Nor. I know you're stressed."

Over her shoulder, I watched Evan relax, like a problem had been solved.

"We'll go back to the peonies," I told Dana when Chloe let go.

Nobody argued. Nobody said anything at all.

---

Dinner that night was Evan's idea. A make-up dinner, he called it, at the Italian place on Clark with the red-checkered tablecloths. The three of us, a bottle of Chianti, like old times.

By the second glass, Chloe was telling stories.

"Okay, but you guys remember junior year?" She pointed her fork at Evan. "Your birthday, Nora. When he forgot the reservation and went to that Cubs game instead?"

I set my glass down. "Chloe."

"She sat at the table for an hour and a half," Chloe went on, laughing. "Ordered a whole tiramisu for two. Then she called me sobbing from the bathroom. Like, ugly crying. She thought he was dumping her. I had to drive over in my pajamas."

Evan laughed too, a surprised bark, and shook his head. "Oh God, I forgot about that."

"I didn't," I said.

That night had been ours. I'd told Chloe about it on her couch at two in the morning, mascara all over her throw pillow, because she was my best friend and I trusted her with it. Evan and I had talked about it for weeks afterward. He'd cried too, actually. He'd said he never wanted to make me feel that small again.

Now it was a funny story. Something to tell over breadsticks.

"You were so dramatic," Chloe said, reaching over to pat my hand. "It was a baseball game."

"He didn't call," I said. "For three hours."

"My phone died," Evan said, still grinning. He picked up his wine. "And you'd already decided I was in a ditch or cheating on you. Come on, Nor. You've got to admit it. You always overthink everything."

Chloe raised her glass toward him. "Always."

They clinked.

I waited for him to catch it. To see my face and stop, the way the old Evan would have, and say that wasn't fair. That wasn't funny.

He reached for another piece of bread.

"Anyway," Chloe said, "that's why I'm so glad I'm handling the timeline for the day-of stuff. Somebody has to keep this one from spiraling."

I didn't answer. There wasn't anything left to argue with. Every time I pushed back, it became proof, another thing Nora overthought.

So I finished my pasta. I smiled when the waiter asked about dessert and said no thank you. I let Evan kiss my cheek in the parking lot and tell me he loved me, and I said it back, and I drove home alone.

---

At eleven that night, I sat cross-legged on my bed with my laptop and the wedding binder open beside me.

Every vendor contract had a contact sheet. Three months ago, when Chloe offered to help, I'd added her as a secondary contact on all of them. The venue. The caterer. Dana. The photographer. The DJ. The bakery. I'd even given her login access to the planning portal the venue used for final counts.

It took me forty minutes to undo it.

One email at a time, I wrote the same message. Effective immediately, please direct all communication regarding this event to me only. Please remove Chloe Marshall as an authorized contact. No changes should be made without my written approval.

I removed her from the portal. I changed the password on the shared wedding Gmail. I watched the confirmation notices roll in, polite and automatic, and felt something in my chest go very still.

The system would email her too. Your access to this event has been removed.

I set my phone face up on the comforter and waited.

She'd call. Chloe always called. She'd be hurt or angry or crying, and she'd want to talk it through. And for once I'd tell her the truth.

Eleven thirty. Nothing.

Eleven forty-five. Nothing.

At 11:52, my phone lit up.

Not a call. A notification from the doorbell app Evan and I had set up together the day he moved into his new place, back when he'd said, half joking, You should have a key to everything of mine.

Front Door: Someone is at your door.

I tapped it open.

The porch light washed everything a grainy yellow. A woman stood on Evan's doormat in a gray hoodie, hair piled on top of her head, phone clutched in one hand.

She didn't knock. She didn't ring.

She just typed something on her phone, and a second later, the door swung open.

Chloe stepped inside, and it closed behind her.