Plan, Interrupted // t.h.

1: This isn't Ocean's 8... more like... Wedding Crashers

"What do you guys think? Does this one make me look fat?" Your sister asked as she spun around for what felt like the millionth time. You let your head fall back as you tried to reach for the last drops of champagne that had stayed behind in your tall glass.

"y/n!" You almost knocked your own teeth out as your mother nudged you in the arm.

"What?" you hissed back at her, putting the glass down on the little table. Its relatively modest surface was occupied mainly by your plate, which used to hold several small (too small, in your opinion) pieces of wedding cake testers. Honestly, you did not understand why you had to be there anyway. No one listened to your opinion. Obviously, the red velvet with cream cheese filling and blueberry jam was the best. Who, in the actual fuck, would want to eat carrot cake at their wedding?

Well, your sister. That's who.

"So, what do you think?" your sister just kept on twirling, whipping her veil over her head dramatically.

"It's ugly," you said, not even looking at the dress. For the first six dresses, you tried to look for the differences, but at some point, it all just started to blur into one big ball of organza, glitter and lace. And it was all just so white.

"y/n!" your mother gasped once again. It seemed to be the only word leaving her mouth lately.

"I'm sorry, it is." You shrugged, "I liked the first one better."

"Oh, let her be, momma," your sister waved your mother off, interrupting her before she could snap your neck off, "she's just sour because she doesn't have a wedding to plan... or even a boyfriend for that matter." She started twirling in Ugly Dress No. 35 in the shade Eggwhite Puke before she saw the glare you gave her.

That was the reason you were there. Not for moral support, not for your opinions or ideas, but to make sure that everyone around you knew that your sister was the pretty successful and happily engaged one; meanwhile, you were alone, bitter and getting drunk on cheap champagne in the middle of the day.

You were going to say something, even had a thought of throwing some bits of frosting at her, but at that exact moment, you got a text message from your friend, asking if you wanted to go out for drinks. How could you possibly say no to that?

"I gotta go, see ya later," you said while responding to your friend you would meet her at your regular meeting spot. Then, without even looking up at the rest of the bridal party or waiting for their response, you made sure to leave quickly.

New York had been getting warmer and warmer, and the streets of the Upper East Side were bustling with people trying to get from one destination to the other. For once, you were glad to get sucked into the stream of commuters, actually feeling free compared to what you had to endure in the bridal shop with those familial piranhas.

Your phone started vibrating in your pocket as you crossed the street, avoiding a cab that didn't know what a red light was. You picked up the phone, and it was your friend, the same one who had just texted you a minute ago. You were still flipping the cab driver off when your friend asked where you were.

"Oh my god, Rebecca, I'm literally two minutes away. Calm down." You said as you walked at a faster pace, keeping up with everyone around you. Though, apparently, you had been still walking a bit too slow for some, as a man caught up to you, bumping into your shoulder.

"Look out, asshole," you mumbled, but the man apparently heard you because the next second, he turned around. For a second, you were scared he was going to kill you (this was New York, after all). Then you were surprised by his perfect jawline, which was a bizarre observation to make about a stranger who could still kill you.