Delaney James seems to have it all-a successful husband, a stylish Manhattan townhouse, and a thriving career in fashion journalism-until it all falls apart. Her husband leaves her, shattering the perfect life she once knew. Heartbroken and desperat...
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The bonfire at Dawson's Beach has been a thing since before I was born. I wasn't allowed to go until I was sixteen, so during the years I was too young, Adelaide would wake me up when she got home and fill me in on all the juicy gossip. Who hooked up. Which couple had a huge fight in the middle of the party, followed by a break-up worthy of a reality TV show reunion special. Who ended up naked in the ocean. Brooks Connolly, Cash's older brother, always supplied the party with kegs and thanks to him, people were usually found skinny dipping by the end of the night.
The bonfire usually consists of teenagers from South Grove High intermingled with people who graduated years prior and kids from nearby schools. A group of teenage boys are playing football down the beach. Cash Connolly, another guy from our friend group, is making out with an unknown blonde on a beach towel next to the fire. Mitchell and Wyatt are playing cornhole with two guys I don't recognize, and girls, clad in bikini tops and mini jean shorts, raise their red solo cups above their heads as they dance to a generic, Top 40 song coming from a Bluetooth speaker that's burrowed in the sand, and I don't miss the way their eyes follow Greyson as we make our way toward our friends.
Or...well, his friends.
I used to look forward to this party every year. During her summers home from college, Adelaide would come with me, and when she did, me, her, and Jo would dance the night away. Greyson would cater to my every need while simultaneously dominating a game of whiffle ball in the meantime, and when the game was over, we'd strip down to our bathing suits and go swimming. We'd roast marshmallows and set off sparklers, and after a while, Wyatt would pull out his guitar and serenade us with Amos Lee, Jack Johnson, or his personal favorite, Wagon Wheel by Old Crow Medicine Show.
I haven't seen most of these people since graduation. Not since Greyson and I were a couple. They're going to ask what happened and why we're no longer together and I'm going to have to tell them. I'm going to have to make superficial small talk with people who were fake in high school and are probably even faker now, and after we talk about who they married, where they live, and how many kids they have, they're going to want to hear about my fabulous life in New York.
What am I going to say? That instead of going to Florida with Greyson, I moved to New York to make something of myself, and there, met a man that I fell in love with almost instantly and believed when he said he'd give me the world, only to come home from work seven years later and find him in our bed with his assistant? That Greyson and I broke up and I left South Grove for nothing? That despite my big dreams, all I ended up with was a shitty relationship, a shitty, unpaid internship where I was taken for granted and an even shittier husband?
I'm going to have to tell everyone that my life is nothing like The Devil Wears Prada. I'm not a fashion journalist. I don't work for Vogue. I don't have a husband who loves me unconditionally, like he promised he always would. I don't live in an expensive brownstone in the Upper West Side. I don't go to glamorous parties and events. I'm not living a desirable life in New York, because I'm a failure.
