I'm Not Going To Teach Her How To Dance With You [Nick Jonas] [REWRITING]

Chapter 1 - The Wedding Invitation

Lynn

So, it seems like my beloved Jonas boy is getting married. Just great. I am definitely okay with that. There are no unresolved feelings on my part, no sir.

What's the point in lying? Anyone can see right through me. I mean, look at me. Melancholically gazing at the Hudson river, a cup of coffee in my hand, ear buds blasting a tune I vaguely recognize about heartbreak. Lynn Hudson, you have officially become a character in a New York rom com.

A quick search of the inside of my jacket pocket will lead to the reason for my sudden despair. It's a wedding invitation, now stained with tears. And if that wasn't enough, this particular invitation had an attachment. A tiny little note I could probably sell for thousands of dollars on eBay since it was Nick's handwriting, Nick's fingerprints and Nick's DNA.

"Dearest Lynn,
I hope you're doing well. I know we haven't really talked since we broke up, but I want things to be cool with us. No hard feelings. So, in the spirit of friendly reconciliation, I'd like you to come to our wedding. And also, you know Nicole. She can't dance for her life. Maybe you could teach her a few steps? I have a tour ahead and I'd really like to have all my toes by then. Think about it. We all miss you.
Love,
Nick"

I had to read that note at least five times to fully grasp the meaning of it. This was a low blow. Total Nick move. Do people invite their exes to their weddings? And worst of all, do they ask them to teach the lovely bride how to dance? Is that a thing that happens?

Suddenly, my phone rings, interrupting the gentle sound of a very sad violin. It's Mia, my best friend. I could write a whole book about Mia, but that'd be too much work, and besides, Mia's the talented one. She sings, dances, writes, plays a handful of musical instruments and on top of all that, she looks like Beyoncé at all times, flawless even after a bad night's sleep.
She knows I hate talking on the phone so I mutter a low acknowledgment and let her do the talking.

"So I just got home, opened my mail box, and found this..."

"Wedding invitation, I know..." I cut her off to spare my poor soul. I don't want to hear those words again.

"Nick and Nicole are getting married?"
There it is. Like a bullet through my stomach. I nod, and then I realize she can't see me.

"Yup. Guess the Lovebug effect wore off. No more looking in the eyes for me, just Nicole."
"I'd laugh but I know you're probably really upset and I'm worried about you. Lynn, be honest with me. Are you okay?"

"I could really use a hangout with Bridget, Ben and Jerry, if that's what you're asking."
"Say no more. I'll be at your place in 10 minutes."

I hang up and walk back home. It's Sunday, so there is no one in the studio. Did I mention I own a dance studio? I do. I live in the flat above. Maybe when Mia is gone, I'll go all Kevin-Bacon-Footloose-Angry-Dance, but right now, I'm about to go watch Bridget Jones and eat ice cream with my best friend. Because that's how you deal with rock stars and wedding invitations.