I Brought a Fake Boyfriend to My Ex-Husband’s Wedding—Then My Ex Asked How Much I’d Paid Him
Max’s wedding invitation arrived as a text message.
That was very Max.
“Come to my wedding with Claire and bring our daughters. Oh, and your invitation includes a +1, but we both know you don’t have anyone.”
I read it twice.
Then I put my phone facedown before my ten-year-old daughter could ask why I was staring at it like I wanted to throw it through a window.
I was so tired of him walking all over me.
Max and I had been married almost thirteen years.
We had two daughters, ten and three, and apparently thirteen years was long enough for my husband to decide my body had violated some agreement I hadn’t known we’d made.
“You don’t look the way you used to,” he’d told me.
He said I wasn’t attractive to him anymore.
That was before I discovered Claire.
His personal trainer.
When I confronted him about the affair, Max didn’t apologize.
He shrugged.
“Well, what did you expect? Men are visual. And Claire—she’s perfect.”
I remember standing in our bedroom while he packed.
“You cheated because I gained weight?”
“You used to have a slim waist, Ronnie.”
He folded another shirt.
“When was the last time you even looked at yourself in the mirror?”
As he packed, he kept telling me I should have taken better care of myself, as though his decision had been my fault.
I sobbed when he left. I thought my life had completely fallen apart.
The divorce was a very difficult time for me.
And during it, I looked in the mirror constantly.
I checked my stomach when I got dressed. Turned sideways before I left the house. Changed shirts because I could hear Max saying my arms looked better covered.
Not long after our divorce became final, Max announced he was marrying Claire.
And sent me that invitation.
I could have skipped the wedding.
But our daughters would be there, and I didn’t want them there without me. Our oldest had already asked twice if I was coming.
So I said yes.
Then I stared at the +1.
I wanted Max to see that I was fine.
Better than fine, actually.
Which was how I ended up standing beside Edward’s desk on Monday morning.
Edward had become one of my closest friends during the divorce. He’d listened without trying to fix everything, brought me coffee on the day my divorce became final, and once spent forty minutes helping me write a response to Max that didn’t contain any of the words I originally wanted to use.
He was also tall, athletic, and irritatingly good-looking.
Exactly the sort of man Max would notice.
“I need a favor.”
Edward looked up.
“That sounds expensive.”
“Come to my ex-husband’s wedding with me.”
He blinked.
“As emotional support?”
“As my boyfriend.”
He stared at me.
“Pretend boyfriend,” I added.
“Oh. Much healthier.”
“Please?”
“Why me?”
I tried to joke.
“Because you’re obnoxiously presentable.”
“I’m putting that on my performance review.”
I laughed, but Edward kept watching me.
“Veronica.”
I sighed.
“I want Max to look at me with you and wonder if he made a mistake, Ed.”
Edward leaned back.
That answer seemed to bother him.
But after a moment, he nodded.
“Okay.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
I should have wondered why he agreed so easily.
Instead, I spent the next week worrying about what to wear.
Max had trained me well.
By Saturday, I had rejected three dresses because of what he’d once said about my stomach, two because of my arms, and one because I could practically hear him asking whether I owned a mirror.
Eventually, I chose the dress I liked before I started imagining his opinion.
Edward picked me up.
There was a large cardboard box in the back of his car.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Donation stuff.”
I didn’t ask again.
The wedding was enormous.
Flowers everywhere. White tablecloths. Champagne. A venue with enough chandeliers to illuminate a small airport.
There were 150 guests.
Edward and I walked in arm in arm, and people looked our way.
Our daughters were thrilled.
My three-year-old had already acquired frosting from somewhere despite the cake not being cut.
Then Max saw us.
His eyes went first to me.
Then Edward.
Then back to me.
For one lovely second, he didn’t know what to say.
Claire stood beside him in a fitted white gown. She looked beautiful.
I hated that noticing it still hurt.
Max approached.
“So this is your plus-one?”
“Max, this is Edward.”
Edward offered his hand.
“Congratulations.”
Max looked him up and down.
Then he laughed.
Not a polite chuckle.
An actual laugh.
Several people nearby turned. Then more heads turned, until it felt as though all 150 guests were watching us.
I felt Edward’s sleeve bunch under my fingers and realized I’d grabbed it.
“Max, why are you laughing?” I asked.
“Him?”
He looked around as though he expected someone else to appreciate the joke.
“Your boyfriend?”
Claire touched his arm.
“Max.”
But he kept going.
“I’ll never believe that. No one would ever date you. Especially someone like him.”
My face burned.
Then Max gave me the same teasing grin he’d used whenever he wanted an insult to sound like a joke.
“What, did you pay him to come with you?”
For half a second, I was back in our bedroom watching him pack.
I wanted to disappear. I actually felt sick.
Edward didn’t raise his voice.
He smiled.
“Actually, Max, I brought you a wedding gift.”
Max looked surprised.
“For me?”
“Especially for you.”
Edward turned to me.
“Give me five minutes.”
Then he walked out.
Max watched him leave.
“Seriously, Veronica?”
I said nothing.
He smiled again.
“I knew it.”
Claire looked at him.
“Knew what?”
“Come on. Look at the guy.”
He gestured toward the door Edward had just used.
Then toward me.
Claire’s expression changed slightly.
I didn’t want to know what she was thinking.
Five minutes later, Edward returned carrying the cardboard box from his car.
He set it on the nearest empty table.
“For the groom.”
Max laughed.
“You weren’t kidding.”
“Open it.”
By now, several nearby guests were watching.
Max pulled apart the flaps.
His smile disappeared, and his face turned bright red.
He reached inside and lifted out an enormous pair of trousers.
He stared at them.
“What on earth is this?”
Despite everything, a small smile crossed my face at his bewildered expression.
“Mine,” Edward said.
Max looked at him.
Then at the trousers.
“Those?”
“Those.”
I stared too.
Edward took them from him.
“I used to wear these.”
Max gave a confused laugh.
“Okay.”
“I was a lot heavier.”
“So?”
Edward looked at me.
“Veronica knows.”
I frowned.
“I do?”
“About three years ago, before we were friends, somebody brought birthday cake into the office.”
I remembered.
Barely.
Edward had been standing near the break room.
He’d refused a piece.
“People who look like me don’t need cake,” he’d said.
I’d been having a terrible week with Max.
So I’d answered without thinking.
“Funny. My husband talks about me like that.”
Edward’s smile had vanished.
I remembered what I said next too.
“I hate hearing it from him. I don’t like hearing it from you either.”
At the time, Edward had just stared at me.
I’d taken my cake and gone back to my desk.
Now he stood at my ex-husband’s wedding holding those trousers.
“You remember,” he said.
“Yeah.”
“That stuck with me.”
Max looked impatient.
“What exactly is the point?”
“The point is Veronica never told me what I should weigh.”
Edward folded the trousers over his arm.
“She didn’t tell me I’d be more valuable if I looked different. She just made me realize I’d started talking to myself the way someone else was talking to her.”
I could feel people listening.
I wished they weren’t.
Edward continued.
“I stopped waiting to live until I looked acceptable. Eventually, I changed some habits. My body changed too.”
Max smirked.
“So Veronica inspired you to get in shape. Great.”
“No.” Edward’s answer came quickly. “That’s exactly what you don’t understand.”
Max’s smile slipped.
Edward looked at him.
“She didn’t fix me. There was nothing about me that needed fixing before I deserved to enjoy my own life.”
Claire glanced at Max.
Then at me.
Max gave an uncomfortable laugh.
“Touching. But what’s that got 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 looked at him.
“Then why are you still trying to prove it?”
Max stopped smiling.
Edward turned to me.
“Can we talk somewhere private?”
His smile had disappeared, and suddenly I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear what came next.
We stepped into the hallway.
“Veronica, Max was wrong about you. But there’s something I should’ve said before we came.”
“What?”
“You asked me because you thought bringing somebody who looks like me would prove something to him. I said yes because I thought you’d realize it wouldn’t.”
I stared at him. My face burned.
“You could’ve told me that before we came, Ed.”
“Yes.”
“Instead, you let me walk in there pretending you were my boyfriend. You don’t get to teach me lessons by tricking me.”
“You’re right.”
No explanation.
No excuse.
Just that.
I walked farther down the hallway before I cried at my ex-husband’s wedding, which was a level of humiliation I refused to provide free of charge.
Edward followed but kept several feet between us.
Then a small voice stopped me.
“Mom?”
My oldest daughter stood near the hallway.
I wiped under one eye quickly.
“Hey.”
She looked past me toward the reception.
“Why did Dad say nobody would date you?”
I crouched so we were closer to eye level.
“He was being unkind, sweetheart.”
She thought about that.
“Edward isn’t your boyfriend?”
“No.”
“Then why did you say he was?”
There are moments when lying to your child would be much easier.
I couldn’t do it.
“Because I wanted your dad to think somebody wanted me.”
She frowned.
“But we wanted you here.”
I didn’t answer.
There wasn’t anything to add without making it smaller.
She hugged me.
Then somebody called her from the reception, and she ran back.
I stayed crouched for another second.
When I stood, Edward was still waiting.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“I’m still mad at you.”
“You should be.”
Before I could answer, Max approached.
He had left the trousers on the table.
His smugness had returned.
Max looked at Edward.
Then at me.
“You’re marrying Claire,” I said. “You got what you wanted. Why do you still need me to be undesirable?”
He didn’t answer.
Claire had followed him.
She stood several feet behind us.
Max glanced at her.
“She’s twisting this.”
Claire looked at me.
Then at him.
“You told me she stopped trying.”
Max frowned.
“She did.”
Claire’s eyes stayed on him.
“That’s not what I just heard.”
Max wasn’t smiling anymore.
And for the first time since he’d packed those suitcases, I wasn’t waiting for him to tell me what that meant about me.
Back inside the reception, Edward picked up the trousers and started folding them into the box.
“What are you doing with those?” I asked.
“Taking them to the donation center.”
I looked at them once more.
“Good.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“I’m still mad at you,” I said.
“Fair.”
“You owe me.”
“Also fair.”
“Start by getting those pants out of my ex-husband’s wedding.”
Edward lifted the box.
“Best fake date you’ve ever had.”
“Only fake date I’ve ever had.”
“Still undefeated.”
I laughed despite myself.
I gathered the girls soon afterward. My youngest had somehow doubled the amount of frosting on her dress.
As we reached the exit, Max called my name.
“So what happens with you and Edward?”
I turned.
If Edward wanted me, Max could measure that.
If Edward didn’t, he could measure that too.
“You really need to know, don’t you?”
Max opened his mouth.
I kept walking.
Outside, my older daughter stopped beside the car and smoothed both hands over her dress.
“Mom?”
“Yeah?”
“Does this make me look weird?”
The question was casual.
That made it worse.
I could have told her she looked beautiful.
Instead, I asked, “Do you like your dress?”
She looked down at herself.
Then she turned once, making the skirt swing around her knees.
“Yeah.”
“Then I like that answer.”
She smiled and climbed into the car.
Her little sister followed, leaving a frosting handprint 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 waited in the dark car window.
For a second, Max’s voice returned.
“When was the last time you even looked at yourself in the mirror?”
So I looked.
I didn’t inspect my waist.
Didn’t turn sideways.
Didn’t wonder what Max would see or whether Edward would approve.
I simply looked.
“Mom!” my three-year-old yelled from inside. “Go!”
I opened the door and got in.
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