“No. I didn’t. And for what it’s worth, Tyson couldn’t stand him.”

“Seriously?”

“C’mon. You had to know that. Remember what an ass Grady was about Serena Williams? Honestly, Hannah, that whole thing was low-key racist and sexist—”

“I know it was,” I say with a sigh, thinking that low-key was probably generous.

I always made excuses for Grady, rationalizing that he never said anything overtly racist or sexist. That his attitudes were more the results of an ingrained, unconscious bias. But deep down, I knew that was a distinction without a difference, and I was wrong to look the other way for so long.

“I know this is brutal, Hannah. And if you say you love him, I believe you do. But in the words of Tina Turner: What’s love got to do with it?”

“At this point, I guess nothing,” I say.

“Exactly. You can’t marry a cheater. You just can’t. It has to be over.”

“I know,” I say, nodding.

Part of me feels relieved that the situation is so clear-cut. There is no gray area to navigate, and there is peace in that. But another part of me knows that I’ve built the vision for my entire future around Grady. Without him, I don’t know where I’m going or even who I am. The thought of figuring all that out is nothing short of terrifying, and it doesn’t help to know that my new reality is going to shatter my mother’s very conditional approval of me.

Lainey and I sit in silence for a few seconds before she suddenly jumps off the sofa. “Come on,” she says, grabbing my hand and pulling me to my feet.

“Where are we going?”

“To your closet,” she says, walking down the hallway toward my bedroom. “To pick out your revenge outfit.”

I laugh and reluctantly trail behind her. In some ways, Lainey is the female version of Grady. Never a dull moment. The difference is that she would never in a million years stab me in the back.

A few seconds later, we are standing before my closet, my clothes neatly arranged by color. She points to a navy and white striped cardigan with nautical buttons. “You still have this thing?”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s ancient. You’ve had it since college.”

“So what? It’s a perfectly good sweater. Just a few pills,” I say, reaching out and picking several off.

“It’s out of style.”

“How can a simple cardigan be out of style?”

“The same way anything can be out of style. It’s all about the cut and proportion and stuff like that. Didn’t you see The Devil Wears Prada?”

I smile because I’ve always identified with Anne Hathaway’s character.

“When did you wear it last?” Lainey says.

“I can’t remember.”

“Well, if you can’t remember, it’s time to say buh-bye,” she says, yanking it off the hanger. “Out with the old. In with the new.”

She tosses it on the floor, declaring it the start of our “donate pile.”

She continues over the next several minutes, ruthlessly discarding three pairs of skinny jeans, two innocuous button-down blouses, and an emerald-green top. I fight back on the top, declaring it sentimental.

“Because of Grady?”

I shrug, knowing full well that I wore it on our second date.

She shakes her head, then rips it off the hanger and tosses it on the floor.

She works her way through the rainbow, ending with a white Brandon Maxwell minidress I recently ordered from Net-a-Porter. A splurge for me.

“Oh, wow. I love this,” Lainey says, running her hands over the heavy silk. “It’s gorgeous.”

“Thanks. But it’s going back,” I say, grateful that I’m still in the thirty-day window for returns. “It was supposed to be my rehearsal dinner dress.”

“And now it’s your revenge dress.” She gives me a diabolical smile.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning you’re wearing this when you dump Grady.”

“You want me to wear a dress over to his house?”

“No. I want you to wear it out. To dinner.”

I stare at her. “You want me to break up with him at a restaurant?”

“Yes. A nice restaurant.”

“Lainey, no! This isn’t a television show.”

“I know that,” she says. “It’s your life. That’s why it’s so important to do this in a strong way. You don’t want to have any regrets.”

“But I can’t do it in public, Lainey. I’ll fall apart.”

“No, you won’t. I’ll be there with you.”

“How would that even work?”

“You tell Grady that I came to town to see you. Last-minute visit. Maid of honor type stuff. And that I want to take you both to dinner. We get to the restaurant and order the most expensive bottle of wine on the menu, apps galore, pricey entrées…. Then, once everything is brought to the table, you dump his ass. Then we throw some wine in his face and stick him with the bill.”

“We are not throwing wine!”

Lainey laughs. “I was kidding about that—but we will definitely stick him with the bill.”

I give her a tiny smile, knowing how cheap Grady is. “That does sound pretty satisfying,” I say. “But can I at least return the dress? I have no need for an expensive white dress.”

“Yes, you do.” She smiles. “You’re going to need it for our trip.”