There is no reason for me to be feeling like I need to curl up into a ball and cry. I didn’t do that during my divorce from Drew, and I sure as hell won’t do it after my near-miss marriage to Nate. Instead, I will repeatedly roll the window up and down in this taxi while staring bleakly out at the Las Vegas Strip, like a motherfucking grown-up.

Traffic is at a total standstill. We’re pretty much just sitting in this cab. I can see the glittering cityscape ahead of me, but at the moment we’re still kind of trapped next to the Rio, with the enormous picture of Penn and Teller beckoning me from across the way. Much as I love a good atheist magic show, I’m not in the mood right now.

Damn, I could walk backwards and be at the hotel faster than this.

“’Scuse me. You know any side streets?” I ask the cabbie. He just shrugs.

“Unless you know how to handle this vehicle off road in the desert, I would suggest staying where we are,” he says in a clipped, pleasant accent. I nod and sit there, watching the red electronic numbers tick up and up, showing the amount of cash I owe.

I kind of hoped I’d be sharing this cab back with Nate, laughing with relief at our fake marriage ceremony. We’d chat about Mike and Stacy’s wedding, maybe agree to meet up for drinks later, you know, just casual . . . .

Any hope I’d had that we could work this out evaporated back there, when he said he’d catch his own ride. When he’d started looking at his phone and basically giving me the brush-off. Our adventure is over. And in the grand scheme of things, it could’ve been way worse. We didn’t do too many illegal things. Granted, I think he should place an anonymous call to Phoebe and alert her about Chester or Eduardo or whatever the fuck that parrot’s name is, but beyond that, nothing really bad was done.

Though I think I should probably send flowers to that kidnap adventure guy I kneed in the balls.

My phone buzzes in my purse. I pull it out, heart hammering, hoping it’ll be Nate. But no, Shanna. I grab the call.

“Hey,” I say. Man, even I hear how glum and listless that sounds.

“What happened?” she says. “Did dickhead break your heart?”

“We just found out that Lola Sinclair and Peyton Manning got married last night, so it’s not quite as simple as we’d all like,” I tell her.

There’s a long pause on the other end.

“Care to repeat pretty much everything you just said to me?” Shanna says. “What’s been going on?”

“Where are you?” I sigh, my temples throbbing.

“The Venetian, having some chocolate. The Grand Canal smells a lot like chlorine, but otherwise it’s just like actually being in Venice. Only more fanny packs. Come on over, meet up with us. Meredith’s here.” Her voice turns whispery. “And I don’t want to hear any more about her carnal adventures with the surfer dude wannabe, so if you could hurry this up I’d seriously appreciate it.”

“Hold on.” I tap the glass, and the cab driver rolls down his window. “On second thought, drop me here. I’ll walk it.” I hand him cash.

So there I am, walking along the Las Vegas Strip, making sure I don’t trip over my wedges and fall off the concrete embankment and into traffic. The hot desert wind whips by, blowing my skirt up almost to around my ass. Some cars honk, and I flip them off sullenly, my heart not really into it.

Vegas is a place that’s pretty damn transitory. One second you’re under the Eiffel Tower, the next you’re wandering along the Venice canals, until you head over to New York for some pizza and maybe Ancient Egypt for a nightcap. So many different times and places in one condensed area. It’s not about permanence. It’s the ideal city for a fling.

And that’s what the night with Nate was. A fling. Anything more would’ve been stupid, like betting all your money on a killer blackjack hand. The house always wins. And if you happen to cheat the house, it gets security to pull you into a back room, put a bag over your head, and break your kneecaps until you admit you cheated.

I’m pretty sure there was a metaphor somewhere in this, but now all I want to do is watch Casino and Ocean’s 11. Maybe on the plane ride home, when I’m too depressed to read.

Venice welcomes me with its fake but still impressive recreation of St. Mark’s Square. I wander down a carpeted Grand Canal, passing gondolas that drift under the bridges, gondoliers serenading people who are too busy playing on their phones to notice anything. I duck into Tintoretto Bakery, a cute and cozy place with gleaming wooden floors, rustic painted walls, and the smell of butter and chocolate in the air. It’s so mouthwatering I forget for a second that I’m supposed to be in a bad mood.

Shanna and Meredith have a table in the corner and wave me over.

Meredith looks at me over the rim of her glasses, like I’m a kid in school who’s done wrong. “So. Fucking wasn’t enough? Promise me you had a pre-nup,” she tells me as I slide into a chair.

So we’re going straight for first degree, I take it.

“We didn’t,” I start, and sigh, rubbing the heel of my palm into my eye. “You don’t have anything to worry about.”

“Promise me you used a condom. Or used the pre-nup as a condom,” she says, adding three teaspoons of sugar to her espresso. “Because the last thing you need right now is fucking genital warts.”

Someone hisses at us from over at another table, a family with two small kids. Meredith clears her throat.

Oh shit. This is going to end with someone being arrested and someone else probably being thrown into the canal.

“Save it. I’ve had all the drama I need today,” I say, grabbing her arm. “Now buy me chocolate because I want it and because I make you a lot of money.”

Meredith nods, looking proud. “I knew I’d taught you well.”

She waves for the waiter while Shanna rubs my shoulder. The look in her eyes is soft, full of concern.

“So what happened? He gave you the brush-off?” Her eyes harden a little. After she heard the kinds of things Drew was saying to me, it took me sitting on the phone with her for an hour to prevent Shanna from driving to his new apartment to give him hell.

I smile. “Don’t worry, he’s not the epic disaster of humanity that Drew was. It was adult, grown-up. You know. Grown-up-ish. We realized that there was nothing holding us together. We don’t live in the same state. A couple of good lays doesn’t guarantee you a lifetime of happiness.”

“Maybe not, but it’s better to start off fucking great than fucking awful,” Meredith says conversationally. The mother at the other table makes a shushing sound, and Meredith shushes right back. “Do I have to sell my tits to get a waiter or what?” she mutters.

She definitely earns her fifteen percent commission.

“So there’s no way you can work it out? You seemed into him,” Shanna says, squeezing my hand.

I play with the sugar packets. Just leave me here with my sugar and Stevia friends, and we shall build a fortress together to guard against men and heartbreak and bitter coffee or something.

“I kind of left the door open, and he politely closed it and then shouted no thanks through it. Like I said, I can’t blame him.” I sigh and fiddle with the straps of my purse.

“Much as my motto towards men is ‘fuck them, then eat them,’ ” Meredith says, looking in her compact mirror and adjusting her makeup, “I have to ask: do you think he could be doubting this whole thing as much as you are?” She snaps the case closed and looks at me, her eyeliner much better. “The only thing men fear more than professional catastrophe or debilitating illness is rejection. Maybe he thought he’d ask you on a date and that you’d turn him down. Nothing makes their testicles retreat into their bodies more than a woman giving them a pitying look and saying no. Weak little shits.”

“You know, there is such a thing as reverse sexism,” Shanna says flatly. “Some people pretend there isn’t, but it exists.”

I tune out their critique of third wave feminism for a little trip to my mind palace. This is where I get all of my most important thinking done. It’s great here. I have every issue of the Dark Phoenix saga in mint condition. The Great Mouse Detective plays on a loop in the background. David Tennant and Chris Eccleston are letting me have this thinking moment on my own, mercifully.

Maybe Meredith’s right. Maybe Nate just needs to know what’s in my mind. And in my heart? Fuck, maybe. I haven’t had these feelings in so long, since Drew gutted me and left me to get back on my feet and move on, alone. On the outside I looked fine, but inside, I was hollow.

I didn’t mind, though. I mean, not much. The empty shell was held together with nothing more than strong will and a lot of root beer. But I don’t want that to be my life, walking around with an invulnerable air and living alone.

So maybe . . . maybe if I just tell him the truth.

I don’t want any hot chocolate now. I’m full of purpose, dammit.

The waiter comes over to me. I look up, ready to tell him no thank you, that I’m good, when his eyes light up.

“Oh thank God! It’s you,” he says, clapping a hand over his heart.

“Uh. Is this about last night?” I say sheepishly. Man, I really was a busy little rabbit, wasn’t I? “If so, I’m sorry for anything I did or said or fondled.”

The waiter waves his hand, dismissing it. “Don’t even worry. It’s Vegas. I’ve seen worse. But I’m so glad you’re back. We were all super freaked out. Here, hold on.” With that mysterious comment, he runs back to the counter and talks with the girl.

Shanna’s eyes are wide. Meredith frowns. “You didn’t leave a dildo, did you?” she asks.

“No,” I snap. Then I do a quick mental inventory. I don’t think we were missing one . . . .

“Here,” the waiter says, returning with something in his hand. He places two gold wedding bands into my palm.

“My fake wedding rings,” I say, trying not to roll my eyes. I give him a smile. “Thanks. Thought I lost them.”

“Those are fake?” he asks, whistling. “If you don’t mind me saying, those are way nice to just get for a gag. Engraved and everything.” He turns and walks away, and my blood chills.

“Engraved?” I look inside the bands, and bam.

Sure enough, engraved right on the inside: To Stacy, my love forevermore. And in the other: Mike, my heart is always yours.

Oh, fuck me with a hamster wheel and don’t even ask how that’s physically possible.

“These are Mike and Stacy’s,” I say, running through the timeline in my head. Yep. Last night bachelor party, today hangover brunch, early afternoon getting ready, and the wedding . . . is happening soon. Right now. Oh shit.

“How the hell did this happen?” Shanna gasps, taking the rings and staring at them like they’re about to explode in her hands.

“Nate’s the best man. He must’ve had them on him, or we went back to the room, or . . . something!”

“What the hell were you guys doing with them?” Shanna asks.