a/n - yeah i wrote another story. what of it! i never claimed to be good at *finishing* anything. this story i'm debating - kristy pov or super special format? tell me what you think!

Prologue.

Kristy.

"You got a letter, Kristy." My roommate Evan called from the kitchen as I tossed my keys on our coffee table. "Next to the couch."

"What are you making?" I didn't pay attention to the envelope as I picked it up, only to the heavenly aroma coming from our kitchen. Pork. Definitely pork. And something else. Caramelized onions, maybe.

"Barbeque tenderloin." Evan replied, smiling as I walked into the kitchen. I felt gut-punched, in the best possible way, as the smells of his cooking hit me. I've been out of college for years. I don't need a roommate. But Evan is a chef and I absolutely cannot give him up. Besides, the last three restaurants he worked at went under. He'd never make it on his own.

Evan and I, we live in a loft apartment in Boston. Currently I'm working for a T-shirt company as an "assistant." This means I pretty much do everything. My boss is very laid-back and I pick up the pieces. I get paid well for my job, but I'm starting to feel like my Business degree is useless. I got into Epic Tee's with promises of moving quickly, having the world in my hands, running the show, once we went big. My dream is to be an executive, and Epic was about to take off when I joined.

Then, of course, the economy crashed. Now I'm stuck. There are no other jobs, and I'm terrified to give up the one I have, though I essentially despise it.

My name is Kristy Thomas, and I'm twenty-seven years old. I grew up in a small town called Stoneybrook, Connecticut, where I did run my own business, and a successful one at that. After college I felt that need to get out, though, and ended up in Boston. Woo, big leap, I know. My older brothers both ended up in California. Now that is getting away.

Yet here I am. It's not so bad. In fact, I love Boston. Baseball culture is kind of my thing.

"What's the letter?" Evan asked, straining to see what was in my hand. "It's big, and thick. Kind of like my–"

"It's an invitation, you moron." I interrupted him. Suddenly my curiosity piqued. Invitation to what? I looked at the envelope.

"New York City." I muttered. That meant two possibilities. Claudia Kishi or Stacey McGill. I tore it open and read aloud: "Put on your favorite little black dress and join us for 'cupcakes and cocktails,' in honor of our soon-to-be-bride Claudia KISHI!"

"The artist one?" Evan asked, snatching the invitation from my hand. "'Hosted by Claudia's lovely bridal party Stacey, Janine, Yvette, Tanisha, and Charlotte.' So Stacey is her Maid of Honor. Did you even know she was getting married?"

"No." I huffed, irritated. Not because they hadn't told me. I get left out of the loop a lot these days among our old group of friends. Not for not being asked to be in the bridal party, Claud knew better than that. I did it for Mary Anne, but never again. No. Because this meant that I was last. I didn't even have a boyfriend, let alone a husband or fiancee. All I had was a roommate who was an awesome cook. Stacey, Mary Anne, Dawn and Jessi had all gotten married in the last five years or so. Mallory had been engaged for two. Abby had declared her girlfriend her "life-partner." I had been okay with all of this, because Claudia, wild, gorgeous Claudia, was still single, too. I wasn't a freak.

But now I was.

Married. Claudia was getting married. Wow, that was going to be some wedding. I dug my cell phone out of my pocket and dialed Mary Anne. She answered on the first ring.

"Did you get yours? I was just about to call you!" She squealed excitedly. "I can't believe she didn't - Isabella get down from there, you're going to break your neck! - I can't believe she didn't tell us she was getting married!"

"So you didn't know either? Good, I don't feel so bad about that, then." I replied, listening wistfully to the background sounds of Mary Anne's life. Isabella, her three-year-old daughter, shouting. I could hear Aiden, her eighteen-month-old son, babbling as well. And yes, there was the dog barking. Mary Anne never left Stoneybrook. Went to Stoneybrook University, married a lawyer, became a baby-factory. She lives on Fawcett Avenue, not far from the Ramsey's.

"No cocktails for me." She said with a giggle. I could picture her patting her bulging belly. "But a cupcake or ten, for sure!"

"Mary Anne, I'm the last." I said morosely, headed for my room, all yummy smells forgotten.

"The last what?" She asked, sounding distracted.

"The last single one in our group. I'm an old bag. Nobody will ever love me!" I fell onto my bed and hugged my huge alligator-shaped pillow.

"I thought you didn't want to get married until you were thirty?"

"Well I didn't think every single one of you would get married before me! Ugh! I hate feeling like this! I was always the baby, the last to do anything."

"Dawn and Nathan are getting a divorce, you know that."

"Not helping!" I shouted, holding the phone away from my face.

"Kristy, you've spent the last fifteen years convincing me you didn't care about men, what do you want me to say? Eric has this friend–"

"How old?"

"Thirty-four I think? Anyway, this guy, he's about to make partner–"

"Baggage?"

"I think he has a little boy but his ex–"

"What does she look like?"

"What? Kristy I don't know. What do you care? Anyway, I was going to say, that, as you know, the firm has a branch in Boston, and Eric and this guy – Frank, I think his name is? Are going to be making a few trips up there, soon."

"Are you coming, too?"

"Bella has pre-school–"

"Mary Anne! It's just a day trip. You of all people know baby-sitters are perfectly safe." I was whining. I hate it when I whine. "Didn't you say Lucy Newton is an awesome sitter?"

"Well, yeah, but she's only fourteen–"

"You baby-sat Lucy when you were twelve!" I exclaimed. "And she was practically a newborn. Cut the cord, woman!"

Mary Anne giggled. "Well, maybe. I'll think about it. Back to the subject at hand, though–"

"Oh, my Lord! I cannot believe Claudia is getting married. Can you imagine this wedding?"

"Well... no. Not really. I'm just excited for the bridal shower. One thing at a time. Have you called in your RSVP yet?"

Laughing, I held up the invitation to look at it again. "No, I didn't. I just opened it. I'm guessing you did?" The invitation was printed on white paper, with splashes of bright orange, blue, and pink. It was very Claudia.

"Of course. I got Stacey's voicemail, though. I sent her a text, but she hasn't answered. Maybe I'll email her..."