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The piece of paper trembled in her hands. Her eyes wracked over the words faster each time in an attempt to comprehend what she was reading. But her efforts proved useless. The lines in front of her began to blur, and was that ringing in her ear new? God, maybe she was going insane. She didn’t even realize she had started mumbling to herself,
“Why-why? Would he?”
She was so engulfed in her thoughts that she didn’t hear her raven-haired best friend’s footsteps approaching behind her,
“Betty? You okay?”
Suddenly the madness in her head came to a stop, and regaining her composure; Betty turned to face her,
“Did you know?”
“B, I have no idea what you are even referencing.”
And with that, Betty slammed the cardstock onto the table between them,
“This. Did you know that I would be getting this piece of paper in my mailbox?
Addressed to me. From him. Did. You. Know.”
Veronica’s eyes darted down to read the words traced in shimmering lilac and ivory.
Save The Date: 12-11-2021
In Celebration of the Marriage of Jughead and Jessica Jones.
--
A few excruciating moments passed where Veronica contemplated how to explain herself best. She settled with the truth.
Biting her lip with caution as she took a step closer to her friend,
"Sooo... I may have gotten a phone call a few days ago from Jughead...and he may have asked me if I thought he should invite you….and I may have said yes."
She awaited the blonde's response. Betty didn't say anything, her eyes still glued to the invite. Reaching over to hold it once again, she finally met Veronica's eyes,
"You think I should go?"
Grabbing Betty's hands, she leads her over to the couch and faces her,
"Betty, you deserve closure. Real closure."
She still seemed unconvinced,
"It's been three years. Maybe this is the universe's twisted way of telling you that it's time."
Veronica shifted her position to meet Betty's gaze,
"Is it going to be the most enjoyable way to spend a Saturday? No. It's probably going to suck if we're being frank….But that's why I'm going with you. As your plus one."
"Vee, you don't have to do that."
"I want to. Plus, I can finally wear my new Swarovski diamonds."
Betty looked at the card one last time and took in all that it meant.
"Okay."
And with that, Betty had just agreed to what would probably be the hardest day of her life.
--
3 months later
She stood in the mirror, picking at her appearance. Fingers playing with her dress's blue chiffon serve as a beautiful distraction from her thoughts. Her blonde curls were pinned up in a more sophisticated, elegant version of her infamous ponytail. It was a pathetic attempt at nostalgia, but Betty could only handle so much change today. A few stray strands of hair framed her face as a subtle reminder that she was no longer that version of herself.
Veronica appeared behind her in a chic burgundy cocktail dress, sprinkled with expensive diamonds and pearls.
"The cab is here. Ready?"
Betty managed a weak half nod and bid her reflection a final goodbye as the two made their way into the car.
The drive was quiet; Betty let her head rest on the window. New York was getting its first snow of the year; she watched as the streets became lightly dusted with fresh white powder. And she couldn't stop herself from letting the memories come streaming in.
“Jughead Jones, if you throw one more snowball at me, I will eat every last thing in our kitchen and see to it that you starve.”
Jughead feigned shock, “Elizabeth Cooper, you wouldn’t,” and then a smirk played across his lips as he crept up behind her, pulling her down into a pile of snow with him. Her shrieks turned into laughs as the two became entangled in one another.
Jughead turned to face her. He wiped the snow off Betty’s nose and cheeks, “Good thing I know for a fact that you can barely finish a three-course meal at Pop’s, let alone my snack collection.”
Betty rolled her eyes and then sat up looking at the groceries she was carrying now scattered across the sidewalk. Jughead surveyed the mess and stood up, offering a hand to her, “Chinese food for dinner?”
And with a coy look, Betty took his hand, “Throw in a movie, and you got yourself a deal.” He pulled her up, and he plopped a soft kiss to her temple.
The rest of the night was filled with lo mein, shared blankets, and terrible holiday movies.
Before Betty could reminisce further, the cab came to a sudden stop, and they had arrived. Without realizing it, they had already entered the ceremony room. The room is draped with flowers and candles. Each white rose petal panged Betty with feelings of envy. Not the typical bridal jealousy that every girl in her twenties experiences, but the sticky kind. The kind of envy that made Betty feel sick to her stomach.
Go through the motions. That's all she had to do. Get caught up in the haze of it all, and simply coast. But God was that hard to do when everywhere she looked, she was reminded of him. No, not him- them. And what could have been.
“Please don’t be mad.” Betty turned around to see him standing at their doorway, He looked nervous, and that alarmed her. She got up from the couch and made her way to him.
“You can yell at me, call me names, but please don’t be mad,” he pleaded as she slowly stepped towards him.
“Jughead…. What’s behind your back?” She motioned to Jughead’s poor attempt to hide the box he was holding.
Knowing he couldn’t hold his ground, he set the box down on the floor.
“You didn’t…” two round adorable eyes met hers. And before he could answer, four tiny paws made their way to her. And what had to have been the cutest puppy she had ever seen was in front of her. Betty squatted down; the dog had wasted no time jumping up to lick her face. A smile spread across her instantly.
“Poor guy was stranded in the alley by my office, and it’s supposed to be a rough winter. I couldn’t just leave him.”
“Jughead,” she spoke in between furry kisses, “Why on earth would I be mad about this?”
He knelt next to her and lifted the dog onto his lap. “I dunno because normally we make decisions like this together. And I didn’t want to bring more unwanted chaos into your life, and honestly, most girls would not be cool with an animal off the street in their home-”
“Our,” she interrupted.
“Our-life. Our-home, Jughead.”
A look of pure adornment consumed his face.
“Oh and also, in case you forgot, my dad was a serial killer, and I once almost got a lobotomy….A puppy is nothing.”
He chuckled, “So does this make us ‘parents’ now. Like are we going to become that couple who takes Christmas pictures with their pets?”
Her eyes twinkled as he leaned in for a kiss. Moments later, they were inches away from each other, “As long as I’m with you, I’ll do anything. Even if it’s matching holiday sweaters with a beagle.”
Their foreheads still pressed together and hands lost in each other, Jughead breathed into her.
“One day-One day Betty Cooper, I’m going to marry you.” He breaks away to look at her as he says it. All she can do is admire him,
“That sure will be a sight.”
They went to bed that night with hearts full of love but, for the first time, hope.
Jessica soon to be Jones was stunning. Her warm complexion and chocolate curls fell right at her shoulders. An aura of euphoria dripped off Jessica as she walked down the aisle. Betty doesn’t even remember standing up, but she was. She whips her head to the end of the gallery, where he was.
Three years. It had been three years since she had seen him. And wow, was her life fucked up. Because damnit, his fucking wedding shouldn’t be the reunion location. But, god, did he look good. His hair still fell on his face, shielding the part of his eyes that glimmered. It didn’t matter because the pure look of awe is seeping through; it’s practically poking her in the face. Tears formed and fell down his cheek effortlessly. One thing is evident: he’s absolutely enamored with her.
Betty doesn’t know what’s harder, watching Jughead get married or the fact that she can’t even recall the last time he looked at her the way he’s looking at Jessica.
Betty creeks the apartment door open and is startled by the dog lying in front of her. She cursed under her breath; Romeo (their once beloved canine companion) clearly hadn't been out all day. He whimpered and began to paw at Betty's leg. Apparently, he hasn't been fed yet either.
Sighing, she made her way to their kitchen. Dishes overflowed the sink, takeout containers had infiltrated the counters, and a trail of beer bottles led to their room. She shook her head and grabbed a garbage bag, slowly picking up the carnage, silently gagging at the smell week old egg rolls and unwashed cereal bowls produced.
Once the dog was fed and the kitchen restored, she headed to the belly of the beast. Not before noticing today's mail on the dining room table. One, in particular, caught her eye. It was from Penguin Random House publishing. She frowned. It didn't take a genius to figure out that Jughead's book had been rejected. The stale cigarette smoke was evidence enough.
She then realized that today also marked two months since he had been laid off from his job writing short stories for The New Yorker. And that today was also his twelfth rejection letter.
Tiptoeing to their door, she hesitated before entering. She pressed her head against the smooth white surface and could make out the faint sounds of his breathing. The dreaded smell of alcohol stung. It was bad enough she had to watch the most talented man she knew be struck down over and over, but to watch him succumb to his worst nightmare was almost unbearable.
She grasped the silver doorknob and gently entered the room. He was too numb to notice. Hunched over the end of their bed, bottle in hand, and his eyes were glazed over.
Making her way to sit next to him, she noticed the ripped up paper littering their room. Fragments of sentences, paragraphs, characters, chapters, his soul cover the scraps. Did he tear up his book? Her heart recoils at the thought.
"Jug?"
He doesn't look at her.
"Hey, it's going to be okay."
She leans her head on his shoulder and strokes his arm.
"They're just stupid. Your work is amazing. You know that, right?"
No response. She pressed on; she was now used to living with a husk of a human being,
"Tomorrow. Tomorrow is a new day."
His shoulder shook slightly, repressing a scoff.
"I mean it, Jug. You're going to make it one day. And when you do, you will look back at nights like this and laugh. I'll take off work tomorrow. We can get breakfast, go to the Strand, and then we can call that one company-"
For the first time, he looked at her,
"Betty, can you just leave me alone."
His eyes burned into hers, and then his head darted back to the glass bottle rim. She nodded her head and got up; without looking back; she called out,
"I'm going to take the dog for a walk. He hasn't been out all day."
And when the door shut behind her, she only allowed a single tear to escape. She couldn't cry anymore. After all, this had been their exact nighttime routine for the past two months.
But now, she looked over at a man who couldn’t contain the happiness of the moment. And as much as it pained her, a tiny part of her was relieved. Relieved that finally, he had found contentment and bliss in the madness of life. Even if the other parts of her would eternally wallow in the harsh reality, she wasn’t the reason. She wasn’t enough.
The ceremony began, or at least Betty thinks it did. All Betty hears is static, and she can’t feel anything except Veronica squeezing her hand the entire time.
Being in a catatonic-Esque state was honestly ideal. Betty doesn’t think she could handle hearing their vows. But when the pivotal moment of any wedding began, and Jughead Jones wholeheartedly said, “I do.” Betty swears for the briefest of seconds he glances her way.
"Sometimes it hurts, it really hurts, for no other reason than the fact that our skin doesn't feel like it's ours. Sometimes we panic, because the bills need paying and we have to be grown-up and we don't know how, because it's so horribly, desperately easy to fail at being grown-up."
Her fingers trace over the words, trembling slightly,
"Because everyone loves someone, and anyone who loves someone has had those desperate nights where we lie awake trying to figure out how we can afford to carry on being human begins."
Inhaling sharply, she shuts the book and places it carefully back onto the shelf she found it. Anxious People by Fredrick Backman was the title. Perhaps she would buy it, probably not.
Betty kept walking down the aisles of The Strand, their favorite bookstore in the city. They would snake up and down the rows of books, haphazardly skimming through pages ruminating over the most profound quotes.
She checks her watch—11:39 pm.
For as long as Betty can remember, she has believed in fate. It's cliche. When she was younger, she had accidentally worn mismatched socks to bed. The next day was the first snow day of the year. In middle school, she missed the bus and had to walk to school. That was the first time she met Kevin Keller. Her now dear friend. Before tests, she would eat exactly three grapes and reread chapter five of any Judy Bloom novel. And when her family began to tear at the seams, Jughead Jones appeared in her bedroom window.
Maybe it was an attempt to escape the mundane regimen of her life. Or perhaps deep down, Betty needs something to hold onto, something bigger than herself. The thought that the universe is the one calling the shots makes her chaotic world feel more grounded. We only have so much time on this earth, and Betty's life has thus, far been unexplainably unusual. So Betty entrusts that the forces of fate, or whatever you want to call it, know what they're doing.
11:45pm. Which is why she is waiting in the middle of a deserted bookstore, minutes before they close, on their anniversary (it's been ten years since he climbed through that window), waiting for the universe to thrust him back into her orbit.
Yes, the past few months have been hard. Excruciating. Any sane person would have called it quits by now. But here Betty was sitting in the middle of the Fiction aisle, staring through the window at empty streets, flickering lamp posts, and waiting for Jughead Jones to walk through the door.
12:00pm. The poor sap who got stuck on the night shift walks up to the blonde,
"Uh, ma'am, we are closed now. Sorry."
And with a heartbreakingly tragic look, she brushes herself off and grabs the book back off the shelf,
"Is there any way I can buy this quickly? I just realized I'm going to need some reading for the train ride."
She got rang up and headed in the direction of Union Station. Book in hand, tears concealed. Except Betty wasn't the last customer of the night.
In fact, at 12:10 pm, the last patron of the night showed up at the door. His beanie crumpled in his hand.
---
The reception was fine. That was the only way she could describe it. Straight out the movies, ordinary, but the champagne was good. Veronica was having fun, at least.
“B, are you sure you don’t want to dance? Look at those two hotties at table four. The tall one has been staring you down all day.”
Betty noticed that guy hours ago. Not her type. She mustered a smile and turned to her faithful friend,
“I’m good right now. But you should go because the tall one’s friend is drooling.”
Veronica blushed, gave her friend one more reassuring squeeze, and waltzed over to the table. A minute later, she was sneaking out the backdoor: hunk in tow.
This wasn’t terrible, Betty thought. She had survived the worst of the day. And at least she got to reveal in everyone else’s high spirits. Seeing Jughead get his happy ending would be the beautifully tragic closure she needed.
“Wow, Veronica works fast.”
She knows that voice from a mile away. And sure enough, Jughead is sitting down next to her. So close, so close to making it through.
“Yeah, well, are you surprised?”
He chuckled,
“No, I guess not.”
They sat there for a while, not saying anything. There wasn’t much left to say that the silence wasn’t already conveying. She wants to say congratulations and that she’s happy for him. But honestly? She knows he wouldn’t buy it.
“Do you remember our first night in New York together?”
She’s not sure why she just asked that. He smiles,
“Of course. We basically pulled an all-nighter in Central Park. Classic tourists.”
A slight smirk tugged at Betty’s lips, but the words were stuck in her throat. Before she could contain herself, she felt the warmness engulf her. She was crying. Great, now she’s the messed up ex-girlfriend crying at the wedding. Without thinking, she pushes her seat back and grabs her bag. He catches her wrist.
“Wait-wait. Betty. Can we talk?”
She sniffles,
“Is that not what we were just doing?”
“No-I mean yes, but no. Later. Can we talk later? Not here. Central Park? The hill by that one bridge, you remember? Midnight. Will you meet me there tonight, and we can talk?”
Betty hesitates, and he takes her hand, leading her to the hallway outside the ballroom. She steadies herself, not sure what’s gotten into her.
“Jughead. Anything you need to say to me you should be able to say here. Hell, you should have been able to say it to me years ago. A-and inviting me to your wedding, and then asking me to go on some stupid late-night rendezvous with you?”
She met his eyes; he was now on the verge of tears too,
“I loved you. Do you know what it has felt like? Being in love with you. Ever since we were children. Or in high school, college? Do you know what it was like being in love with you when you didn’t even love yourself? So-so, asking me what you just asked me to do… is beyond cruel, Jughead.”
Suddenly, it felt like a weight had just been lifted off of Betty. But that weight has seemingly transferred to Jughead. The panic had crept into his eyes, and his voice wavered,
“Betty, you don’t understand. Please, just let me explain. You have to meet me tonight. Please--please,” he whispers.
All Betty can do is nod. She frees her hands from his and takes one last look at him.
“Okay.”
Relief washes over him as Betty exits the venue.
--
12:01pm.
Jughead shivered as the December frost nipped at the nape of his neck. The moonlight was illuminating the air around him.
12:05pm.
He leans against the rough base of a tree and shuts his eyes. A sinking feeling begins to swell in his chest.
12:10pm
His phone dings, buzzing against his leg. The harsh brightness of his screen burns.
Betty: I’m Sorry.
Jughead slides down to the ground. Sobs seize him, and he can't breathe. This morning's snow picked up again. Jughead's breathing slows, and he watches the specs drift down. He's going to get sick if he stays there. Good.
When Jughead finally arrives under the neon glow of The Strand, he’s out of breath. He had practically run across the city. Checking the time, he kicks himself.
He hadn’t meant to be late, but Fangs needed help, and he got a phone call that his book was finally accepted. And then the Subway was delayed. Betty would wait for him, though. At least he prayed she would. But that was a tall feat to ask, considering Betty had spent the last five months doing just that.
He knows he’s been shitty. Not a day goes by that he doesn’t resent the person he’s become. The person he has become to her. If he could go back in time and change one thing, it wouldn’t be his lay-off, the book rejections, or even his mom being a drug dealer. It would be this moment right now.
Because there in that lifeless bookstore, he knew. He knew that was the last time Betty would wait.
He pounded his fist against the glass and reached for the box-shaped lump sticking out of his pocket.
Inside it was a ring. A ring that now lived at the bottom of the sewer tunnel on Broadway street. Where Jughead threw it.
--