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wearing any ring at all. After all, no ring would be better than wearing a different ring he’s seen before, right? Although wouldn’t it be great if you could have more than one engagement ring and then just wear whichever one matched your mood? Maybe I could get that started as a trend…. Focus, Brooke!
    â€œYou mean the screenplay you’re writing about my life,” I say, looking him dead in the eyes.
    â€œI mean the screenplay about my wedding and how I invited my ex-girlfriend,” he says, returning my gaze. “See, Brooke, it’s really my story to tell.”
    â€œIsn’t Ava the star of the movie, not Leo?”
    â€œWell, yes,” he says, picking at an imaginary piece of lint on his jacket.
    â€œSo, then, it’s really her story to tell,” I say, folding my arms across my chest. “It’s the ex-girlfriend’s story.” I couldn’t help but smile at my little victory. I always was a better litigator than Trip.
    â€œLook, Brooke. I just need something more to really make the story solid,” Trip says. “So, help me out, would you? It’ll be just like in law school when we used to collaborate all the time together.”
    What he means to say is: it’ll be just like law school, where we were dating, so I made you do all the work for me. Only his charm has worn off now, and the only thing I’ll be helping him to do is to leave my office.
    â€œWhere’s your engagement ring?” he asks, doing a half-stand out of his chair to get a closer look at my hand. Which has the effect of making me immediately cover my left hand with the right.
    â€œOh,” I say. “That. Yes, well. It’s at the cleaners. I mean, the ring cleaners. You know, the jewelers. You know what I meant. Since when are you so interested in jewelry?”
    Must get the ex-boyfriend out of my office, stat!
    â€œSo, were there any other complications in being an unmarried girl going to your ex-boyfriend’s wedding? Anything else you haven’t told me?”
    â€œNo,” I say, with a clipped tone, turning to my computer. I begin to check my email, hoping that he’ll think that I’m too busy to talk to him and just leave.
    An email pops up on my screen:

    From:             “Vanessa Taylor” < [email protected] >
    To:                  “Brooke Miller” < [email protected] >
    Subject:         Do it!

    Did you fess up to Trip yet???
    Vanessa Taylor
    Gilson, Hecht and Trattner
    425 Park Avenue
    11 th Floor
    New York, New York 10022

    *****CONFIDENTIALITY NOTICE*****
    The information contained in this e-mail message is confidential and is intended only for the use of the individual or entity named above. If you are not the intended recipient, we would request you delete this communication without reading it or any attachment, not forward or otherwise distribute it, and kindly advise Gilson, Hecht & Trattner by return email to the sender or a telephone call to 1 (800) GILSON. Thank you in advance.
    That girl’s timing is uncanny. I look over to Trip, sitting on my visitor’s chair like a sad little puppy, his pad out, ready to jot down any words of wisdom I may spew out.
    â€œI just feel like I’m missing something here,” Trip says, tapping his pen against the side of the pad. “What the script really needs is something to bring it all together. It needs more comedy. More of a love story.”
    â€œHow’s this,” I say, throwing him a bone. “I did lose my luggage at LAX when we flew in for your wedding. I didn’t have a dress to wear, so we had to spend the whole day shopping, trying to find a replacement. Use that.”
    â€œRight on, right on,” Trip says. Even though he’s originally from Connecticut, he certainly has adapted to being a left-coaster. If he says