Jones Solo Honeymoon | Scarlett

The Unwedding

A French photographer named Luc asked if she was a model. She laughed—a real, rusty laugh—and said no. He asked if she was married. She looked at the turquoise water, then at the empty ring finger where a diamond had briefly sat. scarlett jones solo honeymoon

She cried into the Pacific Ocean. Saltwater on saltwater. It felt honest. The Unwedding A French photographer named Luc asked

She had planned this trip for eighteen months. The deposit on the overwater bungalow in Bora Bora was non-refundable. The seat next to her on the plane—the one where his tall frame should have been spilling into her shoulder—was empty. She looked at the turquoise water, then at

She pulled out her phone. Deleted the wedding playlist. Bookmarked a flight to Kyoto for next spring.

That night, she danced alone at the tiki bar. A slow song came on. She put her hand on her own shoulder, the other on an imaginary waist, and swayed. At first, it felt sad. Then it felt like a first dance.

“I spent a year planning a day. I spent five days learning how to plan a life. Thank you for not showing up. The room was too small for both of us anyway.”