Kids, some hangovers aren't about alcohol.
They're about truth.
The morning after that 2 a.m. disaster, I didn't wake up with a headache.
I woke up with something worse:
A conscience.
---
Fallout and Fancy Invitations
First thing I did that morning?
I threw up.
Second thing?
I called Germany.
---
1. The Call That Actually Broke Us
It was late afternoon in Brooklyn, early evening where Victoria was.
I sat at the kitchen table, phone in hand, watching Marshall highlight contracts and Lily sketch lesson plans.
Nox sat on the counter, flipping a stress ball.
"You sure?" he asked.
"No," I said. "But I'm going to do it anyway."
He nodded.
"Good," he said. "Fear's a terrible moral compass. Stop letting it drive."
I stepped into my room.
Closed the door.
Dialed.
She picked up halfway through the first ring.
"Ted!" Victoria said, warm and bright. "You have freaky timing. I was just thinking about—"
"Hey," I cut in, voice tight. "Can we… talk? Really talk?"
The smile dropped out of her tone immediately.
"Okay," she said. "You sound… not good."
"I'm not," I admitted. "And I owe you the truth. All of it."
Kids, I'm not going to repeat every word of that conversation.
Some things belong to the people in them.
But I will tell you this:
I told her everything.
That Robin called.
That I lied.
That I went over.
That we kissed.
That she called while I was there.
And that I'd said "I love you" with someone else's lipstick still on my mouth.
There was silence.
The longest, coldest silence I'd ever experienced.
When she finally spoke, her voice was shaking—but not in the way I expected.
She wasn't screaming.
She wasn't sobbing.
She sounded… tired.
"Thank you for telling me," she said.
"That's it?" I croaked. "You're not going to—"
"Oh, Ted," she said softly. "What else is there to say?"
My heart sank.
"If you'd just… drifted," she went on, "stopped calling, let this fade out? I would've always wondered if I'd imagined what we had. If maybe I wasn't as important to you as I thought."
"You are," I insisted. "You were. You… still are."
"I know," she said. "And that's the problem."
She took a breath.
"I love you," she said. "And I don't want to be with someone who has to lie to love me. Even once. Not because I'm perfect. Not because you're evil. Because this… isn't the foundation for the life I want."
I felt it then.
The moment when the future you wanted just… lets go of your hand.
"Victoria, please—"
"No," she said gently. "You made a choice. In the worst possible way, at the worst possible time. But you made it. You don't get to unmake it just because daylight makes you feel different."
She was right.
Of course she was right.
"I'm not calling to ask you to stay with me," I said hoarsely. "I'm calling because you deserve to hear the truth from me, not… twenty years from now in some messed-up version of this story where I edit myself into the hero."
She let out a quiet, bitter laugh.
"Too late for hero," she said. "But thank you for not going full coward."
We sat in the quiet.
"I'm so sorry," I whispered.
"I know," she said. "Here's the thing, Ted: someday, you're going to be a great partner to someone. Maybe Robin, maybe someone else. But that guy? He tells the truth before 2 a.m. Not after."
My throat closed.
"And you?" I asked. "You'll be… okay?"
"I'm going to bake the hell out of this bakery," she said, and I could hear the steel underneath. "I'm going to learn everything I can here. I'm going to love again, eventually. Just… not you. Not like this."
A tear slid down my cheek.
"I'm going to miss you," I said.
"You already do," she replied. "We've been missing each other for weeks. That's what long-distance is. Missing with Wi-Fi."
She drew in a breath.
"Goodbye, Ted," she said.
It hit me like a physical thing.
"Goodbye," I managed. "And… thank you. For… all of it."
"Someday, when you tell someone else you love them," she said, "I hope it's at 2 p.m. in a bakery and not in the middle of a three-way disaster."
She hung up.
Just like that, six months became zero.
Germany snapped back into being "far away" instead of "my long-distance girlfriend's neighborhood."
And my heart?
It took a hit it fully deserved.
---
2. Aftermath in the Living Room
I came out of my room red-eyed and hollow.
Marshall looked up from his files.
"Oh no," he said. "Dude."
Lily put down her pen.
Nox didn't say anything.
He didn't need to.
"She's gone," I said simply. "We're done."
Lily crossed the room and pulled me into a hug that was 30% comfort, 70% how dare you hurt my bakery queen.
"I'm mad at you," she said into my chest. "And I love you. Both things are true."
"I know," I said.
Marshall came over, huge arms wrapping around both of us.
"You're an idiot," he said.
"I know," I repeated.
Nox leaned on the back of the couch.
"You told her everything?" he asked.
"Yeah," I said. "No… edits."
He nodded.
"Good," he said. "Now you get to live with the consequences like a grown-up."
"You're terrible at this," I muttered.
He shrugged.
"I'm not here to make you feel better," he said. "I'm here to make sure you don't lie to yourself about who burned what."
Lily pulled back.
"What about Robin?" she asked. "Have you talked to her?"
I winced.
"She kicked me out," I said. "Fairly. I… should probably give her space. For a bit."
"Good," Lily said. "Let her be mad. She deserves it."
She poked me in the chest.
"And you," she said, "are going to do something healthy and boring for a while. No grand gestures. No rebounds. No getting drunk and singing show tunes out the window."
"That was one time," I protested.
"It was two times," Marshall corrected.
"Okay, two times," I admitted.
Nox smirked.
"You won't have time for rebounds anyway," he said to me. "You've got an award show to get sad at."
I frowned.
"What?"
"Robin's nominated," Lily said. "Local Area Media Awards. Some late-breaking news thing she did about a subway outage."
Right.
Canon.
"And she invited—?" I started to ask, then stopped.
Lily looked awkward.
"She… was going to invite Derek," she said gently. "Before last night. I don't know… what the plan is now."
So that was my life in that moment:
Single.
Guilty.
About to sit through an awards banquet I wasn't technically invited to.
Kids, sometimes rock bottom wears a suit.
---
3. The Invitation You Don't Deserve
A couple nights later, I was at MacLaren's with Barney, Marshall, and Nox.
I was nursing a beer like it had personally wronged me.
Barney slapped a flyer onto the table.
"Behold," he declared, "the LAMAs."
The Local Area Media Awards flyer had Robin's face on it in the corner.
Nox squinted.
"Terrible graphic design," he said. "Their font choice is a hate crime."
"She's nominated," Marshall said proudly. "I saw the segment. She was great. Very authoritative. I almost believed the MTA knew what it was doing."
"Big night for her," Barney said. "Tuxes. Cameras. Open bar. The works."
He leaned toward me.
"And apparently," he said with evil glee, "she needs a date."
My heart did a stupid little jump.
"Why?" I asked. "What happened to Derek?"
"They broke up," Barney said. "According to my very reliable contact." He jerked a thumb at the bar where Carl was polishing glasses.
Carl waved.
"Let me guess," Nox said. "He said something condescending about her job or tried to schedule their make-up sex like a dentist appointment."
"Pretty much," Barney said. "And evidently, she tossed him out like yesterday's takeout. So! She has a plus one and no plus."
He spread his hands.
"Enter you, Schmosby," he said.
I shook my head.
"No," I said. "Absolutely not. I'm radioactive right now. She shouldn't even sit near me, let alone take me to an award show."
"Maybe she wants to," Marshall said gently. "Have you considered that?"
I stared at my beer.
"We haven't talked since…" I trailed off.
"Since you lied to her face and then got a live call from your girlfriend while you were on her couch?" Nox offered.
"Thank you," I muttered. "Really needed the replay."
"Consider it the ESPN summary of your poor choices," he said.
Barney waved this away.
"Details," he said. "The point is, this is a chance. Formal wear. Emotional lighting. The perfect arena for redemption."
"I am not using her career milestone as a backdrop for my guilt," I said. "She deserves an uncomplicated date."
"Great," Barney said. "Luckily, I've found the most uncomplicated woman in New York City."
We all stared.
"No," I said immediately. "Absolutely not. I'm not doing one of your 'have you met' schemes."
"Relax," he said. "I'm not talking about a one-night stand. I'm talking about… an escort."
I blinked.
"An escort-escort?" I repeated.
"A professional companion," Barney said. "Someone to make you look less like Sad Divorce Dad and more like 'look at me thriving post-breakup.'"
"That's disgusting," I said. "I'm not hiring a prostitute to score points at my friend's award show."
Barney grinned.
"What if I already did?" he asked.
Marshall choked on his beer.
"You what?" he wheezed.
Nox pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Of course you did," he muttered. "Why make one bad decision when you can make three pre-paid ones?"
Barney slapped my shoulder.
"Relax," he said. "She's classy. Beautiful. Very smart. Knows how to handle these events. And she already said yes."
"To what, specifically?" I demanded. "Being arm candy for a recently single architect with a crush on the honoree? Did you leave out that part?"
Barney shrugged.
"I told her you're heartbroken," he said. "Women love a wounded bird. It's like watching The Notebook in real time."
I put my face in my hands.
"Barney. No. Cancel. I'm not going."
"You have to go," he insisted. "You're her friend. She'll want you there. And you can't go alone, because nothing says 'I still love you, please remember our night with the French horn' like showing up solo and staring at her table like a haunted plant."
He had a point.
I hated that he had a point.
"And if Robin sees you with someone else, and you're being charming and supportive and not weird?" he added. "It proves you're not there to claim her. You're there to celebrate her. Like a grown-up. Imagine."
Nox gave me a look.
"He's accidentally not wrong," he said. "Again. I hate this for us."
I groaned.
"Who is she?" I asked Barney. "This… escort."
"Her name's Mary," he said. "She's smart. Funny. Looks great in a dress. And I cannot stress this enough—she's a professional."
"You're disgusting," I said.
He grinned.
"You say that now," he said. "But when she shows up and you suddenly have the confidence of James Bond with a moral compass, you'll thank me."
Marshall still looked horrified.
"Does Lily know about this?" he asked.
"Lily will know nothing," Barney said. "Lily would turn this into a feminist ethics seminar and make us all write reflective essays."
He turned back to me.
"Say yes, Ted," he pressed. "What's the alternative? Sit at home in sweatpants watching the ceremony on local cable like a creep?"
I thought about it.
He had me there.
"If I go," I said slowly, "it's to support Robin. Not to… make her jealous. Not to fix us. Just to show her I give a damn."
"Sure," Barney said. "And if you happen to look devastatingly handsome while escorted by a stunning woman who laughs at your jokes, that's just… garnish."
Nox leaned forward.
"Here's my condition," he said to Barney. "No pretending she's something she's not. You don't lie to Ted about what she does. You don't lie to her about why he needs a date. And you do not let this woman become another prop in your weird 'teach Ted to be a bro' lesson."
Barney put a hand over his heart.
"I resent that implication," he said.
Nox raised an eyebrow.
"Do you?" he asked.
Barney smirked.
"A little," he admitted. "But fine. Full disclosure. Scout's honor."
He did not, for the record, ever go to Scouts.
I hesitated.
It still felt wrong.
But the idea of not going at all felt worse.
"Fine," I said finally. "One night. A date. Nothing else. No hotel rooms. No weird side bets. If Robin looks uncomfortable, I back off and vanish into the nearest potted plant."
"Done," Barney said, delighted. "It shall be legendary."
"That's never a good sign," I muttered.
---
4. Friendly Fire
Of course, none of this was happening in a vacuum.
Robin still existed.
And between the break with Victoria and the 2 a.m. debacle, we'd become experts at avoiding each other in small spaces.
That afternoon at MacLaren's, she walked in while I was at the bar, looking like a woman who'd slept four hours and powered the rest of her day on caffeine and spite.
Her eyes landed on me.
We both froze.
"Hey," I said.
"Hey," she said.
Silence.
Then, because we're us, we both spoke at once.
"I'm—"
"I wanted—"
We stopped.
"You first," she said.
"I just… wanted to say I told Victoria," I said. "About that night. All of it. We broke up."
Her face shifted—concern,strain, something else.
"I'm sorry," she said. And she meant it. "That must've… sucked."
"It did," I said. "And it was my fault. I just… didn't want you thinking I was trying to… maintain the lie."
She nodded.
"Thank you for telling her," she said. "She deserves better than… any of that."
"She does," I agreed.
Silence again.
"I'm not going to pretend I wasn't hurt," she said after a moment. "Or that I'm not… still a little mad. At you. At myself. At… timing."
"Fair," I said quietly.
"But," she added, "I also don't want to… erase you from my life over one awful night. I just… need some time before we go back to whatever… this," she gestured between us, "is."
Relief washed through me, edged with guilt.
"I can give you time," I said. "Whatever you need."
"Good," she said.
She shifted her bag on her shoulder.
"I also wanted to tell you—before you hear it from someone else—I'm nominated for a LAMA," she added, casually as she could.
"I know," I said. "Marshall told me. And I saw the flyer. That's… amazing, Robin."
She smiled, a real one.
"Thanks," she said. "It's not exactly a Peabody, but… it's something. My dad actually called to say he was proud of me."
"Wow," I said. "Did the world end, or…?"
"Probably," she said. "But I'll take it."
She hesitated.
"I asked Derek to go with me," she went on. "Before we… ended things. He's not. Obviously. So… I'll just… go solo, I guess. Easier that way."
I felt the words "I could go with you" rise to my throat.
I swallowed them.
"I'll be there," I said instead. "Somewhere in the crowd. Cheering. Quietly. No pressure. Just… wanted you to know that."
She looked at me for a long second.
Then nodded.
"Okay," she said. "I… like that."
She started to turn away.
"Robin?" I called.
She glanced back.
"For the record," I said, "you're not… the other woman in this story. You never were. That's on me, not you."
Her eyes softened.
"Good," she said quietly. "Because I spent a lot of years making sure I'd never be cast in that role."
Then she left.
And kids, that's when it really hit me:
This wasn't just about who I loved.
It was about who I was while I loved them.
---
5. Enter Mary
Night of the awards.
Suit on.
Tie straight.
Guilt intact.
I stood in the lobby of the hotel where the ceremony was held, tugging at my sleeves like they might turn me into someone else.
Barney bounced on his heels beside me in a very expensive tuxedo he almost certainly rented for free.
"She'll be here any second," he said. "Try to look less like you just confessed to multiple felonies."
"I feel like I confessed to multiple felonies," I muttered.
Marshall and Lily arrived, hand in hand.
Lily looked like a retro movie star.
Marshall looked like a guy who'd accidentally wandered onto a red carpet on his way to a sandwich.
"You look great!" Lily said, hugging me. "Considering, you know, everything."
"Thanks," I said. "You too. Very 'Ms. Frizzle but make it couture.'"
She beamed.
"That's exactly what I was going for," she said.
Nox and Bryce showed up next.
Nox in a simple black suit that somehow looked like it had been tailored by angels.
Bryce in a deep green dress that made everyone else's look like it was on a lag.
"Okay," Nox said, surveying me. "Not bad. You almost pass for emotionally stable at ten feet."
"Five, if the lighting is bad," Bryce added.
"Have I mentioned lately that I hate all of you?" I asked.
"Frequently," Nox said. "It's how we know you're still alive."
Barney checked his watch.
"Any second now…" he said.
As if on cue, the elevator chimed.
The doors slid open.
And out walked Mary.
Tall.
Dark hair.
Sharp eyes.
Simple black dress that somehow managed to be both modest and devastating.
She spotted us and smiled.
"Barney," she said, walking over. "You look very… on brand."
He kissed her cheek.
"Mary, darling," he said. "Allow me to introduce your date for the evening."
He gestured at me.
"This is Ted," he said. "He's an architect. He's just been through a rough breakup. He is in desperate need of a confidence boost and non-judgmental company."
Her gaze settled on me.
Assessed.
Noted.
"Hi," I said, suddenly thirteen again. "I, uh… build things."
Smooth.
She smiled.
"It's nice to meet you, Ted," she said. "I'm Mary. I file things."
Barney squeezed my shoulder like a proud dad shoving his kid onstage.
"Everyone else, this is Mary," he said. "Mary, this is the gang. The tall one is Marshall, the redhead is Lily, the suspicious one is Nox, the too-pretty one is Bryce, and somewhere in this building is Robin, the woman this entire evening is secretly about."
Mary raised an eyebrow.
"Is this the part where we pretend that's not true?" she asked.
I liked her immediately.
Lily shot Barney a look she thought was subtle and absolutely wasn't.
"So, how do you two know each other?" she asked Mary, overly casual.
"Barney's a client," Mary said smoothly.
Lily's eyes narrowed.
"Client?" she repeated.
Mary smiled.
"I'm a paralegal," she added. "He's had… legal needs."
The entire group visibly relaxed.
Barney's smirk widened by a millimeter.
"I'm suddenly more okay with this," Lily said.
Nox watched Barney carefully.
His eyes said: I'm not convinced this is the whole story, but I'll allow it for now.
Mary turned back to me.
"Don't worry," she said quietly. "I'm good at this. Galas. Award shows. Making exes wish they'd made different life choices. Consider me your… emotional stunt double."
I laughed despite myself.
"Is that in your job description?" I asked.
"Unofficially," she said. "Officially, I proofread contracts. Unofficially, I help guys like you not sink through the floor at events like this."
Barney leaned in.
"Is she worth every penny or what?" he whispered.
I elbowed him.
---
Kids, this is where I have to pause.
Because walking into that banquet hall with Mary on my arm…
Seeing Robin at her table, stunning in a dark blue dress, hair perfect, smile tight…
Feeling her eyes flick from Mary to me, assessing, recalibrating…
That was the start of a whole different kind of night:
One where I realized how much of my identity was tied to being "the romantic guy"
One where Robin had to decide whether we were friend-supportive or jealousy-dangerous
One where Barney's little experiment with Mary turned out to say more about him than about me
Kids, people think jealousy looks like yelling and broken dishes.
Most of the time?
It looks like smiling too hard at a person you're absolutely not okay about.
We walked into the ballroom like this:
Barney: strutting
Marshall and Lily: adorable
Nox and Bryce: disgustingly hot
Me and Mary: trying to look like we did this all the time
The place was all round tables, bad carpet, and local TV people who thought their headshots should be on money.
At the front, a stage. On the stage, a podium.
On a big poster by the entrance?
Robin's face.
"Local Area Media Awards – Nominee: Robin Scherbatsky, Metro News 1."
My chest did that dumb swell thing.
Mary followed my gaze.
"That her?" she asked.
"Yeah," I said. "That's Robin. She's… important."
Mary nodded like she was mentally filing that under "Key Data."
"Okay," she said. "Game plan. You're here to support her. So we:
Sit where we're supposed to
Clap way too loud when her category comes up
Avoid staring at her table like we're in a sad music video
And under no circumstances do we corner her with a 'talk about us' at the buffet."
I blinked.
"Is this your first day at this?" I asked.
She smirked.
"I told you," she said. "I'm a professional."
---
1. Friendly Fire in Formalwear
We found our table.
And there she was.
Robin.
Across the room at the Metro News 1 table.
Navy dress. Hair perfect. Laugh a little too bright.
Sandy Rivers sat beside her in an open collar shirt and a face that said "I've never lost an argument, because I've never listened to one."
She saw me.
Her eyes flicked from me… to Mary… to our joined hands… and back.
Then she smiled.
Just a little too wide.
She lifted her glass in a tiny "hey."
I did the same.
My stomach flipped.
Lily leaned in.
"She looks amazing," she whispered.
"I know," I said.
"And slightly murderous," Bryce added. "Which is honestly her best look."
Nox glanced at Barney.
"On a scale from one to 'this is going to blow up in your face,'" he murmured, "how honest were you with Mary?"
Barney put on his innocent face.
"Totally honest," he said. "I told her Ted's a mess and needs a good night. She said, 'I charge extra for emotional labor.' I said, 'Same.'"
Nox's eyes narrowed.
"That is not an answer," he said.
Barney clinked his glass.
"To new beginnings," he said.
I zoned out for a second, my brain ping-ponging between:
Robin's smile
Victoria's goodbye
Mary's hand on my arm
Mary nudged me gently.
"Hey," she said. "Stay present. Award show now, existential crisis later."
"Sorry," I said. "This is just… a lot."
She nodded.
"I get it," she said. "I've been the date, the ex, and the one who got left out all in the same event. Tonight, you're the guy who's trying not to make it weird. Aim for that."
---
2. Mary, Robin, and the Smile War
At some point before dinner, Robin made her way to our table.
She had a glass of champagne and the kind of smile you wear when you've been rehearsing not caring in the mirror.
"Hey, guys," she said.
There were hugs. Compliments. Lily made an "oooh" noise at her dress.
Then her eyes landed on Mary.
"And you must be…" she let it hang.
"Mary," Mary said, standing smoothly. "Ted's date. And you're the star of the evening."
She offered her hand.
Robin shook it.
"Hardly," she said. "I'm just nominated. Sandy's convinced he's going to win in every category, including Best Supporting Anchor in a Segment About Dogs."
From across the room, Sandy raised his glass at no one in particular.
"Sounds about right," Mary said.
Robin's eyes flicked between us again.
"So," she asked, careful casual, "how did you two meet?"
I opened my mouth.
Barney cut in.
"At a charity thing," he said. "Mary does incredible work with… legal documents."
Lily elbowed him.
Mary smiled like she'd seen this dance before.
"Barney and I have… mutual colleagues," she said. "He thought Ted could use a fun plus-one tonight. I like wearing dresses and judging people's speeches. It worked out."
Robin gave a tight smile.
"Well, we're glad you're here," she said. "The more non-news people at these things, the better. We need reminders that the world exists outside ratings and weather graphics."
Mary gestured at the poster.
"I saw your piece," she said. "The subway story. It was good. You looked like you wanted to strangle the MTA spokesperson."
"Oh," Robin said, caught off-guard. "Thanks. I, uh… did."
They laughed.
For a second, it almost wasn't tense.
Then Sandy yelled from their table.
"Robin! They're lining us up for red carpet shots!"
She stiffened slightly.
"Duty calls," she said. "Break a leg, guys."
She looked at me.
"I'm… glad you came," she added.
"Wouldn't miss it," I said.
She nodded.
Went back to her table.
Mary watched her go.
"She likes you," Mary said, once Robin was out of earshot.
I sighed.
"It's… complicated," I said. "I messed up. I hurt her. She's being… kinder than I deserve."
Mary considered that.
"And you?" she asked. "You like her?"
"Yeah," I said. "I do."
"And the baker?" she asked.
"Germany," I said quietly. "We broke up. My fault too."
Mary let out a low whistle.
"Wow," she said. "Busy season for your heart."
"You have no idea," I muttered.
---
3. The Awards, the Alcohol, the Acting
The ceremony started.
Speeches.
Bad jokes.
Montages of anchors pretending to listen to correspondents in the field.
We clapped in all the right places.
Barney whispered commentary in mine and Mary's ears like an evil sports announcer.
"See that guy?" he said, nodding toward a smug-looking anchor. "Three divorces. One hairpiece. Zero shame."
Mary stifled a laugh.
"You are way too good at this," she murmured.
"Experience, my dear," he replied. "This is my version of church."
After what felt like twelve hours, they got to Robin's category.
"…and now, for Outstanding News Feature – Local Metro Division…"
My hands went clammy.
They played the clips.
Robin's segment came on.
She looked fierce. Smart. Exactly like the version of herself she'd described wanting to be.
The host opened the envelope.
"And the LAMA goes to… Robin Scherbatsky, Metro News 1!"
Our table exploded.
We screamed. We whooped. We pounded the table.
I was on my feet before I knew it.
At her table, Robin looked stunned.
Then thrilled.
Then… briefly, terribly aware of the cameras.
She hugged a couple of colleagues.
Sandy kissed her on the cheek like her success was a reflection of his genetics.
She walked up to the stage.
Took the trophy.
Wrapped her fingers around the microphone.
"Wow," she said, breathless. "This… is weird."
Laughter.
"I moved here from Canada," she went on, "with a suitcase, a dream, and a really unfortunate haircut. I've worked at a lot of stations where 'serious news' meant 'which celebrity forgot underwear today.' Being allowed to cover something that matters—even just a little—is… huge."
She scanned the room.
Her eyes landed on our table.
Just for a second.
"Thanks to my team at Metro News 1," she said. "Even Sandy, who keeps calling me 'kid' even though we're the same age."
Laughter.
"And thanks to my friends," she added, voice softening. "Who remind me that I'm more than my job, even when it feels like that's all I am."
Our table went extra-loud.
She smiled.
The good smile.
Not the forced one.
Then she wrapped it up, hugged the presenter, and headed backstage.
I sat down.
Mary leaned toward me.
"You look proud enough to explode," she said.
"I kind of am," I said.
"Good," she said. "That's the part that's real. Hold onto that. The rest of this is just… afterparty chaos."
---
4. Barney's "Lesson"… and Nox's Patience Runs Out
A couple of drinks later, Barney decided it was time for Act Two of his experiment.
He cornered me by the bar while Mary and Lily were in the bathroom.
"You're doing great," he said. "Laughing. Mingling. Not crying into the centerpiece. I'm so proud."
"I'm just glad she won," I said. "She deserves it."
He grinned.
"Also, you walked in with a 10," he said. "Mary is a smoke show. I saw Robin notice. That doesn't hurt."
"This isn't about making Robin jealous," I said. "I'm not doing that again. I just… wanted to support her without being a sad puppy."
Barney rolled his eyes.
"You and your feelings," he said. "This is about evolution, Ted. Facing your fears. Learning you can be with a woman without putting her on a pedestal and proposing twice."
"At least I propose to actual girlfriends," I said. "Not waitresses with fake names and restraining orders."
"Details," he said.
Nox walked over with two drinks, expression tight.
"Barney," he said. "Quick question. When you told Mary about tonight… did you mention that you'd told Ted she was an escort?"
I froze.
"What?" I asked.
Barney's smile faltered.
"I… may have… framed things a certain way," he hedged. "I told Ted she's a high-end escort. I told her he knows that. So everyone's informed."
My stomach dropped.
"You told me she was an escort," I said slowly.
He nodded.
"With a very active paralegal side hustle," he said. "Multifaceted woman. It's the 21st century."
"And you told her I knew she was a sex worker," I said.
"Yes," he said. "That part is important."
Nox's jaw clenched.
"Barney," he said, voice deceptively calm. "What does she actually do?"
Barney shifted.
"Does it matter?" he deflected. "She's hot. She's charming. Ted's smiling for the first time in days. My plan worked."
Nox stepped closer.
"Say it," he said.
Barney held up his hands.
"Fine!" he blurted. "She's a paralegal. A real paralegal. No escorting. I met her at my lawyer's office. I asked her to be Ted's date because she's cool under pressure and I knew she could handle this insanity. I told Ted she was an escort so he'd loosen up and stop putting her on some impossible pedestal."
I stared at him.
"She's not…?"
"No," he said. "She's not. She files briefs, not… briefs."
Nox closed his eyes like he was counting to ten in three languages.
"You lied," he said. "You promised you wouldn't. To her. To Ted. To us."
"She is a professional," Barney protested weakly. "I just… left out what kind."
I felt sick.
I thought about how I'd talked to her.
How I'd thought about her.
The assumptions I'd made.
"Barney," I said, horrified, "I've been treating her like—"
"Like she's a human being," Barney cut in. "Which she is. Mission accomplished."
"That's not the point," Nox snapped. "You messed with his head and hers to prove some weird theory about morality and romance."
He turned to me.
"You need to tell her," he said. "Immediately. Before she hears his version."
As if on cue, Mary walked up.
"What do I need to hear?" she asked.
We all jumped.
She looked at our faces.
Then at Barney.
Then back at me.
"Oh good," she said. "Is this the part where the twist happens?"
---
5. Mary's Verdict
We relocated to a quieter corner.
Lily hovered nearby, clearly sensing drama.
Marshall pretended to be fascinated by the dessert table and failed.
"Okay," Mary said calmly. "Who wants to go first?"
I took a breath.
"Barney told me you were an escort," I blurted. "A high-end one. He said he'd hired you to be my date. That you knew I knew. He lied. To both of us."
Her expression didn't change much.
But something in her eyes went cold.
"Barney?" she asked, without looking at him.
He gave a weak thumbs-up.
"True," he said. "But—"
She rounded on him.
"Do not say 'but,'" she snapped. "You told me he needed a date because he'd been through a bad breakup. You said he knew I was a paralegal. You said this was just… a night out."
"That's… mostly what this is," he tried.
She stared him down.
"Let me get this straight," she said. "Your idea of helping your friend process heartbreak is to lie to him about my job, lie to me about his expectations, and then watch what happens like it's some kind of social experiment?"
Barney opened his mouth.
Closed it.
"Wow," Mary said. "I see why you need so many lawyers."
Lily stepped closer.
"Mary, I swear we didn't know," she said quickly. "We thought you were just Barney's paralegal friend. We would never—"
"I know," Mary said. "You're all lovely. He's the problem."
She jerked a thumb at Barney.
"Accurate," Nox said.
I looked at Mary, mortified.
"I'm so sorry," I said. "I didn't… I mean, I did believe him. For a while. I assumed things about you. I… talked to you differently at first because of it. That's on me."
She studied me.
"Yeah," she said. "It is."
My insides twisted.
"I like you," I said. "As a person. Not as a… prop in whatever lesson he thought I needed. You've been… kind. Funny. Honest. More than I deserved tonight. And I don't want you to leave thinking I signed up for this knowing it was based on a lie."
She considered that.
"Okay," she said slowly. "Let me talk to your science project alone for a second."
She dragged Barney a few steps away.
They spoke in low tones.
We couldn't hear the words.
We didn't need to.
Barney's face went through all five stages of "I messed up and a woman is smarter than me":
1. Smug
2. Defensive
3. Confused
4. Horrified
5. Sheepish
At one point she poked him in the chest so hard he stumbled.
At another, she pointed at me, then at Robin across the room, then at his own head like she was diagnosing a serious condition.
Finally, she nodded once, spun on her heel, and came back to us.
Barney followed, chastened.
"Okay," Mary said. "Here's what's going to happen."
We all straightened like we were in court.
"The rest of the night," she said, "I am Ted's date. Not his escort. Not your 'lesson.' Just his friend who happens to look fantastic in this dress."
"Agreed," I said immediately.
"At the end of the evening," she continued, "he walks me to a cab, we say goodnight, and we never do this again."
"Fair," I said.
She looked at Barney.
"And you," she said. "Are going to think very hard about why you're so obsessed with proving your friends are hypocrites."
He blinked.
"That's not—" he started.
"Every time someone's about to maybe grow up a little," she said, "you pull the rug out from under them so you can feel smarter. That's not friendship. That's sabotage with a sense of humor."
Even Nox looked impressed.
"Ouch," he muttered. "In a good way."
Barney shifted uncomfortably.
"I was trying to help," he said weakly. "Ted puts women on pedestals. I wanted him to see he could like someone even if she had a job he doesn't approve of. I thought if he believed you were… all that, and still connected with you, it would prove something."
"Newsflash," she said. "You don't get to use real women as thought experiments."
He winced.
"You're right," he said quietly.
We all froze.
Barney Stinson admitting he was wrong?
Historic.
"I shouldn't have lied," he added. "To you or to Ted. I'm… sorry."
She studied him like he was a strange new species.
"You're lucky you're pretty," she said finally. "Use your words better next time."
He nodded, chastened.
And kids?
I know this sounds small.
But in Barney language?
That was a tectonic shift.
---
6. One More Dance
Later, when things had calmed, the band started playing something slow and cheesy.
People drifted onto the dance floor.
Couples swayed.
Anchors tried not to step on each other's shoes.
Mary nudged me.
"Go ask her," she said.
"Who?" I asked.
She gave me a look.
"Please don't make me revoke your architect license for structural obliviousness," she said. "Robin. You're allowed to dance with your friend."
"I don't know if she'll—" I began.
"Then you'll find out," she said. "Without a lie. What a concept."
She gently pushed me toward the dance floor.
I crossed to Robin's table, heart pounding.
She was fiddling with her trophy, pretending not to check her phone.
"Hey," I said.
She looked up.
"Hey," she said.
"You were incredible tonight," I said. "Speech, segment, the whole… you."
"Thanks," she said, a little shy. "I almost tripped on the stairs. That would've been a very on-brand way to start my acceptance."
I smiled.
"Would you, uh…" I gestured toward the dance floor. "Want to dance? Platonic celebration dance. No pressure. You can say no. I'll blame it on the shoes."
She studied my face.
Looked past me at Mary, who was laughing at something Lily said.
Then back at me.
"For the record," she said slowly, "you walking in here with someone else sucked. A little."
"I know," I said. "And for the record? You winning tonight was the best thing that's happened in weeks. Even if I watched it from across a table."
She breathed out.
"Okay," she said. "One dance."
We stepped onto the floor.
Hands on shoulders.
Hands on waist.
Comfortable.
Awkward.
Honest.
"How's Germany?" she asked after a minute.
"We're… not," I said. "I told her what happened. We ended it."
She looked up at me.
"I'm sorry," she said.
"It was my fault," I said. "Doesn't make it hurt less. But… I couldn't keep… leaving parts out. Not again."
She nodded.
"That's… good," she said quietly. "The truth part. Not the hurting."
We danced in silence for a few beats.
"You know I'm still mad at you, right?" she said.
"Oh yeah," I said. "Fully aware. I'd be mad at me too."
"And I'm not… going to be your consolation prize because your long-distance thing crashed," she added.
"I don't want you to be," I said quickly. "I want you to be… you. And I want to be better at… being me around you."
She snorted.
"Very eloquent," she said. "But… I get it."
"Someday," I said, "when you're ready, I'd like to earn a clean slate with you. Not as the guy who almost chose you at 2 a.m., but as the guy who shows up at 7 p.m. and tells the truth."
She looked at me for a long moment.
Then rested her head lightly against my shoulder.
"We'll see," she murmured.
And kids, that was my answer.
Not a yes.
Not a no.
Just…
"We'll see."
Which, honestly?
Was more than I deserved.
---
7. Goodnight, Mary
At the end of the night, I walked Mary outside.
The city hummed.
The air smelled like exhaust, old snow, and somebody else's cigarette.
"Thank you," I said. "For… all of it. The pep talks. The brutal honesty. The not walking out when you found out what Barney did."
"You're welcome," she said. "I've had worse nights for more money."
I blinked.
She smirked.
"Kidding," she said. "Mostly."
I laughed.
"I'm sorry I believed him," I added. "About your job. About… you. I'm trying to be the guy who doesn't make those assumptions."
"Then don't just try," she said. "Decide. You're clearly capable of doing very big, stupid things for love. Maybe start with small, smart things for respect."
I nodded.
She stepped toward the curb.
A cab slowed.
"Mary?" I said.
"Yeah?" she asked.
"You're… really good at this," I said. "At… seeing people. Calling them on their crap."
She shrugged.
"Paralegal by day," she said. "Emotional ninja by night."
The cab pulled up.
She opened the door.
"Do me a favor?" she said.
"Anything," I replied.
"The next time you think about showing a woman you care," she said, "do it before 2 a.m. And without an audience."
I smiled, a little sad.
"Deal," I said.
She slipped into the cab.
It pulled away.
And just like that, she was another person who passed through my story to teach me something I didn't know I needed to learn.
---
Kids, here's what I took from that night:
I wasn't the good guy or the bad guy. I was the guy who made a selfish choice and had to own it.
Robin wasn't the other woman. She was a woman who refused to let me make her one.
Victoria wasn't "the one that got away." She was the one I hurt who still wished me well.
And Mary? Mary was the person who stood in a very fancy dress and said, "You're better than this. Start acting like it."
Your grandma was right:
> Nothing good happens after 2 a.m.
But sometimes, if you're lucky, the morning after can be the start of something better—
if you're brave enough to tell the truth,
take your consequences,
and dance, just once, with someone you're not sure you deserve yet.