Your New Best Friend

by Jayne Denker

  I was in awe of Sasha, and I was so excited when she asked me to be a bridesmaid. Although I was outnumbered and intimidated by the others—her wealthy, beautiful, sophisticated cousins, childhood friends, and sorority sisters—Sasha was really kind to me. She made sure I never felt marginalized at any bridal event and included me in everything, except for the bachelorette weekend in New York. I was allowed to take the train down for the day, but I had to get out of town before sundown when the real partying began. I still got a thrill when Sasha snuck me a mimosa at brunch.

  The wedding was held halfway between Abbott's Bay and Sasha's Connecticut hometown, in one of our venerable, classic New England churches. Everybody knows the type—white, minimalist, with a tall, thin spire and lots of echo-y sunlit space for declaring vows punctuated by elderly aunts' sobs. The bride and her attendants were sequestered in a side room off the foyer before the ceremony. It was loaded with flowers—white roses, of course. And champagne. Lots of champagne.

  When the male half of the wedding party arrived, they milled around outside in front of the church, tweaking one another's bow ties or trying to figure out how keep their boutonnieres from going cockeyed. Jack, Conn's best man, was the best-looking of the bunch. I overheard at least three bridesmaids arguing over who was going to hook up with him. In my eyes, though, he was no match for Conn. Jack had clean-cut good looks and charm for days (and some women found his millions gave both a turbo boost), but Conn was the whole package.

  I never admitted it then, but I guess I can be honest now: when I first caught sight of Conn in his tuxedo, brushed and groomed and polished, it was as though he were the first real man I'd ever laid eyes on. I couldn't stop staring. Sasha even teased me about it later that night at the reception. Come to think of it, she teased me about my relationship with Conn pretty frequently over the years, pointing out whenever I was overly attentive when he was talking or when I stared at him a little too long from across a room. After a while Sasha's gentle ribbing made me self-conscious about how I behaved around him, but I was grateful. It corrected my behavior and kept me from looking foolish.

  On their wedding day, however, I couldn't keep myself in check no matter how hard I tried. Conn was that incredible. And not only handsome. He seemed to be the epitome of what every woman should want in a man—cool, poised, kind, friendly, funny, gentle, and so loving toward his bride. I mean, he always was all of those things, but it was like he had a spotlight shining on him that day to show that here was a man among men.

  The sheer magnitude of the high-society, money-is-no-object wedding production was overwhelming. I decided I wanted my wedding to be just as grand one day, so I took photos with my tiny digital camera whenever I could, practically putting the official wedding photographer to shame, to remember every glorious detail.

  I was especially proud of my stealth tactics that allowed me to get plenty of candids from around a corner or behind a tree. Did I pull a Love Actually and get nothing but footage of Conn for some private mooning sessions later? Not at all. After listening to the other bridesmaids talk about Jack, I was looking at him in a new light as well, the way I'd never really considered men up to that point. As the slightly older, vastly more experienced women put it, he was "sex on a stick." I couldn't deny it. Mostly though, I focused on all the men interacting with one another. I felt like I was on safari documenting a new species, and it was fascinating.

  I was pulled away from my photojournaling project fairly frequently. As a bottom-rung junior bridesmaid, I was assigned the emergency repair kit—needle and thread, safety pins, bobby pins, sticky tape, antacids, bandages. I took the task so seriously you'd have thought the little plastic box was the president's nuclear football. I was also the designated gofer. We'd forgotten the baby wipes, but Sasha's aunt had some in the car. One of the men dropped his watch, and I went hunting for it. Find this, get that, fetch something else. I had no idea nineteen other people could need—or lose—so much stuff.

  Then, as the first of the guests started arriving, the matron of honor pulled me aside, looked me straight in the eye, and gave me the most startling, daunting assignment of all.

  "Find the bride."

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Hannah actually screams at this point in my story, startling me so much I nearly fling my MooMoo's cone—we've moved on to dessert, or at least I have—over the pier railing into the water.

  "What is wrong with you?" I blot a few drops of ice cream off my shoulder before it seeps into the weave of my summer sweater.

  "She didn't run."

  "Oh, she most certainly did."

  "Did it involve a horse?"

  "Like Julia Roberts' escape? No. Maybe only because no horses were in the vicinity."

  "They didn't have a horse-drawn carriage?"

  "Way too tacky."

  "It was good enough for Princess Diana," Hannah sniffs. "Well, where did she go? What happened?"

  Ah, what happened. I snuck out a back door of the church and, once out of anyone's view, took off at a run. There were very few cars in the parking lot—the attendants had arrived in two limousines, Sasha in a white Rolls-Royce—and none seemed to be missing, so Sasha couldn't have gotten far. Finding a statuesque blonde in a huge ivory dress was harder than you'd think though.

  Eventually I caught a glimpse of tulle in the distance, among the heavily leafed-out trees on the border of the property near some neighboring houses. I found Sasha on a rustic swing made out of a single board suspended by some coarse ropes knotted under the seat. It would have made a great photo if she didn't look so glum. She wasn't so much swinging as she was listlessly twisting…and eating a Big Mac.

  She didn't even look up when I approached her, just stared at her hamburger and said, "You know, I've been craving one of these for almost a year."

  "I didn't know you ate McDonald's at all," I whispered, wondering if she'd snapped.

  "I don't. It's a side effect of all the dieting to fit into this dress. But now I have one." She didn't seem thrilled.

  Not knowing what to say, and marveling at the dieting comment (nobody needed to diet less than Sasha), I asked blankly, "Um…where'd you get McDonald's, anyway?"

  "Are you hungry?" Sasha held out the Big Mac to me, but nothing could have been less appealing. I shook my head. Shrugging, she took a bite, chewed for a moment, then murmured, "Goodness, this is foul. Oh—you asked me a question. I got it from a nice young man who lives in this house over here. He pulled up in the driveway and got out of his car with a bag. I asked him if I could sit on his swing for a little while, and when I said his food smelled good, he simply gave it to me. Can you imagine?"

  I could. I suppose when a beautiful, sad woman in a giant wedding dress takes up residence in your yard, you don't deny her anything. Even your value meal.

  "Hey, um, Sasha?"

  "Mm?"

  "Are you…are you going to come back to the church soon? The guests are starting to arrive."

  "Oh, that." She looked off into the distance as though she was weighing her options then said, "I don't think so."

  "What? Why?"

  Sasha heaved a sigh and tucked the Big Mac back into its box. "I don't think it would work out."

  "But…but…" This wasn't happening. It couldn't. Conn and Sasha! Sasha and Conn! The inevitable, enviable, perfect fairy tale couple!

  "Melanie, you wouldn't understand. I know a lot more about relationships than you, and I know this one is…well…not a good idea."

  I bristled at the thinly veiled implication that I was still a kid, but this was no time to worry about what anyone, even Sasha, thought of me.

  "Of course it is!" I burst out. "It's the best idea in the known universe! You and Conn are perfect together, and you know it. Where…where would you even find another guy who's so…nice and funny and smart and…great and…"

  Although I could have pulled out two dozen more descriptors and not have been anywhere near finished praising Conn, Sasha was looking at me curio
usly—puzzled, exasperated, and impatient, but mostly really sad—and it made my campaign fizzle out as abruptly as it had begun. She knew how wonderful her fiancé was. I didn't need to tell her. What did I think was going to happen if I kept talking? She'd smack her forehead with the heel of her hand and say, "Good Lord, you're right, Melanie—I never thought of it that way"?

  I decided to try another tack. I fumbled to turn my camera on. "Here. Look."

  I scrolled through the photos I'd taken until I got to the pictures of Conn and his groomsmen. I stopped at a close-up of Conn, smiling and relaxed, the summer sun picking up the highlights in his hair, which was still rebelliously curling as much as it could, despite his fresh, close-cropped cut.

  "That guy is standing outside the church right now, waiting for you. How could you walk away from a…a future with him? Look at him!"

  I added that last admonition because she was staring at me instead of at the screen. When she obeyed, I scrolled through a few more photos, some of Conn alone, some with his friends. At one point she gripped my wrist, stopping me from advancing to the next photo. The picture on the screen was of Conn and Jack laughing uproariously at some joke Jack had made. She stared at it for a long time while I held my breath.

  My argument was successful, obviously. Or Sasha came to her senses on her own. I'll never know for sure. But after a few moments she stood up without a word, neatly closed the food bag, said, "All right, let's go," and started walking back toward the church.

  Halfway across the lawn, she stopped and grabbed my arm again. Her fingers were ice cold. "Melanie."

  I forced myself to face her. Now that the crisis was averted, I found myself furious that any of this had even come close to happening. "What?" I asked flatly. She kept looking away, not toward the church, but back toward the swing, so she wasn't even cowed by the powerful glare I was directing her way.

  "Thank you for not saying anything about this."

  Wow, she was good. She managed to order me to keep a secret and make it sound like I'd already agreed to it. "I—" What was I going to do? Run and tell Conn? I couldn't do that to him. If I did, even though Sasha was going to go through with the wedding, Conn would always have doubts. No, this was going to remain a secret. Like good New England stoics, neither Sasha nor I would speak of it ever again.

  Nodding, I ushered her ahead of me, feeling like a guard escorting a prisoner. She looked the part too—pale, not her usual luminous self, and with her head bowed. As for me, I wasn't in awe of her anymore. I was disgusted. I reached out and took the McDonald's bag from her hand. She didn't even look at me, just went into the church through the back door while I made a small detour to throw out the food.

  As I dumped the trash in a garbage can, letting the lid close with a bang, I smelled cigarette smoke on the breeze and saw a butt go flying into the yard. I peeked around the corner of the building in time to see a familiar figure in a tux hustling away.

  "Jack?"

  He spun on his heel, turning to me with a bright smile. "Miss Melanie." His expression flitted between placid and nervous as he ventured, "Everything okay?"

  He'd been watching then, even if he hadn't been able to hear our conversation.

  "Everything's fine," I answered evenly. "Sasha wanted some air."

  There was a pause. It was obvious Jack wanted to ask a dozen questions, but he didn't dare. I decided to sweep them away with one simple statement. "The ceremony should be starting on time."

  "Ah." His face fell, almost imperceptibly, and only for a split second. Then the regular cocky Jack Rossiter resurfaced. "Have I mentioned you look lovely today?"

  When I didn't answer, he came a step closer, turning up the wattage on his million-dollar smile. Still, there was pain in his eyes. Based on Sasha's reaction to that photo she'd just fixated on and his reaction now, it was clear what was going on. She hadn't been looking at Conn in that photo. She'd been staring at Jack. I didn't know if there was something real between them or an infatuation that was the inevitable result of him and Sasha spending so much time together because of Conn, and I didn't really care. I didn't feel sorry for either of them. And if nobody was going to come clean about any of this, I wasn't going to be the one to make them.

  "You'd better save me more than one dance at the reception, understand? And I'm going to make sure you catch the bouquet."

  I could see his persistent comments as harmlessly flirtatious, or offensive and inappropriate, but I certainly couldn't be charmed. Not knowing what I knew now.

  Once Sasha was settled again and seemed to be back to normal, I slipped outside once more, weaving through the crush of guests in the foyer and out the front door. I needed to see Conn through Sasha's eyes. How did she view him, the bad as well as the good? What about him would make her question her decision to marry him even for a minute?

  Maybe I should have let her run. Maybe everything would have turned out better, and they wouldn't have wasted six years. I know it's not possible to second-guess something like that so many years later, but even at that very moment, when I was a naïve seventeen, I knew she'd made the wrong choice by going through with it. It's why I blame myself for their misguided marriage. I talked her back into it. I never ratted them out. Because I couldn't bear to see Conn heartbroken on his wedding day. Was it better that he was heartbroken several years later? I don't know.

  When Conn caught sight of me at the top of the steep steps at the front of the church, his eyes lit up, and he beckoned to me until I joined him on the lawn.

  "Ready for this, kid?"

  Oh God. He seemed so cheerful. Unable to look at him, I focused on his lapel instead. His boutonniere was crooked. I busied myself repinning it.

  "Hey. You okay?" Damn his perceptiveness. I nodded a little frantically, still messing with the straight pin. "Nervous?"

  For him and his future, yes, but I wasn't about to say so. I shook my head, and a lock of hair dislodged from my braid and dangled in front of my eye, despite the fact that the hairstylist used what felt like an entire can of hairspray on me only hours before. Then Conn's fingers were in my hair, gently tucking the strand back in. My head buzzed with the contact, with worry for him, with his sheer proximity. I forced myself to look up into his eyes—a grayish blue that day.

  He broke out that confident grin I knew so well. "You'll be fine. If you start freaking out, look at me when you come down the aisle. I can't promise I won't make a face at you though." He put his hands on my shoulders, leaned in, and kissed me on the forehead. "I'm glad you're here for this."

  "I still don't know why I'm in your wedding," I whispered.

  "Maybe because I asked Sasha to include you?" Conn smiled even brighter at my shocked look. "Melanie, you're important to me. I could have asked you to dress up in a tux and be a grooms…person, but I figured you'd rather wear a pretty dress."

  He was wrong there. I would have worn a fuzzy fleece onesie with ice cream cones or pandas—or pandas eating ice cream cones—all over it if that's what he'd wanted. I felt myself blushing again and tried one more time to right his listing flowers. All I got for my trouble was a jab from the straight pin. I jerked back, and Conn grabbed my injured hand.

  "Ouch," he said for me, examining the tiny bud of red blooming on the pad of my thumb.

  "I have bandages inside." I tugged my hand out of his, which was surprisingly more difficult than I expected. I don't think he noticed how tight a hold he had. He was distracted, looking off to his left at the doors of the church, a somber expression on his handsome face.

  Then he returned his attention to me and asked, "You sure you can take care of it?" At my hasty nod, he stepped back and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Okay. Get out there and make me proud—you hear me?"

  I was the first one down the aisle. I remembered to hold my head up as I'd been instructed. The clear view of the length of the church all the way to the altar made me a little dizzy, and I prayed fervently that I wouldn't stumble or, worse, faint dead away. That so
rt of indulgence was reserved for the bride, not the junior bridesmaid. I was aware of people—so many people—their faces all turned toward me expectantly, but they were all beige and brown blurs. Except for one. My view of Conn was crystal clear. He was staring me straight in the eye, and because the entire congregation was looking past me as they strained to get their first glimpse of Sasha, he was free to make good on his promise, firing off a series of goofy faces to get me to smile and relax.

  It worked. Even with the memory of my conversation with Sasha rattling around in my head, my panic lessened, and I found it easier to breathe. I wanted to make faces back, but I knew my father was watching me, so I didn't dare.

  The wedding went off without a hitch. Sasha didn't even hesitate when she had to recite her vows, say "I do," or kiss her new husband. Her hand didn't shake when they lit the unity candle together. Either she was a marvelous actor, or she'd rededicated herself to marrying Conn. I desperately hoped it was the latter. I really wanted them to be happy. I couldn't bear it if Conn was getting into something he'd regret.

  Before I knew it, Conn and Sasha were husband and wife. The rest is history.

  "Ohhh," Hannah sighs, completely transfixed.

  "Please tell me you're not oohing and aahing over their picture-perfect wedding."

  "No, of course not. Although I'm sure it was breathtaking."

  With a weary sigh, I lean on the railing and stare out at the blackness of the ocean. "It was. Not to me though. It was like everyone was praising this expertly decorated dessert on display, and only I knew the frosting was covering up a cake filled with worms."

  "Ew. Well, one thing's for sure…"

  "You now understand Sasha is evil?"

  "Not exactly. I mean, sure, she had her doubts, maybe a touch of cold feet, but she did the right thing in the end."