For the Love of Friends

by Confino, Sara Goodman

  The three dots appeared immediately to show she was typing. Funny . . . he asked Tim the same thing about you the other day. What’s going on there?

  Nothing.

  My phone rang. Megan knew me better than that.

  “Tell me everything,” she said.

  “There isn’t anything to tell. We hung out a little at your party and then I ran into him at Starbucks on Tuesday.”

  “Yeah, he told Tim he ran into you. And?”

  I thought about leaving out the coffee note, but I hadn’t encouraged anything, so there was nothing wrong with telling Megan that he had been flirty. Maybe. Was he being flirty?

  “What are you leaving out?” She really did know me too well. I told her about the coffee cup.

  “Aww, I like that. He’s a good guy.”

  “What’s his deal?”

  “He went to high school with Tim. He’s divorced. Got married a few years ago, but it didn’t work out.”

  I recoiled slightly. Sure, I knew people who had been divorced. At thirty-two, who didn’t? But I had avoided dating into that pool. Anyone who had already hit that level of commitment seemed like they were on a different plane of existence than I was. “Kids?”

  “Nah.”

  “When did they split up?”

  “Last year, I think? He was kind of out of commission while they were married, then he started trying to reconnect with people after it ended. Sounds like she was pretty controlling.”

  “So is he, like, hitting on me?”

  Megan laughed. “Since when do you need to ask that question?”

  “I don’t know, this one is weird.”

  “He’s a little weird. But not creepy weird. Just . . . quirky.”

  “I can see that,” I said. “But, like . . . what now?”

  “Do you want his number? I can ask Tim.”

  “God no!”

  Megan laughed again. “Is that not how dating works anymore? I’m an old, soon-to-be-married lady. I don’t know how you kids do these things nowadays.”

  “Dating happens entirely through coffee sleeves now. You’ve missed everything.”

  “Apparently. Are you interested though?”

  My heart twisted a tiny little bit in my chest—not over Alex, over the question itself. I could read between the lines of the word she chose to emphasize. Megan would give her blessing if I were serious enough. But otherwise she didn’t want to deal with the fallout and I couldn’t fault her for that. We had been down a similar road before.

  “No,” I said quickly. Maybe too quickly. “He seems cool, but just as a friend.”

  I heard her sigh in relief. “Obviously I’d say go for it if you liked him. But . . . you know . . .”

  “I know, Megs. I promise. Just friends.” A pause. “What did he ask about me though?”

  “Just what your deal was.”

  “What did Tim tell him?”

  “That you’re really easy when you switch from martinis to wine. But he already knew that.”

  “I’m hanging up now.”

  Megan laughed. “K. Text me later!”

  I shook my head. She was ridiculous.

  I wouldn’t say I rushed to get ready for work on Friday morning, but I was mildly more conscious of the time than I typically was. Not that I wanted to get to Starbucks while Alex was still there. No, that would be way too awkward. And would probably lead to him asking me out, which I would absolutely say no to and would definitely make things more awkward. But I was anxious to see if I got a reply. No matter what I told Becca, it was cute.

  I forced myself to walk slowly to the Metro and then from the stop to the Starbucks, reminding myself that I didn’t actually care and that my message had been distinctly nonchalant.

  I arrived a couple minutes earlier than usual, but still later than the day when I had run into Alex. I made my way through the line and got to Taylor. “Anything for me?”

  She shook her head. “I told you the first message was better.”

  I felt a twinge of disappointment, but it was for the best. Really. There were plenty of fish in the sea who weren’t off-limits.

  “Grande skinny vanilla latte then,” I told her. “Actually, make it a venti.” I deserved a treat for behaving like a grown-up.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  From: Caryn Donaldson [futuremrscaryngreene@gmail.com]

  To: [bridesmaids]

  Subject: Wedding newsletter volume 2

  Date: October 28

  You guys! My wedding dress is officially being made! How crazy is that?

  Now, it’s time to focus on YOU. I want all of you to feel as beautiful as you did on your wedding days (or will someday, Lily!) when you stand up there with me, so we need to find you the perfect dresses! I’ve got some ideas, but I want as many of you as possible to come shopping for them so we can make sure we find something that flatters everyone equally. Which shouldn’t be hard, I mean you all look like runway models anyway! How does next Saturday look?

  There was more—a lot more, actually—but I had stopped reading. The only thing “runway model”-esque about me was possibly my height. I stood a solid six inches over the rest of Caryn’s Lilliputian bridesmaids. And while I felt pretty good about my pant size most days, you could probably fit one of Caryn’s friends inside each leg and still have room for dessert.

  I heard the chimes starting to signal a chorus of replies, but I muted my computer. I had work to do on a press release about a presentation being made at the next cosmic ray conference.

  An hour later, Caryn popped her head into my office. “What’s wrong?”

  I looked up. I was almost finished with the draft. “Nothing. Why?”

  “You didn’t respond to my email.”

  “Oh.” I clicked over to my inbox to see thirty-eight new messages. Jesus. “Sorry. I was doing the Lewis-Fielding release.”

  “That can wait,” she said, waving a manicured hand. “Can you go dress shopping on Saturday?”

  I pulled out my planner. Becca’s birthday was that night and Amy wanted me to go bridesmaid dress shopping with her that Sunday. “As long as it’s not too late, yes.”

  “We’ll do early afternoon. I’m going to a barre fitness class in the morning with Caroline and Mia. Caroline swears it’s why her arms look so good.” I glanced at Caryn’s arms and raised an eyebrow, which she ignored.

  “Okay. Are you serious that you want us in nice dresses? I thought half the fun of bridesmaids was forcing us into something ugly.”

  “Why would I want you ruining my pictures?”

  “So no huge eighties-style puffed sleeves and butt bows?”

  She laughed. “Can you picture my friends dressed like that?” I tried to imagine Caroline with permed hair and fried bangs. It was a satisfying idea.

  “No. But it’d be funny.”

  “I’m thinking pale purple. Everyone looks good in purple. And something simple and strapless and elegant. You know—something you’d totally wear again.”

  I tried to remember the last time I wore an elegant gown to something other than a wedding, where recycled bridesmaid dresses were beyond obvious, and the best answer I could come up with was my high school prom, fourteen years earlier. And purple? Did I even own anything purple? Granted, black was the primary color of my wardrobe, but still.

  “Saturday it is.”

  “Great! Can you reply that in an email so everyone knows you’re in? And bring a good strapless bra so we can see what the dresses will actually look like!”

  I looked down at my chest and back up at Caryn’s. A good strapless bra probably existed for her—but when you’re a D-cup, “good strapless bra” becomes an oxymoron. “Um . . . I’ll try.”

  I hopped off the Metro a stop early on my way home, determined to find a bra that got the job done. Either Bloomingdales or Lord and Taylor had to have a contraption that would hold my boobs up adequately for a wedding. I checked my bank account from the escalator at the station. This was definitely a
wedding expense, as I would probably need a high-quality strapless bra for more than one of the weddings, but it was going to have to go on my credit card to be worried about later.

  Two stores, eleven bras, and one saleslady who had to be forcibly removed from my dressing room after trying to adjust my breasts herself later, I had one that seemed to stay in place well enough to dance without creating the dreaded quad boob or cutting off my circulation to the point where I would suffer the loss of any vital organs. It cost a gut-wrenching ninety-eight dollars before tax and looked like it was part of a Victorian asylum restraining device rather than the pretty, lacy underthings that the girls who were less blessed in the chest were able to buy, but it would serve.

  I walked back toward the Metro station. If it were warmer out, I would have walked the mile and a half home, but there was a chill in the air and the sun was setting earlier and earlier, making that option less desirable. Plus I was still in my work shoes. My phone vibrated to tell me I had a text and I looked down at it, narrowly avoiding a collision with someone exiting the Metro station while also looking at his phone.

  “Lily?”

  I looked up. Alex again. “What are you doing here?”

  “Going home. I live two blocks that way. What are you doing here?”

  “I had to grab something at Bloomingdales. I live in Bethesda.”

  “We’re practically neighbors.”

  “A Metro stop apart. Us and probably fifty thousand other people in the same radius.”

  He smiled. “A cynic in five weddings. How’s that working out?”

  I grimaced and gestured toward my bag. “I just spent a hundred bucks on a strapless bra to go bridesmaid dress shopping this weekend. I think that’s a pretty apt metaphor for my life right now.”

  “Bras cost a hundred dollars? A pack of boxers costs like ten bucks for three pairs.”

  “There’s a tax on being female, didn’t you know that?”

  “Is it nice at least?” he asked, trying to peek in the bag.

  I swatted his hand away. “You have to at least buy me dinner to get a look at my underwear.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” I braced myself for the dinner invitation, but he just laughed. “I’ll catch you around, Lily.”

  Saturday afternoon found me strapped into the Nellie Bly straightjacket bra and stuffed into a too-small dress that wouldn’t even zip over my hips, next to Caryn’s sister, Olivia, whose dress fit her perfectly. While wedding dresses tended to be stocked in size ten and up to be accommodating to more brides, bridesmaid dresses were apparently as merciless as Caryn’s bridesmaids.

  “It’s gorgeous,” Olivia cooed, turning this way and that and swishing the chiffon of the evening-length skirt. “It’s so flattering.”

  She wasn’t lying. On her, it was. Even in the puke-green color that the sample came in.

  On me, not so much. It had a padded bust that was detailed with ruched material designed to enhance the wearer’s chest a full cup size. Which on Olivia looked great. On me? Oh dear.

  Caryn looked from Olivia to me, her mouth a scowl of disappointment. This was the third one we had tried on, and Caryn’s favorite by far before we put them on.

  “We could try different styles for different bridesmaids,” the saleslady murmured to Caryn. “One dress doesn’t fit all in some cases.”

  I looked in the mirror and could have cried from the frustration of being made to do this.

  “I—Lily, what if you try it without the bra?” Caryn asked.

  “It’s not going to stay up without the bra.” I shook my head.

  “Perhaps a minimizing bra,” the saleslady suggested.

  “Can we try a different dress?”

  “I love this one,” Caroline said. “I think you should try the minimizing bra.”

  I felt my jaw tightening. Earlier, she had asked why I hadn’t thought to bring Spanx with me, so we could get an accurate feel for how the previous dress could look.

  “Why don’t I just get a breast reduction and solve everyone’s problems?” I asked, my voice dripping sarcasm.

  “Don’t be silly,” Caryn said. “You’d have swelling and we wouldn’t have an accurate idea of your post-op size in time to order the dresses.”

  My eyes widened and I started sputtering that I wasn’t serious, but Caryn didn’t notice. “Do you have any minimizing bras she could try here?”

  “No.” The saleslady shook her head, eying me appraisingly. “We could try wrapping her with some fabric though.” I pictured Barbra Streisand binding her chest in Yentl. Caryn had her head tilted and was studying my chest, as if trying to picture how that would work.

  “No.” I crossed my arms over my chest self-consciously. “I’m not doing that. Caryn, if I don’t fit into the mold of what you want your bridesmaids to look like, I don’t have to be in the wedding.”

  “That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?” Caroline asked, hand on hip. “Are you really threatening to drop out of the wedding if you don’t like the dress?”

  “No, I—”

  “This isn’t about you. It’s Caryn’s day. You’re just being selfish.”

  I looked to Caryn, horrified. She hadn’t said anything. “Caryn, I’m not threatening at all. I’m just saying if I can’t look the way you want, my feelings won’t be hurt if you don’t have me in the wedding.” Was that true? Of course not. But I would still rather not be in the wedding than have her be miserable over how I looked in it.

  “You could get a minimizing bra,” Caroline said. “And maybe try a diet. We can’t do anything about your height, but if you wear flats with a long dress, and we all wear heels, it won’t be so bad.”

  I recoiled, stung. I had considered the money I’d spent on the strapless bra to be a major concession to the fact that I didn’t look like Caryn’s other bridesmaids, but this was too much. I opened my mouth, about to tell her to go do something that wasn’t anatomically possible for her to do to herself, when I saw something interesting that made me hesitate. Dana was standing a little behind Caroline, and from that safe vantage point, she was glaring at her with the same unadulterated hatred that was probably mirrored on my face.

  Oh thank God, I thought. It’s not just me.

  Bolstered by that, I started to turn back to Caroline, ready to tell her where she could shove her minimizing bra, but a quick glance at Caryn stopped me. Caroline was going to be her sister-in-law. And saying what I wanted to say would make it harder for me to stay in Caryn’s life.

  I took a deep breath and counted to ten.

  “I’ll try to find a different bra,” I finally said, measuredly. “And I’m happy to wear flats. I’ll even get some Spanx if I have to, but I’m not changing how I actually look.”

  “That’s—perfect,” Caryn said, clearly not knowing how to fix the situation, but also unwilling—or maybe unable—to stand up to Caroline. “Let’s—let’s try a different dress. Maybe—are there other styles that go with this one? We can mix and match.”

  “Mixing and matching is tacky,” Caroline said. “Besides, the rest of us are good in the same dress, so it would just be her in a different one.”

  I balled my fists involuntarily. I had never actually been in a fight, but this might be the time to jump in the ring.

  Caryn stood and put a hand on my arm, but didn’t say anything.

  “Maybe something a little higher cut,” the saleslady suggested, flustered. “I think I have one that might work for everyone.”

  Caroline muttered something that sounded like “cheap,” but Caryn shook her head at me and mouthed that she was sorry. My anger evaporated when I saw how sad she looked. She told me when she asked me to be in the wedding that her friends were awful. And how miserable did your life have to be when you didn’t even like your friends?

  “No, I am,” I mouthed back. I wasn’t going to say it so Caroline could hear it, however.

  I thought the next dress made me look pregnant, but it contained my boobs b
etter, so I no longer looked like I was channeling the ghost of Anna Nicole Smith. The other girls looked willowy and ethereal in it, and while Olivia and Caroline huffed that they liked the earlier ones better, Dana said she was happy in whatever made Caryn happy, and Caryn said it was her favorite of the dresses, which was a lie that even Caroline couldn’t effectively argue against.

  As I peeled it off in the dressing room, I looked at the price tag, then did a double take. Five hundred and eighty-five dollars for a dress that made me look like I had chewed Willy Wonka’s gum and was turning into a gigantic blueberry? If you factored in the money I had spent on a strapless bra, then added the cost of Spanx and a minimizing bra, I’d be spending over eight hundred dollars before shoes on clothes for Caryn’s wedding. I sat down, still in my straightjacket bra and underwear, and pulled my planner out of my bag. I could put it on a credit card, but that was significantly higher than the two-hundred-dollar maximum I had planned on for each bridesmaid dress. In fact, that was eighty percent of my dress budget overall. For just one wedding. I threw my clothes back on and poked my head out of the dressing room, gesturing wildly for Caryn to join me.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “I—” I stopped myself. She looked so defeated. “Nothing. Sorry. I’m good.”

  “You don’t hate the dress?”

  I did. I hated it. But I loved Caryn and this was a stressful situation and I hadn’t been any actual assistance when the whole reason she said she needed me as a bridesmaid was to help when the wicked bridesmaids of the west created scenes like this.

  “It’s great,” I lied. “I’ll totally wear it the next time I’m a guest at a wedding.”

  She hugged me and I mentally tallied which credit card could handle the load. “Thank you, Lily.”

  Caryn, Olivia, and Caroline had all driven together and parked on the first level of the garage, Deanna and Mia were both parked on the second level and exited the elevator in a flurry of air-kisses, leaving me alone with Dana as we rode to the third floor. I watched her from the corner of my eye as she dug through her Prada purse for her keys.