For the Love of Friends

by Confino, Sara Goodman

What the hell? I shrugged.

  “Does Caroline always suck that much?” She looked at me in surprise as the elevator doors opened, as if she had forgotten I was there.

  “I don’t—” She stopped herself, took a deep breath, and then replied, “Yes.” I started to laugh. “What’s so funny?”

  “You,” I said. “You’re a real person!” She looked confused. “I thought you were all Stepford robots.” She didn’t seem to get the reference. “All perfect and no emotions.”

  She looked down. “Oh. No.”

  “Sorry. It was a joke.”

  “No, I know.”

  “Why do you all put up with her if she’s always like that?”

  Her face was drawn when she looked back up, as though she was suddenly exhausted. “I don’t really anymore. I try to avoid her as much as I can now. But this is for Caryn. So I’m here.”

  “Were you in her wedding?”

  “I was.”

  “What was that horror show like?”

  That elicited the ghost of a smile. “You don’t even want to know.”

  “I’m just glad it’s not just me.”

  “It’s not. She’s the actual worst person on the planet.” Her eyes widened. “Don’t tell anyone I said that.”

  “Your secret is safe with me.” Her shoulders loosened slightly, and we stood in an awkward silence until she said she needed to get home and unlocked the nearby white Mercedes.

  “I’ll see you around.”

  Dana grinned sympathetically. “Hang in there.”

  “You too.” I climbed into my much cheaper car and looked at my reflection in the rearview mirror. I can do this, I thought. Then I saw a long, gray hair, standing out among the rest of my dark strands. I named it Caroline as I clenched my teeth and yanked it out. Did she cause it? Probably not. But damn it.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  I called Megan on my way to the bar where Becca was celebrating her birthday that night to tell her about Caroline’s tirade against my perceived physical flaws.

  “What a piece of work!”

  “I know.”

  “Just seven more months and you’ll never have to deal with her again. And it’s really just the shower, the bachelorette party, and then the wedding itself. And there’s no way people like that actually let you do any planning for the shower and bachelorette, so it’ll be minimal contact.”

  “Great. Seven months is enough time to drop thirty pounds so I can look like they want me to.”

  “Are you going to do that?”

  “If you’re trying to tell me I have to lose weight to be in your wedding, we’re not best friends anymore.”

  “You’re perfect just as you are,” she said. “Although . . . you said you’d try a minimizing bra for Caryn’s?”

  I took a minute before I responded. “You’re not serious.”

  “No. I mean. I don’t know. Maybe. If you’re going to buy it anyway.”

  “Megs.”

  “I just—your boobs are really big. And it’s going to be in a church and all.”

  “Are you saying my boobs are too big for God?”

  “No. It’s fine. We’ll just make sure they’re covered up in your dress.”

  I said okay and told her I needed to go into the bar.

  “You’re not mad at me, are you?”

  “No. It’s just been a long day.” A long couple of months, actually.

  “Okay. I’m sorry. I love you. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  “We’ll talk tomorrow,” I agreed and hung up.

  What. The. Fuck?

  I showed my ID to the bouncer, which felt superfluous. No one was going to confuse me for a teenager anymore. And the underage crowd didn’t exactly do wine bars. But whatever.

  “You made it!” Becca threw her arms around me. She had gone to dinner first with some friends, but I’d had to text her from dress shopping that I wouldn’t make it to that part. “Did you get your dress?”

  “Happy birthday! And oh God, don’t ask.”

  “What happened?”

  I gave her the short version. “Are my boobs that offensive?”

  “Your boobs are awesome. They’re all just jealous!”

  That made some amount of sense. Megan admitted freely to being jealous of my cleavage. I was jealous of her butt. It was a tradeoff.

  “No bride wants everyone staring at another girl on her wedding day.”

  “I guess. Today sucked though.”

  “Grab a drink. You’ll feel better!”

  I took her advice and wound up talking to Lisa, one of Becca’s coworkers whom I had always liked. Becca wandered over and plopped down on the couch next to me. “You’re still talking about the dress shopping?”

  “Sorry. I’m being insanely boring, aren’t I? I’ll drink more and be entertaining.”

  Becca and Lisa laughed. “You’re not boring,” Lisa said.

  “I keep saying her life should be a reality TV show. Did she tell you about the groomsman?”

  Lisa nodded. “I’d watch.”

  I opened my mouth, about to tell her she could follow my exploits on my blog, then stopped myself. One glass of wine and I was about to blow my cover already? No, bad plan. I didn’t know this woman. Instead I excused myself and got up to get another glass of wine. I checked my phone while I waited for the bartender to bring it. Amy had texted me six pictures of bridesmaid dresses. All of them were short and tight. At least she wouldn’t have an issue with my boobs—she had a matching pair.

  “Now I know you’re following me,” a voice said.

  I looked up, recognizing the voice’s owner. “Seriously? This is getting creepy.”

  “You’re the one creeping on my territory.” Alex leaned back against the bar, a glass in his hand.

  “Your territory is a wine bar?”

  He laughed. “No. I’m on a date. It’s going really bad.”

  “You ditched a date to come talk to me?”

  “Yeah. I told her you’re an old friend.” He gestured toward a girl, who was watching us with moderate hostility from a table across the room. “Wave for me.”

  I obliged. “She’s pretty. What’s wrong with her?”

  “I asked her the last book she read, and she doesn’t know because she doesn’t read. And she said something about never trusting the mainstream media.”

  “Ouch. Do you need me to fake an emergency?”

  “Do you have a camel with you?”

  “Cute. Real cute.”

  “Hey, I saved you from Justin. Twice, by my count. It’s the least you could do.”

  I opened my mouth to say he had only actually saved me once, but I had a feeling that sleeping with Justin might be more damning than being illiterate. “Fine,” I said. “But we’re even after this.” I threw my head onto my arms on the bar and began to pretend I was weeping.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Pat my shoulder, then go tell her I just found out my husband is cheating on me and you have to make sure I get home okay.”

  “Will that work?”

  “Yes. Now go tell her. With a straight face.”

  He left and I continued to pretend to cry. “Lily! What happened?” Becca grabbed my arm.

  “Shhhh,” I said. “I’m faking an emergency for Alex.”

  “The guy who did the coffee note?”

  “The same,” he said, returning. “It worked! She’s leaving.”

  “Let me know when she’s gone.”

  Alex waited another thirty seconds. “You’re good.”

  I picked my head up and took a long sip of the new glass of wine in front of me. “Yes. I am. Alex, this is Becca, my roommate. It’s her birthday today. Becca, this is Alex, the groomsman in Megan’s wedding.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Alex said, shaking Becca’s hand. “And happy birthday. Let me get you a drink.”

  “No, no, it’s fine,” Becca said.

  “He’s a lawyer.”

  “In that case, make i
t a bottle.”

  Alex laughed. “For the birthday girl? You’ve got it.”

  “Where’d you meet her?” I asked, gesturing toward the door after Becca had left with her new glass of wine. Alex and I had both taken seats at the bar.

  “At Starbucks. I wrote her a note on a cup of coffee.”

  “For real?”

  “No. Are you always this gullible?”

  I elbowed him. “Yes. I was born yesterday.”

  “Promise not to judge?”

  “Absolutely not. Judging is what I do.”

  “I thought you did PR.”

  “For a living? Yes. But my true passion is judging others.”

  “I’ll consider myself warned. It was a Tinder date.” I cringed. “I know, I know.”

  “Megan said you’re newly back on the dating scene.”

  “Asked about me, huh?”

  I rolled my eyes. “She told me you asked Tim about me first.”

  “Maybe I did.”

  I put my glass of wine down. I was getting flirty and that meant it was time to stop drinking. I was not letting wine lead me into the same pit with a second groomsman just because I’d had a rough day.

  Evidently he felt the same way, because he also set his glass down. We sat in silence for a minute. “What’s the latest update on all the weddings?”

  I put my head in my hands and groaned. “We’re at the bridesmaid dress shopping stage. It’s the worst.”

  “Why?”

  “Horrible bridesmaids and body shaming.”

  He looked over at me. “At the risk of getting slapped for being out of line, what could they shame you about? Unless you were the one doing the shaming?”

  I laughed. “Me? No. Although that would have been a great twist. When the one who thinks she’s in charge of the world told me to get a minimizing bra and a pair of Spanx, I should have looked her up and down and told her to get a boob job and eat a cheeseburger.”

  “What’s a minimizing bra? Is that what you spent all that money on?”

  “God no. It’s what it sounds like—it makes your boobs look smaller.”

  “That’s a thing? How long was I out of commission for dating? What year is it? I want to go back to 1985!”

  “Calm down, Marty McFly.” I found myself smiling despite my day. “How long were you out of commission?”

  “Married three years. With her for eight.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “That’s a really long time.”

  “Too long, it turned out.” He picked his glass back up and took a drink. We sat in silence a moment longer. “How about you? Why are you single?”

  “I get married once a year and then kill the guy and drink his blood to stay young.”

  “Sounds about right.”

  I hated that question. And I’d had quite enough experience with it to be a pro at dodging it. But he didn’t push, which, oddly, made me want to answer. Well, sort of answer.

  “I don’t know. I guess I just haven’t met the right person. I don’t think there’s one soul mate out there. But I haven’t found anyone who I’ve been like, hey, let me spend my life with you. And I’m really good at sabotaging things that aren’t quite right.”

  “Instead of settling when they aren’t. Good for you. You should sabotage it spectacularly when it’s not right. Don’t settle. Settling is bad.”

  “Remind me not to play Oregon Trail with you.”

  He laughed heartily. “Oh we are going back to 1985, apparently.”

  I clinked my glass to his. “To Doc Brown, wherever—and whenever—he may be.”

  Becca appeared at my side. “We’re heading to Scotch,” she said, naming another bar. “Do you want to stay longer?”

  I did. Which meant I shouldn’t. “No. I’m coming.” I looked at Alex. “It was nice running into you. Again.”

  “Can I see you again?”

  Yes. Say yes. “At this rate? I think that’s unavoidable.” I flashed him a smile and got up to leave. “See you around.” I didn’t turn around, but I could feel him watching me walk away.

  “Smooth,” Becca said as we walked out. “Teach me your ways.”

  “Just trying to be good. He’s off-limits.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Amy called me at seven Sunday morning. And again two minutes later. Then three more times, until I finally answered. “What?” I asked gruffly. I had stayed out with Becca until shortly after one in the morning, when I declared defeat and went home, drunkenly mad at myself for not getting Alex’s number before I left the bar. But six hours and an empty bed later, I was very glad I didn’t have it.

  “Did you make an appointment for today?”

  “Was I supposed to?”

  “Yes, it’s for your dress.”

  I rubbed my eyes and came away with black fingers; apparently I hadn’t taken my makeup off when I fell into bed. “You didn’t tell me you hadn’t made an appointment.”

  “Isn’t that your job? You’re the bridesmaid.”

  “Technically, it’s your job. If you’re going to delegate things to me, you have to tell me what you need me to do.”

  “Well, I haven’t done any of this before and you’re in like a million weddings, so I figured you knew what you were doing.”

  I sighed heavily, lacking the energy to fight with her. “Which salon are you trying to go to?” By then, I knew them all. She named a fairly low-key one with a relatively less snooty staff. “I’ll call as soon as they open and see if they can squeeze us in. If they can’t, I’ll take the next available appointment.”

  “Just not on a Saturday morning. Ashlee and I started doing kickboxing. And not Mondays. Or Tuesdays. Actually, just make sure it’s a Sunday. And soon.”

  “Why can’t Ashlee do any of this if she’s your maid of honor?”

  “Ashlee works a real job.”

  I gritted my teeth. “I work a real job, Amy.”

  “Ashlee is in finance, not some fluffy PR thing.”

  “I’m hanging up now.”

  “Okay, let me know what happens when you call the shop.”

  I googled the store to find out what time it opened, then set my alarm for three hours later and went back to sleep. Amy was the absolute worst and I had no idea why Tyler wanted such a mess for a wife.

  The bridal salon agreed to squeeze us in that afternoon because we were only doing bridesmaid dresses and I mentioned that another wedding I was in had an appointment the following week. My mother, Amy, and Ashlee arrived unapologetically ten minutes later than I told them to.

  Amy was unnaturally bronzed for November. “Did you go to a tanning salon?”

  “God no,” she said, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “That makes you look so old.”

  I never went tanning and could have been a stand-in if they made a new Casper movie, but it still felt like an attempted zing. “Where’d the tan come from then? Spray?”

  “Nah, Tyler and I went to Mexico last weekend. Didn’t you see my Insta stories?”

  I didn’t tell her that I deliberately never watch her Instagram stories. It isn’t that I am completely uninterested in her life—although I kind of am—it is more that I can’t deal with the Boomerang everything and the excessive stickering, GIFs, and random videos detailing every vapid thing she does. It is like a constant vlog of her everyday life instead of a highlight reel and is exhausting on every level.

  “Must have missed it. Why’d you go to Mexico?”

  “Mom didn’t tell you?”

  My mother was across the store already, stacking bridesmaid dresses across her arm while a saleslady hovered anxiously, offering to put them in a room for us. I tended to stop listening when she talked about Amy because it was all wedding talk now, but I didn’t remember hearing anything about Mexico.

  “No.”

  “Oh. Jake and Madison wanted us to come see the resort they booked for their wedding.”

  Jake had texted me a picture the previous weekend of a tropical pool surro
unded by palm trees, with the caption “wedding destination” and a check mark. But I hadn’t realized Amy and Tyler were invited on the trip.

  “I didn’t know you guys were that close.”

  “Jake figured it would be some good bonding time so I could get to know Madison better and he could get to know Tyler.”

  “Did anyone think to invite me?”

  “Would you have come? It was kind of a couples thing anyway.”

  No, I wouldn’t have gone. I didn’t have the time, money, or inclination to have that much togetherness with my siblings and soon-to-be siblings-in-law. But it still stung to be excluded for the sin of being single.

  I shrugged, trying to brush it off. “How was Madison?”

  “She’s actually really nice. Kind of shy, but we got massages and manicures and once you get a few drinks in her, she’s fun!”

  “So she has more personality than the wallpaper?”

  Amy made a face. “You should be nicer. She’s going to be our sister.”

  “You were the one who said that about her when Jake brought her home the first time!”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t know her then. You should make an effort to get to know her.”

  My mother called my name and gestured for Ashlee and me to go into the fitting rooms, which I took as a welcome excuse to exit the conversation. Lectures on social graces from a virtual toddler who still lived at home and was too immature to call and make dress-fitting appointments herself weren’t good for anyone.

  Somewhere between the discussion of how anything short would work for everyone except me, because my legs were too long, and low-cut would be fine—oh, but not on Lily—I decided to mentally excuse myself from the conversation. After my experience the previous day, I was willing to put on whatever they wanted as long as I didn’t have to pay attention to what they were saying about it.

  And although I would never admit it to either of my siblings, my feelings were hurt that I hadn’t even been considered for the weekend in Mexico. I mean, yes, Jake and Amy had always been closer than I was with either of them. They were only three years apart, whereas I was five and eight years older than them, respectively. They had spent a year in high school together. I had already graduated from college and was working at the foundation by that year. Everyone had always said the age difference would matter less as we got older, but instead of that happening, the two of them seemed to have suddenly bypassed me entirely and now were doing a whole level of adulting that I hadn’t gotten to yet. Serious relationships, engagements, and joint vacations. What just happened?