For the Love of Friends

by Confino, Sara Goodman

  I stood up. “I’m going to go find the ladies’ room. Sharon, come with me.”

  “I don’t—” I gave her a sharp look and she stood up. “We’ll be right back.”

  I let her lead the way, as she had been to the restaurant before, but as soon as we were out of earshot, I grabbed her arm. “Dude, what are you trying to do to me here?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Look, he’s attractive, I’ll give you that, but this guy is clearly not into it and you’re talking about me getting married? You’re making it sound like I’ve got a wedding dress on under my clothes and a tux in my purse that I’m ready to shove him into!”

  Her face dropped. “I’m sorry. I hated his ex and he’s actually pretty funny when he’s not being all mopey. I just thought how great it would be for everyone if you two hit it off.”

  I felt terrible. Her intentions were good, even if the guy was a dud. “When did they break up?”

  “Last weekend.” I started to laugh. At least it wasn’t me that was the problem.

  “What?”

  “And how long were they together?”

  “A couple years maybe?”

  I put an arm around her. “I love you for trying. But Shar, he’s not over his ex yet. I could be a Victoria’s Secret model and he wouldn’t be into it.”

  She shook her head. “No, I guess not,” she said sadly. “I just want you to be happy. And I didn’t want someone else to snap him up. He’s a really good guy, I promise.”

  I smiled wryly. “So not my type at all, huh?”

  She laughed, having lived through several of my terrible choices in men. “No, I guess not.”

  “Let’s go back. He’s clearly not digging this, but maybe he’ll be over the ex by the rehearsal dinner and then we can say we got together at your wedding.” I linked arms with her as we worked our way back to the table. “Seriously, though, do you want me to send you some favor ideas?”

  “I would love that.”

  “Will Mama Meyer approve or will I have to talk her out of something else first?”

  Sharon scrunched up her nose. “I owe you forever on that one.”

  “Hey, I was proud. You actually stood up to her in the end.”

  “I was proud of myself too. It didn’t occur to me that having you protest black was a bad plan.” She gestured to my outfit.

  I laughed. “Can you picture my eventual wedding? It’ll look like a funeral but with better hors d’oeuvres.”

  “It’ll happen, you know.”

  “Yeah. I’m such a catch.” I flipped my hair.

  Sharon stopped walking, stopping me with her. “You are, Lil. And when you realize that, other people will too.”

  I couldn’t explain why, but I felt a lump in my throat. “Enough of that,” I said, swatting at her gently with the back of my hand. “Let’s go see if we can get Seth to answer a question with more than one word. It’ll be a fun game.”

  I looked at my phone discreetly as we waited for the check. Seth had warmed up some, but not enough for me to tell if he actually had no personality or was just trying to give Mr. Darcy a run for his money at who could brood the most. But he hadn’t faked getting called into work, which I counted as a win because I was at least more interesting than an evening at home crying over his ex-girlfriend.

  Whatcha up to? Alex had texted about half an hour earlier.

  Disappointing one of my many brides by not being remotely interested in her fiancé’s cousin.

  Three dots. Oh.

  You okay?

  Yeah. Just got home from my parents’ house.

  Dad okay?

  The dots appeared, disappeared, and then reappeared. Yeah.

  “Who are you texting?” Sharon whispered.

  “Alex.” She gave me a look. “What?”

  She glanced over at Josh and Seth, who were looking at something on Josh’s phone together, then leaned closer and whispered, “Are you sure it’s not you who’s not interested tonight?”

  “Just friends. I promise.”

  She shrugged, then took a last sip of her wine. “Just saying.”

  I slid my phone back into my purse and left it there until we left the restaurant.

  But once I was in my Uber home, I pulled up the conversation with Alex. He didn’t usually give me one-word answers. Something was up. I’m leaving dinner now. You wanna meet up for a drink?

  Nah. I don’t want to go anywhere.

  You want me to come to your place?

  If you want. I only have beer though.

  Totally not coming then.

  I knew I had finally gotten a smile out of him before he even replied. Yeah yeah yeah. I asked for his address, then leaned forward and asked my driver if he minded changing the destination.

  He was in basketball shorts and a ratty Springsteen shirt when he opened the door, a beer already in his hand. “That’s a new look for you,” I said, walking past him and looking around. Pretty standard boy apartment. Leather sofa. Giant TV. Not much on the walls. Bigger and nicer than my place, but that made sense because he made more money than I did. I crossed to the balcony door to check out the view.

  “I’m hanging out here when the weather gets warm.” I gestured to the pool in the courtyard.

  “I haven’t even been down there.”

  “We’ll change that.” I went to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator to grab a beer.

  “Make yourself at home,” he said, a hint of a smile playing across his face.

  “Hey, I’ve been here a good ninety seconds and you hadn’t offered me a drink yet. A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. Opener?”

  “Do you want to just look in the drawers until you find it?”

  “I can.”

  He rolled his eyes good-naturedly, took the beer from me, and opened it with his hand. “Twist off. You don’t know everything after all.”

  “First time for everything.” I touched my bottle to his. “To your dad’s health.” He looked down. “He is okay, right?”

  Alex sighed and leaned against the counter. “Yeah. He’s home and seems fine, all things considered.”

  “Then what’s wrong?”

  “It just kind of hit me tonight.”

  “What did?”

  He hesitated. “He’s getting old. Like he’s going to die someday. Maybe soon.”

  I shuddered involuntarily. Despite my often rocky relationship with my mother, I couldn’t imagine life without either of my parents. But my dad was sixty-two and my mom was sixty. Yes, my grandma was still going strong, but she was my only remaining grandparent. And my dad’s father died younger than he was now, before I was born.

  I had really only contemplated their mortality as an adult once, at my other grandmother’s funeral. It was the only time I had seen my father cry. And I realized, as I sat next to him, my mother on his other side, each of us holding one of his hands, that one day I would be in his position. It was a thought I tried to suppress as much as I could, telling myself my mother would live to be at least a hundred just in case I gave her a late grandchild, and my dad—well—he biked a lot and was in really good shape. Better than I was. He would be okay because I needed him to be. Right?

  Two heart attacks though—that didn’t bode well. And I couldn’t lie and say it did.

  “I’m sorry,” I said finally. “I wish I had some awesome answer or a magic wand I could wave to fix that, but I don’t.”

  “I know. And it happens to us all eventually.”

  “Unless we become vampires and make our parents vampires too.”

  He shook his head and chuckled. “What is wrong with you?”

  I hopped up onto the kitchen counter next to him. “So much.”

  “Clearly. Your butt is where I prepare food right now.”

  “Hey, you said to make myself at home.”

  “Remind me not to eat anything you’ve cooked if this is how you are at home.”

  “That is so cute.”

&n
bsp; “What is?”

  “You thinking I can cook.”

  Alex shook his head. “You’re a mess.”

  I jumped down from the counter and cocked a finger at him. “Yes. But I am a mess who knows how to make you feel better. You wanna go watch a documentary about a murderer?”

  He looked at me askance. “That’s supposed to make me feel better?”

  “Totally. You’re always talking about how to properly dispose of bodies whenever I say I’m going to kill someone.” He laughed. “You in?”

  The corners of his eyes crinkled warmly, and I couldn’t help but smile back. “Yeah. I’m in.”

  “Good.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  From: Caroline Morgan [MrsMorgantoyou@gmail.com]

  To: [bridesmaids]

  Subject: Bridal shower and bachelorette updates

  Date: March 1

  We’re just over three months away from Caryn’s big day, which means it’s time to make sure everything is perfect for our celebrations of the bride.

  The shower is set for May 5 at Kenwood. I’m having everything done in-house, so all you need to bring is your lovely selves.

  For the bachelorette weekend, I understand that Olivia and Dana said they would prefer to stay at a different hotel instead of the Ritz because the other hotel has a rooftop pool and bar. However, the fitness room there is basically a treadmill in a dungeon (I’m attaching pictures for comparison) and to do that to Caryn just weeks before her wedding would be cruel. You two can plan your own separate trip if you want, but this weekend is about Caryn. Not to mention, we don’t want a repeat of the sunburn you got before Mia’s wedding, do we, Dana?

  As for the itinerary itself, I’ve only booked a loose outline of activities, so we have plenty of flexibility. We have reservations for dinner for all three nights, a spa day, an “aphrodisiac tour,” reservations at a few boutiques, three fitness classes, and a party bus each night. But the rest is wide open! I also hired a photographer to document the whole experience for us, of course, so plan to look your best!

  Finally (and I HATE to bring this up), I’d like to remind you that not everyone has paid yet. The total cost for the bachelorette weekend has increased to $3,000 each for those of us who are going, unless, like Lily, you’ve chosen to make other arrangements.

  Ta ta for now!

  —Caroline

  I rubbed the base of my neck where it met my shoulders. Who was this crazy person? Admittedly, I felt mildly better now that she was roasting Olivia, but I felt for Dana after our conversation in the parking garage. Did Caroline actually have friends? Or just people who were too terrified of her to speak up?

  But unfortunately, she had left a detail out, and it was one that I needed to know. I waited a half hour, hoping someone else would ask the question, but when no one did I finally wrote to her, being sure to reply all.

  Sounds like you’ve got everything under control! But what time is the shower?

  Thanks!

  —Lily

  She shot back an immediate answer saying only 3:00 PM. I entered it in my calendar, noting that the rest of that weekend was blissfully wide open, although I was sure that would change. And with the wedding in Mexico the following weekend, I wouldn’t have much of a reprieve before the next round of chaos.

  Not that I’d had anything that felt even mildly like a break since the engagements began, anyway. Trying to juggle the details of all five weddings was exhausting and would have destroyed any social life I had—if I still had the money or friends to have one. And the blog, while therapeutic, also took more time and energy than I expected, especially as I got better at it. Building an audience meant responding to comments and pingbacks, finding other bloggers to network with, and posting links to it anonymously in places where I felt confident my brides wouldn’t be looking. The writing part was great. The rest was tedious, especially between work and weddings. But every time I got a new follower or comment, it felt a little more worth it.

  And at least Megan’s was the only shower at which I was expected to do a significant amount of the planning, and the only other bridesmaid with strong opinions was Claire, Tim’s sister. Early in the process, she volunteered to host the shower at her house, which, while far away from Megan’s new home in Columbia, looked nice, if bland, from the pictures Claire sent. And certainly cheaper than renting a venue, so I agreed.

  Unfortunately, that meant she thought she was in charge. The day after Caroline’s missive, I found myself driving out to Potomac to meet with Claire and the rest of the bridesmaids for a “planning sesh.”

  Claire’s au pair opened the door to her McMansion. “Welcome,” Claire said expansively, coming into the foyer from a room in the back of the house. “The rest of the girls are already here, of course.”

  I glanced discreetly at my wrist. I was literally two minutes late. This was a punctuality miracle for me and someone should be putting a medal around my neck, not passive-aggressively telling me I was late.

  She escorted me to the living room, the long way, I realized, as we passed through every other room on the first floor to get there.

  Jennifer, Kelly, and Julie were sitting together on one sofa, Chrissy was on the loveseat, and an older woman I had never seen before was in one of the two armchairs. Claire immediately arranged herself in the second armchair, which felt rude, as I was still standing, but she clearly wanted that particular chair—it was higher than the rest and arranged so it was facing the group. I said hello and then took the remaining seat next to Chrissy.

  “As I was telling the other girls,” she said, expressly to me, “I asked Donna to be here today. Donna is the premier party planner in the DC area.”

  I was ninety percent sure that wasn’t true, or else Caryn and her cronies would be using her, plus her Louis Vuitton Neverfull bag, sitting next to her on the floor, would be real if that were the case—and it wasn’t. Donna smiled graciously and nodded.

  “The shower will be outside, of course,” Claire said. “We’ll open the pool early. Not that anyone will swim, but it’s just so much more festive when there’s a pool.”

  “Do we have a backup plan?” I asked. Claire looked at me in annoyance. “The weather is so iffy in the spring. It could be ninety-four degrees or forty and raining.”

  “We’ll have a tent,” Donna said reassuringly.

  “A tent isn’t much help if it’s freezing out.”

  Claire opened her mouth to speak, but Donna responded first. “If the forecast is bad, I’ll rent space heaters.”

  I nodded. “Okay.” The au pair entered with a tray of hors d’oeuvres and I wondered who was watching Claire’s daughter.

  I kept my opinions to myself while Claire and Donna went through a rundown of the decorations, but I spoke up at the suggested menu. “No mini crab cakes.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Megan is allergic to shellfish.”

  “What kind of Marylander is allergic to crab?” Claire laughed. “Is that even a real thing?”

  “It is, and she’s allergic.”

  “Is it an airborne allergy? Will she die if she’s in the same room as them?”

  “No.”

  “Well then she can just not eat the crab cakes.”

  “It’s her shower. Don’t serve foods she can’t eat.”

  Kelly and Jennifer nodded in agreement, but no one said anything. Claire stared at me and I realized that Caroline would probably be Claire’s personal lord and savior. Caroline was everything Claire wished she could be—actually rich, able to shut people down effortlessly to get her way. Instead she was a bratty gnome who was being mean to her future sister-in-law out of—what, exactly? Jealousy? Pettiness? Had her husband’s sister been mean to her and she thought this was how it was supposed to go? I had no idea. But I was the maid of honor, and this wasn’t going to fly.

  Claire was still trying to formulate her next move, but I turned to Donna. “Scratch the crab cakes.”

  Donna glan
ced at Claire, then back at me. She crossed them off the legal pad on her lap with a long motion.

  “Any other shellfish on the menu?” Donna shook her head, not even looking at Claire, who was silently fuming. “Good. What’s next on the agenda?”

  By the time I left Claire’s house, I knew I had made an enemy. Which perhaps I would have cared about if Megan liked her, but she didn’t. So instead of worrying about it, I was planning the blog I would write.

  Remember Mini-Me from Austin Powers? Well I just met the wickedest of the wicked bridesmaids’ Mini-Me. I’d say I should get the two of them together, but that would be a disaster. Partially because the wickedest bridesmaid would eat Mini-Me for lunch (then spit her out, of course, because the wicked bridesmaids of the west don’t actually eat or digest food—pretty sure they survive on the consumption of human souls alone), and then how would I explain to Bride C’s fiancé that I was responsible for his sister’s disappearance? If he hasn’t been reading the blog, I’m not sure saying that an evil bridesmaid chewed her up and spit her out like a shark does a surfer would mean anything.

  It was uncanny, however, how much like a dollar-store version of a wicked bridesmaid of the west she was, with her Costco appetizers and her knockoff-purse-toting party planner. Granted, she didn’t grow up ridiculously rich, like the wicked bridesmaids did, which, if The Great Gatsby taught me anything, explains the difference in their behavior, old sport. The evil bridesmaids would never invite me to their houses to show off their green dock lights, because they don’t care what I think—I clearly don’t have enough taste (or money) to appreciate their belongings without salivating over them.

  But this chick had the nerve, at Bride C’s housewarming party, to critique the house that Bride C and her fiancé bought when Mini-Me’s in-laws bought them their house. You don’t even OWN the glass house you’re throwing stones from, sister. Knock that off!

  In other news, the queen of the evil bridesmaids snapped at other bridesmaids in an email! I felt a small amount of sympathy, but was mostly shoveling popcorn in my mouth while I watched all the drama. She then, of course, came after me, but could there be a rebellion brewing amongst the wicked bridesmaids? I’m twisting my hair into Princess Leia buns just thinking about the idea.