For the Love of Friends

by Confino, Sara Goodman

  “You’re late,” a coolly amused voice said. I looked up to see Caroline smirking. “Caryn was upset.”

  My fists balled involuntarily. “How could you do that? Like, I expect you to do that kind of thing to me, but how could you do that to her?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.” She brushed past me to go into the party room, but I grabbed her arm. “Take your hand off me!”

  I dropped her arm. “I have the email! You told me it was at three!”

  “Interesting. I have an email too, telling you it was at twelve.” She looked me up and down. “How old is that dress anyway?”

  “I’m showing her the email. I’m not letting you get away with this.”

  She shrugged. “I already showed her the one telling you the time. With all of your email addresses on it.”

  “What does that even mean? You faked an email to make me look bad? Don’t you have anything else going on in your life?”

  She colored slightly. “Oh, you are not even a thought in my mind. I just didn’t want you showing up in your yard-sale dress and ruining Caryn’s day. She doesn’t need you. She has me. And we’re going to be family now. You’re nothing.”

  I just looked at her, too angry to speak. Finally, voice shaking, I said, “This isn’t over.”

  “Oh, but it is. Besides”—a cruel smile crept across her lips—“I don’t think Caryn still wants you in the wedding after this. You can go back to your tacky little life now.” She walked back into the party room and started ordering the busboys around. I debated hurling the heavy crystal vase at her head, but she was the type who would sue for assault.

  Shoulders slumping in defeat, I left. The wait for the valet felt interminable; I just wanted to get out of there. Eventually, he pulled my six-year-old Hyundai Elantra around the loop in front and had the grace not to mention that it was probably the least expensive car he had ever driven there.

  I threw the present in the trunk and climbed in, feeling lower than I had since the morning after Megan’s engagement party.

  A car pulled in behind mine, so I put it into drive, barely recognizing where I was going.

  When I came to a stop, I was in front of Megan’s old apartment building. But Megan didn’t live there anymore—she had moved to Columbia, forty-five minutes away. Muscle memory had just taken me there, craving the comfort of my best friend. I put my head down on the steering wheel and started to cry.

  When my tears had slowed and my breathing calmed, I called Megan. I knew I needed to apologize to Caryn, but I didn’t know how to start. Megan would know what to do.

  She answered on the third ring. “What’s up? Aren’t you at the shower?” The background was noisy, people talking and laughing, glasses and silverware clinking.

  I started to tell her what happened, but she stopped me. “Hang on, it’s loud here. Let me find a quieter spot.” She moved away from the noise. “Sorry, we’re out with some new friends in Baltimore for drinks by the water since it’s so nice out today.”

  I hadn’t seen Megan in a couple of months. Yes, I had been busy with wedding stuff pretty often, but she hadn’t invited me to her house since January. She was building a whole new life, and I wasn’t in it.

  “Start over. What happened?”

  I gave her the short version, not wanting to keep her from her new friends and also worried she would just cut me off if I spent too long explaining.

  “You have to tell her.”

  “But Caroline already showed her this fake email.”

  “So? She needs to know.”

  “She’s not going to believe me.”

  “Then is she really your friend in the first place?”

  Are you anymore? I wanted to ask. Because I still need you and you’re never there.

  “Look,” she continued. “If someone was doing that in my wedding, I would want to know.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I know that ‘yeah.’ You’re not going to tell her, are you?”

  “It’s not going to help. She’s already mad at me for not going to the bachelorette party and not paying my share.”

  “Then she’s being unreasonable. You have your brother’s wedding that weekend. And no one spends that kind of money on a trip they’re not even going on.”

  “I think she’s going to kick me out of her wedding. Caroline hinted at it.”

  “Is that such a terrible thing? Be honest.”

  “It’d be so awkward at work.”

  “Yeah, for her. She’s got to see you every day if she does that, not the other way around. You’ve got this.”

  “Thanks, Megs.”

  “Listen, I’ve got to go back in. Call me later, okay?”

  I said I would, but we both knew that I wouldn’t because we were done talking for the day. Which wasn’t how it used to be, but Megan had a new life now. And I didn’t.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  I sat down at my computer when I got home, but the words wouldn’t come. I needed to know how it turned out first. And as much of a relief as it might be to not be in the wedding anymore, especially with a keratin treatment and fake eyelashes still on the docket of things that I had to sit through (and pay for), I wasn’t ready to write Caryn off as a friend.

  However awful she had been these past months, it didn’t cancel out the seven previous years of friendship. She had kept me sane at work when I was bored silly by the content of the press releases. Touched up my hair and makeup when I went on television. Helped me prepare for interviews with the press by going over questions they were likely to ask. Commiserated when I had to deal with scientists who lacked even basic social skills. If our friendship was the sum of its parts, yes, her behavior since gaining that diamond on her left hand had detracted from the overall equation, but we were still very much in the positive column.

  I bit the inside of my lip and called her. When she didn’t answer, I left a voicemail saying that I was so sorry and to please call me.

  She didn’t.

  When I woke up Monday morning and saw I had neither a call nor a text from her, I felt a twinge of annoyance. What if I had been in a car accident and was lying in a hospital bed and that was why I had missed her shower? She really wasn’t going to call me back to find out what happened?

  By the time I got on the Metro, that annoyance had morphed into dread. She was really mad if she didn’t even care if I was dying in a hospital bed. And I didn’t know what to do—should I tell her what Caroline did and risk her not believing me? Or just act like, Oh no! Ditzy Lily screwed something up again! Please don’t hate me?

  Maybe I should just quit instead of facing her again. No, I wasn’t making real money off the blog, but there had to be some other writing job that would pay the bills. I didn’t like my job anyway, I rationalized to myself. So maybe if I just didn’t go back, I could find something that I actually enjoyed doing and it wouldn’t have to be about never seeing her again.

  Just get there, I told myself. Take your cues from her.

  Morning, Alex texted me just before I got to Starbucks. When he asked about the shower the previous night, I hadn’t gone into detail. Just said Caroline was a nightmare and left it at that. So he didn’t know I was a wreck today.

  Hey.

  Left you something at Starbucks. You seemed a little down last night.

  How did he know that from a couple of texts? You’re the best.

  I know.

  I cut the line and waved to Taylor, who pointed toward the pickup counter. The weather had flip-flopped back to cold after the previous day’s sunshine and warmth, so it was a hot coffee, not iced. Seven more weeks and you’ll be done with weddings. You’ve got this! —A was scrawled on the sleeve.

  Bolstered by the knowledge that one person was still there for me, I steeled myself to see Caryn and walked the remaining three blocks to the foundation.

  She looked up, annoyed, when I came into her office. Not that her eyebrows actually rose anymore, but she looked at me expectantly
nonetheless.

  “Caryn, I’m so sorry.”

  “Yeah. You said that in your voicemail.”

  “I—”

  “You could have at least told me you weren’t coming. When you realized you screwed up.”

  “I didn’t realize I screwed up until I got there at two thirty—”

  “Caroline showed me the email and the text messages, Lily. You can cut the crap.”

  “What text messages?”

  “She texted asking where you were and you said you thought it was at three.”

  I was stunned into silence. “And the messages were from me?” I asked quietly.

  “Unless she’s got another Lily Weiss in her phone who was supposed to be at my shower.” She crossed her arms.

  Caroline was better than I had given her credit for. She must have changed someone else’s contact in her phone to say my name and gotten them to send a fake text from me. And there was a zero percent chance that Caryn was going to believe that was what happened because what kind of crazy person does something like that?

  You’ve got this, Alex had said. I nodded to myself.

  “We must have crossed wires at some point,” I said.

  “How’s that?”

  “I emailed her when she was talking about shower stuff and asked what time it was, and she told me three.”

  “She showed me the email—”

  “There was another email. And I don’t know what happened, maybe autocorrect added the one and the two for the twelve and said three but . . .” I pulled up the email on my phone and showed it to her. “And if you scroll, you can see that that was in response to my question of what time the shower was.”

  “So why didn’t you ask, if there were two different time emails?”

  “I must have missed the one that said twelve. Caryn, I’m really sorry, but it was an honest mistake.” She looked unsure. “I got there at two thirty to help set up and they were already cleaning up. I was devastated. I bought a Lilly Pulitzer dress to wear to it and everything. So I’d fit in.”

  This finally elicited the ghost of a smile. “You? In Lilly Pulitzer?” I gestured for her to give me my phone back, and I pulled up the selfie I had taken in front of the mirror before leaving for the shower.

  “Is that vintage?”

  “Look, the point is I really did try and I’m so sorry that I screwed it up. I have a present for you, too, but it’s too big to bring on the Metro.”

  “It was really awkward trying to explain to everyone why one of my bridesmaids was MIA.”

  “I know. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. I don’t know how yet, but I will.”

  “Will you wear the Lilly dress to work?”

  “Will that make you feel better?”

  She shrugged slightly. “Maybe a little. It’ll be funny either way.”

  “Then I’ll do it.” I got up to leave. “Thank you for being so understanding.”

  “Just don’t screw up the time for the actual wedding. I know you’ve got a lot on your plate, but I should matter too.”

  “Unless it’s wrong on the invitation, we’re good,” I promised and went back to my office.

  I wrote a blog about Caroline before I did any work. The fake text messages were a whole new level of psychotic. But one thing she had said kept coming back to me. She said Caryn didn’t need me now because she had her. Was that what this whole thing was about? She just needed to be number one in Caryn’s life? Was she making her brother’s life miserable too? Or did she sense that Caryn had been trying to impress her for most of their lives and didn’t want to lose her little minion to a less fawning friend?

  After I hit “Publish,” I leaned back in my chair. It was just after ten thirty and I hadn’t done anything remotely productive. Who had time to work with all of this pettiness? But before I dug into my work emails, I texted Alex. Thanks for the coffee. Drinks after work? You won’t BELIEVE the story I have for you.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Not that I had time to dwell on Caroline’s backstabbing. As much as she claimed she wasn’t thinking about me, I truly didn’t have time to waste on her after I got it out of my system by blogging. Jake and Madison’s wedding was the following weekend and I needed to get ready for Mexico.

  I was briefly jealous of my parents, who were spending four days there before the wedding and three days after—they were getting an actual vacation. I, on the other hand, would fly down on Friday, go to the wedding on Saturday, and then go home on Sunday. According to Amy, I wouldn’t even have time to lie by the pool while a bronzed cabana boy brought me drinks.

  “You should stay a few more days,” she said. “Tyler and I are making it a mini pre-honeymoon.”

  “Didn’t you already get one of those when you went to check out the resort with Jake?”

  She shrugged. “I mean, Mom and Dad are paying, so I wasn’t going to say no. Plus I can get a little color, so the yellow dress won’t be as bad.”

  My mouth dropped open. They had said they would pay for my trip if I brought Grandma. Amy was getting a free vacation with her fiancé and didn’t have to do anything but show up and not get sunburned before her wedding?

  Sputtering with the unfairness of it, I called my mother.

  “You should have told us you wanted to stay longer,” she said. “I don’t think your grandma would mind, but I thought you would need to get back to work. Amy’s job isn’t exactly essential.”

  “Well, I want to stay longer.”

  “It’s too late now. The flights and hotel rooms have already been booked.”

  I spent the day fuming at my mother and sister, then did my best to shrug it off. I was still getting a free trip to Mexico after all. And if nothing else, my grandmother would provide fabulous blog material.

  “This is stupid,” Grandma grumbled as she opened her door for me. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

  “I’m not your babysitter,” I said good-naturedly. “I’m just your travel buddy today.”

  “I don’t need a travel buddy.”

  “Well you’ve got one. And I’m your eldest grandchild, so how about we just enjoy the time together.”

  “Don’t patronize me, Joan.”

  “Lily.”

  “I know your name, Joan.”

  “It’s Lily, but okay. Do you have everything packed?”

  “Of course I do. I’m not a child!”

  “Do you have your passport?”

  “What do I need a passport for?” This was going to be a long day.

  “You need one for Mexico,” I said measuredly. “Do you have a valid one?”

  “I’ve never needed a passport to go to Mexico in my life.”

  “Have you ever been to Mexico?”

  “No.”

  I discreetly pulled my phone out and texted my mother, who was already in Mexico. Mom, she doesn’t have a passport.

  “Okay, but do you have a passport?” I asked my grandmother again.

  “What do I need a passport for?”

  My phone dinged back. It’s upstairs, in her top right dresser drawer. I took her to get it renewed myself.

  “Mom said it’s in your top dresser drawer. Do you want me to go get it?”

  “It’s already in my purse. Why are you being so dramatic, Joan?”

  I bit the inside of my bottom lip. I was being underpaid, apparently. But the abundance of free booze once we got there would be a welcome reprieve.

  “Great,” I said with false cheerfulness. “I’ll just put your suitcase in the car and we’ll be on our way.”

  I figured an Uber would be the best way to get to the airport because the driver could drop us right at the terminal and I could put my grandmother directly into a wheelchair, so that was how I had gotten to her house as well.

  “Where’s your car? Who’s driving?”

  “This is an Uber. It’s like a taxi.”

  “Oh. But we can’t leave yet.”

  “Why not?”

  “Ken
and Louise are coming with us.” Louise had been my grandmother’s best friend since my mother was a baby. Ken was her second husband, and he had been pals with my grandfather before he passed. While I had known them my whole life, I hadn’t realized they were invited to the wedding, let alone coming with us.

  “Since when?”

  “I told them we could give them a ride to the airport.”

  I looked at the Uber, which was a CR-V. It would probably hold all of the luggage, but we would be extremely squished in the backseat. “Did you think maybe you should have let me know that?”

  She shrugged. My Uber rating is about to drop off the charts, I thought despairingly. I went to the driver’s window and tried to explain the situation. She couldn’t have been nicer, but she also didn’t fully understand what kind of craziness was about to occur in her car.

  Ken’s Cadillac careened into view and came to a crooked stop on the street outside my grandmother’s house. “Hello, Lily,” Louise waved cheerfully. “Who’s ready to go to Mexico?” She pulled a rainbow-colored sombrero out of the backseat and put it on her head.

  My eyes widened. Holy hell. My blog readers are never, ever going to believe this is real.

  We crammed the luggage into the trunk and Ken sat in the front seat. As the youngest member of our traveling party, I was wedged into the backseat between my grandmother and Louise, who proceeded to grill our Uber driver about her family, education, marital status, and why she didn’t yet have children. We would have to take a taxi back home because there was no chance any Uber driver would ever pick me up again.

  I texted my father this time. In the Uber on the way to the airport. She told Ken and Louise they could come with us.

  My father sent back a face-palm emoji. At least they’ll keep her distracted on the plane. I’ll have a drink waiting for you when you get here.

  My phone dinged again. Have a great trip, Alex wrote.

  I am in hell. I know I deserve it, but oh dear God.