Caroline pulled herself together and pretended nothing had happened once we had Caryn’s dress on her and it was time for the ceremony. Caryn looked picture-perfect, like she had stepped out of the pages of a magazine, and every detail of the wedding felt like a fairy tale. I couldn’t begin to imagine what the event cost, but between her stepfather and Greg, I didn’t think anyone was counting pennies.
I hung out by the bar for much of the evening, but I nursed the same two glasses of champagne all night. Martin asked me to dance because his wife made eye contact with me and then nudged him. But I returned to the bar after the song was over.
“Mind if I join you?” a male voice asked. I looked over. His name was Finn and he was one of Greg’s groomsmen. He had the kind of Boston accent that made him sound like a Kennedy.
I gave a half smile. “It’s a free wedding.”
He chuckled. “Free is a relative term at these things. But sure.” He tilted his head at me as he leaned against the bar. “You’re the scandalous one? Lily?”
“That’s me.”
“World’s worst bridesmaid?”
“According to Buzzfeed.”
He took a sip of his drink and smiled. “You don’t seem so bad.”
“Looks can be deceiving.”
“Clearly. Because you look beautiful.”
I made a disbelieving face. “You mean DC Barbie isn’t your type?” I bit the inside of my cheek hard. I was supposed to be being good.
He laughed heartily. “No, it’s not. I like my women real.”
I turned to actually look at him. He was ridiculously handsome, as all the men in Caryn’s set were, with a full, thick head of hair and an impeccably cut tuxedo. Maybe he was a Kennedy. “It’s Finn, isn’t it?” He nodded. “What do you do, Finn?”
“Investment banking.” He cocked his head. “You?”
“PR. Same company as Caryn.”
“I have a feeling she won’t be working much longer.”
“Yeah. I know.”
“How about you?” I looked at him quizzically. I wasn’t exactly marrying rich and quitting my job anytime soon. “How are you going to spin this whole publicity thing?”
“Huh?”
“You’ve got some buzz going right now. You should use it. Find a way to make it profitable.”
“What does an investment banker know about that?”
He grinned. “My parents are in publishing. I cut my teeth on this stuff.”
The wheels were turning in my head. How much easier would my life be if I went for this guy? Money, parents in publishing, a straight nose and strong chin that would guarantee genetically superior offspring. I pictured a whirlwind courtship and a house in the Hamptons.
But I didn’t own my whole heart anymore, even if the person currently in possession of it didn’t want it. Rebounds were for the old Lily—this one wanted to do right by people. And herself. And feigning interest in someone else, no matter how great he looked on paper, was a recipe for disaster.
“It’s a good idea,” I said finally. “I’ll keep that in mind.” I set the champagne glass down on the bar. “I think I’m going to head out.”
He was surprised. “I was about to ask if you wanted to dance.”
I shook my head. “Thank you, but no.”
“What about the cake? And the bouquet?”
“I don’t want either,” I said over my shoulder as I walked away. “But it was nice to meet you.”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
I peeled off the purple dress, minimizing bra, and Spanx as soon as I got home, and then took a deeper breath than I had been capable of for the past several hours. I twisted my ridiculously straight hair into a messy bun to get it off of my neck and went to the kitchen to pour myself a well-earned glass of wine.
Becca must have come by the apartment while I was at the wedding because my mail was on the counter. I paid my bills online, so I was terrible about checking the mail. I took the stack to the trash can and flipped through it over the open bin, dropping the junk as I went until one letter stopped me.
My name and address were written on the envelope in familiar handwriting. Curious, I took it to the sofa and opened it.
Lily,
Maybe I’m a coward for writing you a letter instead of calling, but I didn’t want this to be a conversation.
I would love to say that I’m strong enough to forgive you and move on, but I’m not. You violated my trust, and you said unforgivable things about my mom. She may not be perfect, but she’s my mom. And the lack of respect that you showed her . . . there’s no coming back from that.
I also can’t forgive you for the fact that after thirteen years of thinking you were my friend, those things you said in the blog were how you actually saw me. Do you even know how to be someone’s friend? I thought I knew the answer to that, but apparently I was very, very wrong.
So this is me cancelling your invitation to my wedding.
I hope you can find a way to be happy, Lily. I won’t say you deserve it after this, but I hope you find it anyway.
Please don’t contact me again.
Sincerely,
Sharon
I set the letter on the coffee table with a shaking hand and leaned back against the sofa, a tear trickling out of the corner of my eye and snaking its way down my face before I wiped it away.
I deserved every word of that. To be fair, I deserved it from more than just Sharon. If anything, I had gotten off way too easily by only completely destroying two friendships. But knowing it was my fault didn’t make it hurt any less.
I couldn’t fall asleep, even after a glass of wine and some truly mindless television. I debated texting Becca, but I didn’t want to bring her down. Not now, when she was finally so happy. I had been a crappy enough friend to everyone else already. I would have to downgrade to a smaller apartment when she decided to make it official with Will—I couldn’t afford this on my own, and I didn’t know anyone else single whom I could room with. Not that I could imagine anyone choosing to room with me after seeing how I had just publicly treated my closest friends.
For a split second, I regretted blowing Finn off, but that regret faded immediately into vague relief. He wouldn’t have solved anything.
I sat up.
Or had he already?
“How are you going to spin this whole publicity thing?” he had asked. “Find a way to make it profitable.”
Profitable.
I jumped out of bed and grabbed my laptop. In my haste to erase the blog, I hadn’t considered the fact that I was generating money from it. What happened when I went viral? With the blog gone, I couldn’t access my advertising stats, but I logged into my bank account, not daring to breathe while the page loaded.
There was an advertising deposit in my account for almost fifteen thousand dollars.
Oh. My. God.
I had goose bumps and could feel my whole spine tingling. Was it too late to get the blog back? What had I done?
I shut the laptop and closed my eyes. No. My friends and family mattered more than the money.
But the wheels were turning furiously in my head. Bridesmania was gone, but I could start a new site. I had enough notoriety right now that people would read it. And the new blog would have my name on it for full accountability.
I reopened my laptop and started writing.
Well, that didn’t go as planned. Not that I really had an endgame in mind, but getting outed by Buzzfeed definitely wasn’t what I expected.
That’s right. My name is Lily Weiss, and I’m THAT bridesmaid.
I feel like I should probably start this post by writing, Bart Simpson–style on a chalkboard, that I will not anonymously trash my loved ones on the internet anymore until I can’t feel my wrist. But I have already prostrated myself at the altar of my loved ones’ forgiveness, and all, save two, have decided to give me a second chance at being a better human being.
I’ve learned a lot in the last few weeks, mostly about myse
lf. Which, I suppose, makes sense. Because despite what I said in it, the blog wasn’t about the brides and their exaggerated horror movie–esque behavior. It was about me—especially the mean parts. Every horrible thing that I said about them showed an even uglier side of myself. I see that now.
So why was I so blind before?
In the middle of all five weddings, I began to feel like I didn’t matter. As if the fact that I had feelings had gotten lost in the shuffle. And the blog was a way to feel like some small fraction of my life was, in fact, still about me.
It was petty, and immature, and it cost me two people whom I still love very much.
So to everyone I hurt, please know that I am sorry, and I will work as hard as I can for as long as it takes to earn your love and trust back.
But I also learned that I miss writing. I was a journalism major in college and was going to save the world. But somewhere along the way, I took the easy way out and forgot that I ever wanted to do that in the first place.
I’m no longer under the impression that I’m going to save the world. But the explosive popularity of the blog told me that maybe, just maybe, I have something to say that people want to read.
Or you all just love snark and drama. Sickos.
But the blog was me, even if it was the worst side of me. So I want to see if I can re-create the same kind of energy while being held accountable for what I write.
Welcome to the new blog. Come for the public flogging of the world’s worst bridesmaid. Stay for the real life.
I skimmed what I wrote. I had no clue what I was actually going to write about moving forward. But it was a way to dip my toes into the water and see if I could really do this. If nothing else, Martin would be proud.
I went to WordPress and clicked the “Create New Blog” button. It asked for a title. I wanted something with my name. Bridesmania had been all about trying to hide my identity so I could post with impunity. This had to tell the world who I was.
The phrase “consider the lily” came to mind. I googled it. Oops. It came from a Bible verse. Well, I thought, it’s still cute. I typed Considering Lily as the name of the blog and looked at it. It felt like it fit with the whole idea of trying to find who I wanted to be. And when I flipped the verb into a participle, it wasn’t quite biblical. I decided that I liked it.
With that set, I wrote a brief bio, then linked to my public social media accounts.
I stared at the “add title” line above my first post. I thought for a moment, then typed, For the Love of Friends. But I hesitated before hitting “Publish.” If I was going to do this, I had to do it well. There were stakes now. Granted, there had been stakes last time, I just hadn’t known it.
I closed my eyes and crossed my fingers, then hit “Publish.” Here goes nothing, I thought.
I couldn’t fall asleep. It didn’t help that I was checking the stats on the new blog every three seconds since posting it to my Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram accounts, but it was the money keeping me awake. What was I going to do with the money?
Quit the foundation. Write full time, a voice in my head whispered. Then buy shoes.
It was an appealing idea. But that large of an amount in such a short time was a fluke and I knew it. The new blog might not generate enough to live on. Besides, I’d be writing about my life, not other people. Was I interesting enough to make real money?
And more importantly, the halo-wearing side of my conscience told me I couldn’t keep what I had earned off writing about my friends. I tried to ignore that voice, but it was no use.
Finally, I decided on a compromise I could live with. I logged back into my bank account and paid off my credit card. Then I divided the remaining amount by five and Venmoed that sum to each of the five brides with the same message: Please accept your share of the blog profits as a wedding gift. I love you, and I’m sorry.
If anyone protested, I would tell them that if they didn’t accept it, I would use it to buy them the tackiest, custom-made, non-returnable wedding gift that I could find. No one could argue with that.
With my conscience thus cleared, I finally drifted off to sleep.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
I spent the next two weeks in quiet penance. I did a lot of Caryn’s job during the day, then I went to my parents’ house and helped my mother make favors for Amy’s wedding three nights in a row after work. The day of Sharon’s wedding, I went with Amy for her final dress fitting and then spent the evening packing gift bags for out-of-town guests.
“What else can I do?” I asked.
Amy and my mother exchanged looks. “I think it’s under control,” Amy said.
“What about table arrangements?”
Amy shrugged. “They’ve been done for weeks now.”
“Boutonnieres for the groomsmen?”
“Ordered. The best man is picking them up the morning of the wedding.”
“There has to be something.”
“There isn’t,” my mother said gently. Our relationship had undergone a definite shift since I had confided in her about Alex. There was a little less of an edge, and I didn’t feel as attacked. I no longer felt annoyed when I saw her pop up on my caller ID. I didn’t know if it was her or me or both, but whatever had caused the change, I hoped it lasted. “You’ve been a huge help this week though.”
“Have gifts started coming in? I could help with thank-you notes.”
Amy laughed. “Go home, Lily.”
It was eight o’clock, but still light outside. Between Caryn being on her honeymoon, Sharon no longer my friend, Becca never around, Megan preparing for her wedding, and Alex wanting nothing to do with me, I found filling the hours to be a daunting task.
But I stuck to my word and emailed Madison, and we began a—halting at first—correspondence. She was well-read—much more so than my brother, who didn’t see the point in reading if there was a movie—and she got literary references that traveled far over his head. By the fourth or fifth email, I discovered that, once she warmed up, she was actually pretty funny. She may not have been the extrovert that I was, but we were a lot more alike than I would have imagined, which made me feel more connected to my brother as well. I started texting him a couple of times a week. True, our correspondence consisted primarily of memes, but it was something.
I wrote more blog posts, also haltingly at first. I talked about Finn in one, not by name of course, and about why I decided being a trophy wife wasn’t for me. That one generated a little buzz online, even though half of the comments called me crazy for not chasing the easy life. I responded to every comment—from home, or my cell phone if I was at work. This one would never touch the FST computers. Even knowing that Martin didn’t object, I wanted to be professional this time.
I didn’t talk about Alex. Or say anything negative about any of the brides. But I did write a post about my newfound respect for my sister-in-law. I planned to email it to her, not knowing if she was reading the new blog, but she commented on it before I did, thanking me. Or maybe it was a Russian bot, pretending to be her. Who knows? The internet is a dark and creepy place, after all.
Finally, it was Amy’s wedding day. I hugged her moments before it was time for me to walk down the aisle. “I’m happy for you,” I whispered, meaning it.
Her eyes glimmered and she elbowed me. “Don’t you make me cry right now.”
“Okay. But I love you, little sis.”
She dabbed at her eyes. “I love you too, you big jerk.”
I sat between Madison and my grandmother at the reception. “Joanie, when is it your turn?” my grandmother asked me. I looked at Madison and rolled my eyes. She smiled.
“I don’t know.”
“Well hurry up. I’m not going to live forever, you know.”
“That’s not morbid at a wedding or anything.”
“Oh, I’ll be at yours. You mark my words. I don’t care if your mother has to dig me up and tie me to a chair. I’ll be there.”
Madison and I excha
nged another look. “I’ll get right on it, Grandma.”
She leaned over to me and whispered, which without her hearing aids was still a volume that could be heard from three tables over, “I read that new blog thing of yours. You should call that banker. There’s nothing wrong with being a trophy wife!”
“Grandma!”
“Since when do you read blogs?” Jake asked.
“I saw it on the Facebook Google. You think I don’t know how all that works, but at least Joanie is posting interesting stuff. No one wants to see a picture of every meal you eat, Jake.”
Madison let out a yelp of laughter and I collapsed giggling onto her shoulder.
“When did you two get so close?” he asked us, his arms crossed grumpily.
I put an arm around Madison. “I love my new sister. Best thing you ever did. I’m actually glad now that Mom and Dad didn’t trade you for a dog when I was in fifth grade and made that poster about why they should.”
“I expect an apology for that in the next blog post,” he said.
“Don’t hold your breath.” I turned to Madison. “Let’s grab Amy and get some sister shots in the photo booth.”
“Definitely.”
Amy was standing by a table, talking with some of our mother’s cousins. “Sorry,” I said, grabbing her arm. “We need to borrow the bride.”
“Thank you,” Amy sighed as we pulled her away. “Who were those people?”
I laughed. “You’re the worst.”
“You’re one to talk!”
I started to sputter a response, but Madison interrupted. “Think they’ll let us cut the line for the photo booth because we have the bride?” Amy and I exchanged a look. “What?”
“You follow rules,” Amy said.
“That’s so cute.” I put an arm around her waist. “Don’t worry, we’ll have you corrupted in no time.”
“Outta the way,” Amy said to the waiting guests as she dug through the prop box and began loading us up with boas and signs. “Bridal party, coming through!”
For the Love of Friends Page 29