For the Love of Friends

by Confino, Sara Goodman

  “Where’s he taking you?”

  “Some new Asian fusion restaurant in Georgetown.”

  With a smile, I held out what was left in the wineglass. “Do you need this?”

  She laughed. “Yes, please.”

  I stood in front of the full-length mirror on the back of my bedroom door before I went to bed and pulled up the stomach of my pajamas. I hated that my mom was getting to me, but between her, Caryn’s bridesmaids, and the sense I had that Sharon’s mom wanted to put me in black because it was slimming, well—I wasn’t feeling my best. Plus, not that I wanted to date Alex by any stretch of the imagination, but he had been a little too eager to jump into the friend zone.

  I went back into the kitchen and threw away the bread, the cookies, and the bag of M&Ms that I had stashed on top of the refrigerator. If I waited until morning, I wouldn’t have the willpower.

  Baby steps, I told myself as I climbed into bed. I grabbed my phone off the nightstand to set my alarm early enough to make sure I didn’t arrive with Helena Bonham Carter hair and saw I had a text from Alex.

  Good luck tomorrow.

  Thanks. Do you have anything fun going on this weekend?

  Not really. Having brunch with Tim and Megan tomorrow.

  Ouch. I hadn’t been invited to that. I wondered if that was deliberate on Megan’s part. Then again, she knew I was going bridesmaid dress shopping with Sharon, so she probably assumed I couldn’t come anyway. I hadn’t had time to do anything other than wedding stuff in forever.

  Much more fun than I’ll be having. The bride wants me to tell her mother that she doesn’t want us to wear black.

  Why doesn’t she tell her mother that?

  I lay back against my pillows and texted out the short version of the story.

  Remember not to dissolve the body in the bathtub.

  I sent a laughing emoji. You seem kinda fixated on this dissolving bodies thing. Should I be worried?

  Nah, I’m more like Dexter. I have a code for my kills.

  If the FBI is watching your Netflix account, you may be in trouble.

  He sent back the emoji with a finger to its lips and I shook my head, feeling better. I’m going to sleep. Gotta be well rested to battle the dragon tomorrow.

  You’ve got this, he replied.

  I was smiling when I put down the phone.

  I was not still smiling when I arrived at the bridal salon. But I was wearing my newly purchased Spanx, so come what may, less of the conversation would be about my need to drop a few pounds. I hoped.

  “Good morning,” I said as I got to Sharon’s group.

  “Hey,” Sharon said, jumping up to greet me. She gestured toward the one woman I didn’t know. “Elyse, this is Lily, she was my college roommate. Lily, this is Josh’s sister, Elyse.”

  “It’s nice to meet you,” I said. Then I turned to Sharon’s mother and sister. “And good to see you, Mrs. Meyer. Bethany.”

  Mrs. Meyer looked at me appraisingly and I thought I saw a glimmer of approval at my slightly slimmer physique. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

  Apparently she had called ahead and asked for the dresses she liked to be pulled into the dressing rooms for us before we got there. And we had three fitting rooms reserved, so we could all try on dresses at the same time and then switch. None of the dresses in my room were black and I felt my spirits rise. Maybe that had only been a suggestion and other colors were on the table after all.

  I tried on the first dress—it was one I had tried for Amy already, but it had been rejected as “too old” by Amy and “too matronly” by my mother. But Goldilocks over here thought it was just right age-wise. Which I suppose spoke more to my actual age and what my mother felt my marital status should be, but whatever.

  And I had to admit, as I turned this way and that in the dressing room mirror, it looked better with the Spanx under it than it had the last time I put it on.

  But this was Mrs. Meyer we were dealing with, so I took a deep, calming breath before I exited the fitting room.

  Bethany and Elyse were already out of their rooms.

  Mrs. Meyer was walking around the other two girls to view the dresses from all angles. She adjusted the shoulders on her younger daughter’s dress, then held a curled finger to her mouth to take me in as well.

  “The one Elyse is wearing is a maybe,” she said. “The rest can go back.”

  I looked at Sharon and cocked an eyebrow, trying to silently communicate the question, “Do you like these?” She shrugged her shoulders so faintly that had I not been looking for it, I wouldn’t have detected any motion. But this wasn’t my first rodeo, so I knew how to read her body language and returned silently to my dressing room for the next round.

  The next dress was far and away my favorite of all the dresses that I had tried on for any bride. It was fitted to the waist, then had a slight flair, and a neckline that cut straight across, but angled up toward the neck from the edges. Had it been black, I would have felt like Audrey Hepburn, the irony of which was not lost on me. I twirled around for my own benefit and smiled at my reflection. This was a dress that I would actually buy to wear as a guest to a wedding. This was one I would wear again.

  The lineup was already underway again when I came out. Apparently the other two girls knew to operate on the same military style of dress time that Mrs. Meyer preferred. She circled us again, a shark examining its prey.

  “Lily’s is a possibility. The rest aren’t.”

  I caught a glimpse of Bethany’s face before she put her mask up. Her fingers clutched the hem of the dress she was wearing, then she dropped it. Bethany loved the dress she was in. Did I love the dress I was in? Yes. Did I actually care what I wore to Sharon’s wedding as long as it didn’t cost as much as my dress for Caryn’s? Nope.

  My mouth opened involuntarily. “I’d love to try on the one Bethany is wearing too.”

  Bethany shook her head narrowly at me. Sharon’s eyes were wide, but wary, waiting to see how her mother would respond to this small rebellion when there was a larger one brewing.

  “You can do that on your time. I have a hair appointment this afternoon.”

  “I—”

  “Next dress,” she said resolutely. “Then we’ll trade the good ones.” I started to say something, but she fixed me with a look that stopped me.

  Pick your battles, Lily. You told Sharon you would fight one for her, not her sister. I went back into the dressing room, where my next dress was possibly the worst thing I had ever put on. It was sent back, and I was instructed to put on the first dress that Elyse had and give Bethany my favorite to try on.

  I was beginning to feel like I was in one of those dating shows that Becca watched, waiting to see which dress got the rose by the end of the whole ordeal, but eventually Mrs. Meyer selected a dress, then paid lip service to Sharon, asking if she agreed. Sharon did. It wasn’t the one I loved, but again, not my wedding, not my say.

  “So we’ll be ordering three of these in black,” she said to the saleslady, and Sharon looked at me imploringly.

  Crap, I thought. Then I cleared my throat. Mrs. Meyer turned in surprise.

  “Actually, Mrs. M., I’m not sure.”

  She looked at me wearily, as if this was no surprise. “Of course. You’re pregnant, aren’t you?” She turned to her daughter. “I told you asking someone who wasn’t family to be in the wedding was a mistake.”

  “What? No! I’m not pregnant.” I stared at her, horrified.

  “Then what’s the matter?”

  “I’m just—uh—I’m not a huge fan of black.”

  “Since when?” She looked pointedly at me. I hadn’t thought this one out. My shirt, shoes, purse, and coat were all black.

  “I meant for weddings. It’s—um—it’s considered bad luck.”

  She turned to the saleswoman. “Have you ever heard of such a thing?”

  “It used to be considered a faux pas, but black bridesmaid dresses are very in fashion right now,” she r
eassured Mrs. Meyer.

  “It’s a bad omen—in my culture.”

  Her hand went to her hip. “You’re half Jewish and half what again?”

  “Episcopalian,” I said quietly. I wouldn’t quite describe either as a culture though—we had a Christmas tree but also lit Hanukkah candles. The only time I had ever set foot in a church was for a wedding on my mom’s side, and my only times in synagogues were for my dad’s cousins’ bar mitzvahs.

  “The Jewish side certainly doesn’t have a taboo against black, and everyone is doing it these days. And,” she enunciated each word of this next part, “it is not your wedding.”

  I glanced at Sharon, who was studying her fingernails. Why am I doing this again? Then I went for it.

  “It’s not yours either.”

  “What did you just say to me?”

  “It’s Sharon’s wedding. Did you ask her what color she wanted us to wear?”

  “I’m paying for this wedding and Sharon is my daughter, so this certainly is my wedding!” She turned to Sharon. “Are you going to let her speak to me this way?”

  “I—”

  Mrs. Meyer cut her off. “I understand that Sharon wanted you in her wedding for sentimental value, but this is completely inappropriate.”

  “Ask her then,” I said quietly. “If Sharon says she wants black, I’ll wear it and you’ll never hear a peep from me about it.”

  Sharon looked at me, aghast, then realized her mother was watching and adjusted her face.

  “Well?” Mrs. Meyer asked. “We’re all waiting.”

  “I—” Her eyes darted to me, like a frightened animal’s. “They’re all so pale,” she squeaked almost inaudibly. “They’ll look like ghosts in black.”

  “So they’ll go tanning.”

  “Maybe—maybe we could look at some lighter colors?” I felt a surge of pride. In all of the years we had been friends, I could count on one hand the number of times Sharon had actually stood up to her mom. And the wedding dress was perhaps the first time I had seen her get her own way.

  But something changed in Mrs. Meyer’s face. “That’s what you want?” she asked, eyes narrowed.

  Sharon nodded.

  She turned to the saleslady. “Fine. What other colors does this dress come in?”

  I looked to Sharon, who mouthed, “Thank you,” behind her mother’s back. I nodded and gave her a half smile, already mentally drafting a blog post about Mom-zilla.

  I texted Alex as I left the salon. So what CAN you dissolve a body in? Asking for a friend . . .

  He replied immediately. According to AMC, a plastic bin. Went that well, huh?

  She asked if I was pregnant.

  He sent back a shocked emoji. Meet you in the bin section at Home Depot in an hour?

  Oh, so you’re a full-service kind of lawyer.

  Only for my favorite clients. And if you invent a new product for disposing of horrible mothers, I can help you patent it too.

  What a pal.

  I crossed the street toward my car feeling moderately better. I couldn’t wait to peel the Spanx off, but the pregnancy comment had put me over the edge. I was going home to change and then going to the gym. Maybe if I added a couple of workouts a week, everyone would leave me alone about how I looked.

  You feel like going to a movie tonight?

  That felt date-like and I hesitated. Is that still a thing?

  Yeah. But going alone sucks.

  I’ve never gone alone. Not brave enough.

  Really? I go alone all the time.

  God, I don’t even remember the last time I saw a movie in the theater. If you don’t have a boyfriend, you basically never see a movie when you’re an adult.

  Guess I need a boyfriend, he replied with a winky face. Or we could, you know, be rebels and go as friends.

  I laughed and agreed, on the condition that I got peanut M&Ms. I could do a short workout at the gym before the movie. You need to start slow, after all.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  From: Caryn Donaldson [futuremrscaryngreene@gmail.com]

  To: [bridesmaids]

  Subject: Wedding newsletter volume 5

  Date: December 18

  We are officially in the homestretch, ladies! Less than six months to go until I say I do!

  The hard parts (for me at least ;-p) are all over! The venue is booked, the dresses are ordered, the photographer and makeup artists are hired, and the menu is set. Whew! I’m tired just typing all of that!

  Now, I wanted to make you all aware of a few dates for your collective and individual planning purposes.

  I’d like my shower to take place at least a month, but no more than six weeks before the wedding itself. That gives us time to update the registry before the wedding, but not so much time that we lose momentum for the big day. Which means it will need to be either the last weekend in April or the first weekend in May. I’ll let you decide from there.

  For the bachelorette party, it should be sometime after the shower, but not less than two weeks before the wedding. I want to be able to have a few drinks at it and still have time to completely detox so there’s no trace of puffiness in my pictures—and that gives you all time to detox. I’m thinking something small and intimate, and dear God, no male nudity!

  Speaking of pictures, let’s talk beauty regimens. I’ll let you work out the best timing for Botox and fillers with your doctors, but keep in mind that you don’t want your Botox TOO close to the wedding or you’ll have that dead-eye look in pictures and no one wants that. Plan your eyelash fills accordingly too. And don’t forget the spray tans! They’ll need to be fresh, but not so fresh that they could rub off on dresses. Also, be mindful of your keratin treatments. It’s outside by the water, so we don’t want frizz, but we DEFINITELY don’t want that greasy, just-done hair! If you start planning it out now, maybe we could all do a spa day before the wedding and do our keratin together—it’ll make it go so much quicker!

  You’re the best, and I don’t know how I could have done any of this without you!

  Love and kisses!

  —Caryn

  I read the email again. This wasn’t real, was it? She wanted us to get Botox? No, I read that part again—she was just saying if some of them already got it, to time it accordingly, right? I pulled out my cell phone and opened the front camera. I mean, sure, there were some faint lines on my forehead, but those weren’t wrinkles, were they? Everyone had those. Didn’t they?

  Okay, Caryn didn’t. Wow. Caryn got Botox? She was two years younger than me! Had I missed something? Was this a thing people our age did?

  I forwarded the email to Megan, then texted her and told her to read it.

  My phone rang a couple of minutes later.

  “She’s out of her mind,” Megan said instead of a greeting.

  I got up and shut my office door. “I mean—that’s crazy, right?”

  “Mad as a hatter. Punch me in the face if I ever get that bad.”

  “Gladly.” I paused. “Do you get Botox?” She didn’t reply. “Megs!”

  “I haven’t yet. But I’m going with Kelly next week.”

  I felt a twinge of jealousy mixed with my surprise. Kelly lived in Columbia, right near where Megan and Tim had moved, and based on what I had seen on social media, they had become inseparable over the last couple of months. Was she taking my place?

  “Do you want to come? I can call the doctor’s office and see if we can do one more.”

  I lifted my eyebrows experimentally, annoyed that I was an afterthought. “Do you think I need it?”

  “God no, what’s the matter with you? I’m just doing it for the wedding pictures. It’ll be half worn off by then anyway.”

  “And eyelash extensions?”

  “I mean, they look good. But they’re so much maintenance. We can just wear fake ones for the wedding. The makeup artist will put them on. But if you’re going to get them for hers, you can totally keep them for mine and it’ll be fine.”

  Just li
ke the minimizing bra, I thought, unkindly.

  “Gotcha,” I said.

  “That’s also so rude, telling you when the shower and bachelorette have to be. You’re in four other weddings. What if the dates don’t work for you?”

  That hadn’t occurred to me. In my relief that none of the weddings conflicted, it hadn’t dawned on me that I had ten other parties in the weeks leading up to the weddings, which I would be expected to help plan. Some of those were going to overlap. It was just inevitable. “In that case, I doubt any of the other bridesmaids would miss me.”

  “But like, ask, don’t tell. We don’t own you.”

  “Megs, what am I doing in this wedding? Like seriously. I don’t want to put poison in my face.”

  “I mean, she didn’t tell you that you had to. She was just saying to plan it out if you were going to.”

  “Yeah, but am I going to look like an old crone next to everyone else in the pictures now?”

  “No. You’re going to look like a normal human being who doesn’t get work done and is happy with how she looks. I’m jealous, honestly. I wish I didn’t care how old I looked.”

  I didn’t respond. There was no way she meant that as an insult. Megan just sometimes had foot-in-mouth disease. And I didn’t think she realized how beaten down I still was about my looks by the attack of the horror-show mothers. “Thanks, I think,” I said eventually. Another phone rang in the background on Megan’s end.

  “Ugh, I’ve got to go actually work. Don’t change a thing—you’re perfect and I love you!”

  I slumped over my desk. Wahhhhh, I thought. I was so sick of weddings and brides and bridesmaids.

  After all of the dresses had been found, my official bridesmaid duties had hit a bit of a lull, which I thought would be a well-deserved reprieve.

  It wasn’t.

  I may have gotten a two-month break from people harping on how I looked, but my friends had all suddenly disappeared.

  Oh, they were still there, physically at least. But who were these people? I literally hadn’t had a single conversation with Megan, Caryn, or Sharon that didn’t immediately revert back to weddings. None of them ever had time to hang out, unless I wanted to be a third wheel with their fiancés, which I really didn’t, or unless I wanted to join them at bridal expos, which I was willing to do once, but had no desire to do repeatedly.