How drunk is Grandma? Alex asked.
She asked me if I was a lesbian and said she was cool with it as long as my wedding is in a cooler climate and closer to home.
He sent laughing emojis. How’s the wedding otherwise?
Well . . . I look like Big Bird in my dress, but my brother seems really happy. So a success?
And no Justin, so it’s already a step up from Tim and Megan’s, right?
Depends if there’s an old lady knee-high on the doorknob when I get back to my room tonight.
Keep me posted. He sent a GIF of the scene from Grease with the guys saying, “Tell me more, tell me more.”
You are such a nerd, you know that?
Did you laugh?
Well, yeah.
Then who’s the real nerd?
My mother elbowed me. People were clapping and I was still on my phone. “Sorry,” I whispered.
“It’s your brother’s wedding. Put the phone away,” she hissed out of the side of her mouth. I slipped it under my leg.
After what felt like an eternity, the dancing began. My parents were on the dance floor, as were Amy and Tyler, and my grandmother had left the table, so I felt safe to start typing a post.
I was mulling over where to begin when my grandmother appeared in front of me, holding the arm of a handsome man.
Oh God. It’s happening, I thought in horror, looking up at the guy. What could possibly be in this for him? He’s my age at most! What a creep!
“I have a present for you,” she said, grinning. “This is Andrew, and he’s single.”
I looked at her in alarm. “Grandma!”
She ignored me. “Andrew, darling, this is my granddaughter Lily.”
“Hey,” he said amiably. He looked vaguely familiar, which hopefully did not mean he was a second cousin. And she got my name right for once.
“I’ll leave you two to get better acquainted,” my grandmother said with a wink. “And remember, just let me know if you need the room tonight!”
I wanted to crawl under my chair.
“Would you like to dance?” Andrew asked.
I had less than no desire to dance with some random dude at my brother’s wedding. Especially with some random dude whom my grandmother had coerced into asking me. But she was standing about four feet from us, nodding and making a shooing motion with her hands. And saying yes to one dance would (hopefully) get her to drop the subject and therefore help me survive until we got home the following evening.
“Uh, sure,” I said, dropping my phone into my purse.
We got to the dance floor and Andrew put his arm around my waist. “So are you friends with Jake?” I asked.
He gave me a funny look. “You don’t remember me?”
I looked at him more carefully. “Should I?”
“I’m crushed,” he said, smiling. “I was so in love with you.”
I shook my head. “I’m sorry, I—”
“Andrew MacKenzie?”
My eyes widened. “Andy MacKenzie?”
He shrugged. “It’s Andrew now. But you can call me Andy if you want.”
I used to babysit for him when I was fourteen and he was eight. Meaning he was now—I did the math quickly in my head—twenty-six. And I had been his babysitter. Nope. Absolutely not. I dropped his hand and backed away a step.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m sorry. Too weird for me.”
“What is?”
I gestured to the space between us. “This.”
“Dancing?”
“My grandma—trying to set me up with someone I babysat for.”
“That was almost twenty years ago. We’re both adults now.”
“Look, Andy, I’m sure you’re great and all. But no amount of adult erases that. I could be eighty-six and you could be eighty and it’d still be gross.”
He shrugged again. “Your loss. Your grandma made you sound pretty desperate.”
“Okay,” I said. “Thanks. Bye. Have a nice life.” I dashed back to the table, snatched up my purse, and ran out of the terraced area where the party was.
I found a set of cushioned wicker sofas encircling an empty firepit just around the corner and collapsed onto one, both grossed out and hurt that he had called me desperate.
I hated everyone at that stupid wedding. I hated Jake and Madison for making me come here, where I was forced to share a room with my grandmother and then exposed to ridicule like this. I didn’t stop mattering just because I was thirty-two and single and they were younger and getting married.
I pulled my phone out, and I didn’t hold back. When I was done, I didn’t even proofread it, I just hit “Publish,” then closed my eyes to regain my composure. The blog was cathartic that way. By the time I published it, I had flushed most of the anger and shame out of my system. I would be expected to rejoin the party with a smile on my face and, having just eviscerated them anonymously on the internet, I could do that.
On my way back into the party, I stopped in the bathroom to do a makeup touch-up. The sun had set, so the lighting was forgiving, but I didn’t want to look like anything was amiss for pictures.
Madison was in there with her sister and two friends, who were giggling about having just held her dress so she could pee.
“Lily,” she greeted me warmly, coming over and taking my hands in hers. I started in surprise, mixed with a little guilt. “Amy told me what happened with your room and I wanted to apologize—I had no idea about the mix-up.”
I shook my head. “My grandma called the agent and told them she was rooming with me. It wasn’t anyone else’s fault.”
“But we could have rearranged some of my friends and found a room for you. I’m sure we still can for tonight if you want?”
“That’s—kind—of you. But no. She’d be offended if I did that. And it’s just one more night of her snoring.”
“Thank you for putting up with the inconvenience to be here. It means so much to me. And to Jake, although he’d never say it, of course.”
“Of course.”
“We’d love it if you’d come to Chicago to visit us sometime.”
“I—uh—sure. After all these weddings. Maybe.”
Madison’s mother walked into the bathroom, looking for her, and told her that one of her uncles wanted to dance with her. Madison excused herself and her friends went with her, leaving me alone in the bathroom, where I gripped the sink and stared at myself in the mirror.
She’s nice, I thought. And at least I hadn’t trashed her specifically in the blog. Mostly because I had absolutely nothing to say about her. But I still felt guilty. Here she was inviting me to come visit her, when I had made absolutely no effort to get to know her. What was wrong with me?
I left the bathroom and grabbed another glass of champagne, which I promptly downed.
I woke up in pain. My head hurt, which I assumed was the champagne, but so did my arms, shoulders, and neck.
“Good morning,” my grandmother said, observing me from the room’s chaise lounge, a glass of orange juice in her hand. I cringed and sat up, rubbing my forehead.
“Everything hurts.”
“I should say so. That’s quite a sunburn you got.”
I looked down at my arms in alarm. They were bright red, with pale stripes where my dress had been. It hadn’t occurred to me to put sunscreen on for the ceremony, which was outside, as were the pictures and reception. “Oh no,” I said weakly, sinking back down against the pillows. “Caryn is going to murder me.”
“Who’s Caryn?”
“Not my girlfriend, if that’s what you’re asking. She’s getting married in three weeks and I’m a bridesmaid in her wedding and she was very clear about no tan lines.”
“I don’t think that’s within her control anymore,” my grandmother said wryly. She held out her glass to offer me a sip. “Hair of the dog?”
Apparently it wasn’t just orange juice in her cup. I shook my head, which I instantly regretted, and hoped a littl
e booze would make her more docile for the trip home, rather than more belligerent. Then I went to take a very cool shower.
I read through the latest notifications on my blog over breakfast. There were a lot of them. I was finally picking up some steam and would hopefully be generating some revenue from it too. One person even commented that I should be writing a book. Well, that’s an idea, I thought. Not now, of course. But someday. Maybe.
I looked around the table at my family. Everyone looked as queasy as I did, and mine was far from the only sunburn. Amy burst into tears when my grandmother told her she looked like a lobster.
“What are you so upset about? You have more than a month until your wedding. You won’t be burned by then,” my grandmother said, throwing up her hands as my mother comforted Amy. She turned to me. “This is why you’re so much more fun, Joan. You can take a joke.”
My father caught my eye, clearly holding in a laugh. “Yeah, Joan,” he said, chuckling.
I glared at him over my coffee, then went back to my phone.
Alex texted me while I was reading comments. So? Sock or no sock?
No sock. But she tried to fix me up with a kid I BABYSAT for.
Nice. Did it work?
I responded with a puking emoji.
Guess that’s a no then. What time do you get home today?
Five.
Wanna grab a drink to decompress?
No more drinks! I sent the emoji with the girl holding her arms across her face in an X shape.
He sent a laughing emoji. Oh, all-inclusive resorts. You’ve claimed another victim.
Dinner instead? I have no food at my apartment.
Sure. Text me when you land.
CHAPTER THIRTY
With Jake and Madison’s wedding done, I entered the homestretch of the final six weeks until Megan’s wedding.
The next event was Megan’s bridal shower and bachelorette party on the Saturday after Jake’s wedding. My sunburn began to fade to tan, and I spent an inordinate amount of time googling natural-looking self-tanners to fill in the white spots before Caryn’s wedding. I couldn’t afford another screwup there.
The shower went smoothly. I arrived two hours early to help set everything up with the rest of the bridesmaids, and the weather cooperated enough to allow us to congregate on the patio by the newly opened pool. I wore carefully applied SPF 70 on my tanned areas and nothing on the white lines to try to even everything out naturally.
“What’s this?” Megan asked when she got to my gift. Claire and her husband had bought a present together, and the rest of the bridesmaids chipped in to buy from the registry, but I had done my own thing.
“Open it,” I told her.
It was a giant basket filled with mementos of our years of friendship, but designed to help her transition to the next stage of her life. I gave her framed pictures, along with matching empty frames to be filled with pictures from the wedding. A mug with a picture of the two of us together on it with the text “Sisters before Misters.” Three wineglasses, labeled “Mr.,” “Mrs.,” and “Third Wheel.” And finally, at the bottom of the basket, a gift-wrapped Snoopy lunch box—the clone of hers from second grade—that I bought off eBay. I had tied a gift tag to the handle and written on it, For an eventual daughter, when she needs to find a lifelong best friend.
Megan cried and enveloped me in a huge hug, making all of the drama feel insignificant.
Megan’s bachelorette party was that night, concurrent with Tim’s bachelor party. We were going out to dinner and then dancing. The bachelor party, according to Megan, was just poker night with the boys.
Alex had told a different story over dinner when I got back from Mexico, however. Tim hadn’t lied to Megan; he thought poker night was the plan. Except no one was actually going to Mark’s house for poker—they were going to a strip club in Baltimore.
“Gross.”
Alex shrugged. “It’s what you do.”
“Okay, but now that I know, what do I tell Megan?”
“You can’t tell her.”
“You’re putting me in a bad spot. Plus I have no filter when I’m drinking.”
“You don’t really have one when you’re sober.”
“Thanks.”
“Just don’t say anything. She won’t ask you if you know different.”
“And if she does?”
“If she does, it’s up to you. Just don’t bring it up. Please.”
Armed with that knowledge, I texted Alex when my Uber pulled up at the restaurant. Be good tonight.
Who me? he asked, followed by the halo emoji.
You AND Tim please.
Will do. You be good too.
I rolled my eyes. I planned to stay relatively sober. Not my night, I reminded myself as I stepped out of the car.
Yeah, yeah, yeah, I replied. Heading into dinner now. Have fun. Just not TOO much!
You too.
Dinner was a little strained, because Claire very vocally resented having both parties on the same day because she had to clean between them and couldn’t rest. And the bachelor party being at the same time meant that she couldn’t stay out late—her husband insisted on going to the bachelor party and the au pair had been on duty all day during the shower. But at least everyone loosened up once she left to go put her daughter to bed after dinner and we got to the first club.
I was hot, but having fun. My hair was frizzy from the DC humidity and I was sure my makeup was a mess after three hours of dancing, but the bachelorette party seemed successful. Megan was happily drunk, but not sloppy, and I kept plying her with water to make sure she wouldn’t feel too horrible in the morning.
When my phone rang shortly after midnight and Alex’s name popped up on the caller ID, I laughed. “Who’s drunk dialing you?” Megan asked. She grabbed my phone. “Alex!” she shouted, sliding the icon to answer it. “How’s poker night? Is Tim behaving?”
My eyes widened. I really hoped there wasn’t a lot of background noise wherever Alex was calling from.
“I can’t hear him,” she said, handing the phone back to me. “It’s too loud in here.”
I held the phone to my ear. “Alex?” She was right, I couldn’t understand what he was saying, but his tone wasn’t happy. “Hang on, let me go outside.”
I made my way through the crowd and down the stairs to the street, walked a little farther to get away from the smokers, then tried again. “What’s wrong?”
“I did something stupid,” he said quickly.
I felt a strange sense of dread. Better him doing something stupid than Tim though. And it wasn’t like I had any right to care if he hooked up with a stripper.
“What did you do?”
“I told Justin we’re sleeping together.”
“You did what?”
“Okay, listen, I know it sounds bad.” His words were slightly slurred. “But I figured it was better than the alternative.”
“What’s the alternative?”
“He was bragging about how he was going to—sleep with you—at the wedding.”
Had I actually been drinking, I probably would have vomited at that point.
“He—what?”
“He was telling everyone, and he was saying how bad you wanted him at the engagement party, and I just—I didn’t say we were together exactly, just that we’d been hooking up for a while now. I didn’t think you’d want him saying that to everyone. Or worse, actually trying to do it at the wedding.”
“I mean—I don’t—but wasn’t there anything else you could have said?”
“It was that or punch him.”
“Ha. Couldn’t you do both?”
He ignored my joke. “But okay, so he didn’t believe me.”
“Why wouldn’t he believe you?”
“Right? It’s not so unbelievable. But anyway, I—the first thing I could think of as proof was our text-message chain. Like it didn’t have anything bad, but it showed that we talk a lot, like every day, so I showed him that and t
he part about being good tonight convinced him, I think, but I thought you should know.”
“Thank you. Both for doing that and for telling me.”
“You’re not mad?”
“That Justin won’t be trying to—ew, seriously, that’s too gross to even say. No, I’m not mad.”
“He’ll probably make comments about us at the wedding though, so you needed to know.”
“It’s fine, I can pretend it’s true.”
Alex started to say something else but stopped himself.
“What?”
“Nothing,” he said. “I should go back in.”
“Me too. Can I punch him when I see him?”
I could hear the smile in his voice. “As your lawyer, I’d advise against that.”
“And as my fake boyfriend?”
“Go for it.”
“Great. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Lily?”
“Yeah.”
“I really am sorry.”
I rubbed my temples after hanging up. Fucking Justin. It wasn’t bad enough that I hooked up with him once? He had to tell everyone I was going to do it again?
I took a deep breath and went back inside, where Megan immediately grabbed my wrist in a death grasp. “You’re sleeping with Alex?” she hissed.
“What?”
“Tim just texted me that Alex told everyone that you two are, like, together. What the hell, Lily?”
I peeled her fingers off my wrist and rubbed it where her nails had dug in. “I’m not sleeping with Alex. Or anyone, actually.”
“Then what was he talking about? And why was Alex calling you just now?”
“We’re friends. Justin was telling everyone he plans to hook up with me at the wedding, so Alex said that so he’d stop.” I could tell she didn’t believe me. “Honest. I’d tell you if something was going on.”
She scrutinized my face a minute longer, then sighed in relief. “Good. I mean, I want you to be happy and all. But I can’t deal with that drama at my wedding.”
“It wouldn’t be drama,” I said quietly.
“No offense, Lily, but it’s you. You know you can’t handle anything that’s actually good without sabotaging it, and Alex is one of Tim’s oldest friends. He’s not going anywhere just because you decide you don’t like him anymore. This isn’t like when we were younger and I could hate a guy just because you did.”
For the Love of Friends Page 21
