At 9:26, I left my office and went to Martin’s, where I knocked quietly on the open door.
“Lily,” he said, glancing up at me, then at the clock on the wall. He swiveled his chair away from his computer toward the desk, where there were two seats across from him. “Come on in. Close the door behind you, if you don’t mind?”
I swallowed heavily and did as I was told.
“It sounds like you’ve been busy.”
“Yes.”
“I got a call from the Washington Post yesterday. At home. Which was a little awkward, because normally I would direct them to talk to you.”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.
“I didn’t know what they were talking about, so they had to explain the whole thing to me. Then I googled it and saw the Buzzfeed story.”
I felt my cheeks turning red. Martin was in his sixties. He wore a white beard, as all scientists seemed to—the old joke at the foundation was that you couldn’t win a Nobel Prize if you didn’t have a beard, but Martin had directed the staff to stop saying that because it wasn’t inclusive. He was a strong advocate for women in the sciences, and sexism was unequivocally not tolerated on his watch. But I still cringed at the idea of someone who, were he to don a red hat and coat, would look like Santa Claus reading about my sleeping with Justin while blackout drunk.
“I’m sorry,” I said, for what felt like the five billionth time in the last twenty-four hours. The words were starting to sound like I was mispronouncing them from semantic satiation.
Martin looked a little surprised. “Why are you sorry?”
“I—I worked on it on foundation time and that’s how they found me. And now the whole foundation is associated with this and—”
The corners of his mouth turned up slightly and I trailed off, confused.
“Have you checked the analytics for the website today?”
“I—no—I haven’t.” My shoulders slumped. I clearly had not done any work yet, which couldn’t help my case.
He turned back to his computer and clicked a few buttons. Then he picked up a remote control and turned on the monitor on the wall, which mirrored his computer screen. A side button on the remote triggered a laser pointer, which he used to point out the number.
“Admittedly, I don’t look at our analytics every day—that’s your job, after all—but that seems pretty high to me.”
It was nearly ten times the typical traffic to the foundation’s home page.
“Granted, a lot of that traffic then clicked through to our staff pages to find you, but many people did stay to look at our mission statement and some of our research projects.”
I didn’t know what to say. He seemed—well—almost pleased.
He leaned back in his chair and stroked his beard. “The reporter wanted to know if you had been fired.” He looked at me as if waiting for a reaction and stopped talking.
“Am I?” My voice shook.
“How long have you worked here, Lily?”
“It’ll be eleven years in August.”
He nodded. “And how many people have you seen me fire?”
I couldn’t think of any, but that didn’t mean there weren’t any. People came and went, and I didn’t always ask for particulars. “I don’t know.”
The corners of his mouth twitched again. “I’m not exactly Donald Trump. I’ve never fired anyone.”
Relief started to trickle down my back like perspiration. I might not be out of the woods yet, but I wasn’t losing my job today.
“What did you tell the reporter?”
“The truth. I told her you’ve been here about a decade and that we don’t keep strict nine-to-five hours. I’ve seen you eating lunch at your desk for most of this year, and if you choose to do personal projects during that break time, you’re perfectly within your rights to do so. She didn’t seem to think there was much of a story if you weren’t being fired. Pity though. All publicity is good publicity and all that.”
My mouth was open. “Are you saying it’s good that this happened?”
“Not for you, obviously. And Caryn didn’t look too happy. I assume she’s Bride A? But from where I’m standing, you just brought us a bunch of free press.”
This wasn’t even remotely how I expected the conversation to go. “We won’t lose any funding?”
He chuckled. “Over a Buzzfeed article about a blog? No. I think we’ll manage to stay afloat.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Don’t thank me yet. That’s not why I called you in today.”
“It’s not?”
“Well, the blog is. But you still have your job. If you want it.”
“If I want it?”
“I read it—before you took it down. You’re a talented writer.”
I flushed, remembering the snarkiness, the description of my drunken grandmother naked in a hot tub, the graphic depiction of squeezing myself into the foundation garments that Caryn demanded I wear, the Alex and Justin debacle. Not exactly what I wanted Santa Boss knowing about my personal life.
“Thank you,” I mumbled.
“Lily, I need to ask—why are you still here?” I looked up, surprised. Was he telling me to go back to my office? “Eleven years is an awfully long time to spend on something you’re not passionate about.”
Was he firing me after all?
“Look, you can work here as long as you want to,” he continued. “I’m not going to push you out. You’re great at explaining things in a way that lets non-scientists understand what we’re doing. But part of my job is to help people reach their potential, because when people are comfortable enough to experiment, that’s when amazing discoveries happen. And Lily, you’re hiding here.”
My breathing was shallow, and I was suddenly terrified that I was going to cry again. “I think you need a plan,” he said. “What do you want to be doing? Because I don’t think writing press releases about neutrinos is it.”
He stopped, and I was clearly expected to formulate some kind of response. But I didn’t know what to say. I had just been laid bare by someone I thought hardly knew my name. I spent so much time creeping past his office so he wouldn’t realize how often I was late for work, only for him to tell the Washington Post, of all things, that our hours were flexible. For him to read such intimate details of my life and somehow see through those escapades to recognize that this job was a screen I hid behind so that I wouldn’t risk failure with my own writing. Because of course young Lily hadn’t lain in bed at night with a flashlight scribbling in a diary about her future career as a public relations officer for a scientific organization. I had always wanted to write. But to actually write and put that work out into the world for people to read and reject? Yes, it was what I wanted and the blog had helped me realize that, but—
“I want to write,” I said quietly. “But—” I stopped.
“But?” he asked gently.
“I’m scared,” I whispered, not even realizing that it was true until I said it.
“Of course you are. It’s terrifying to create something that’s never existed before. But like every good scientist learns, trial and error is the only way to discovery.”
I shook my head. “I’m not a scientist though.”
He smiled kindly. “Oh yes you are.”
After leaving his office ten minutes later, I walked back to mine in a daze. The plan we had concocted was that I had a year. A year to keep doing what I was doing, but also to figure out what I wanted to be doing. To start writing. To experiment. And if I hadn’t figured it out at the end of that year—well, we would cross that bridge if and when we came to it. Martin was confident I would be back in his office in well under a year to tell him I had found my passion project. “And if it doesn’t pay the bills immediately,” he grinned, “I get the feeling you’re not exactly using a hundred percent of your brain writing press releases. You can moonlight.”
I was terrified. But maybe, just maybe, I hadn’t lost everything after all.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
I waited until lunchtime to go back to Caryn. I didn’t doubt that she was busy, but at least now, with my future at the foundation safe, I could offer to help lighten that load somewhat.
“You’re still here then?” she asked coolly when I came back to her office. She had a green smoothie with a straw in it on her desk, which I assumed was her lunch. Ever skinny, she looked positively gaunt now, which I knew was the product of hard work for her wedding, not my betrayal.
“I am. Can I sit?”
She glanced up at her clock. “I’ll give you five minutes.”
“I’m sorry.”
She looked at me blankly. “Great. Are you done?”
I looked back at her, the fringe of the Kewpie-doll eyelashes that she made me get dancing at the top of my vision. For a moment, I debated letting this one go. Caryn hadn’t been much of a friend this year, had she? I mean, it was ridiculous that I’d had to change my hair, my lashes, and my body shape for the sake of her pictures. Not to mention, I had spent more money on her wedding than the others combined, between the minimizing bra, Spanx, dress, shoes, eyelashes, keratin hair treatment, and the horror show of her shower and bachelorette party, and she showed no sign of even knowing that was a hardship for me.
And I didn’t know how to make her understand that I was happier just being who I was, metaphorical warts and all, because Caryn’s whole life was an exercise in image.
I pictured my someday wedding, ignoring the fact that the groom now looked like Alex instead of a faceless mannequin in a tuxedo. Who did I see there with me? Megan, Amy, Sharon, Becca, and Caryn, of course. Did I care that they were a mismatched bunch? Absolutely not. Did I even care if they wore matching dresses? Not in the slightest. But that didn’t mean I was right and Caryn was wrong, nor did it mean that Caryn was right and I was wrong. We just wanted different things.
“No,” I said. “I handled this badly.”
“That’s an understatement.”
“I should have said no earlier in the process.”
“No to what?” Caryn’s voice was defensive.
“To the things that made me feel like the blog was an appropriate response.” She started to cut me off, but I continued. “It wasn’t an appropriate response. The appropriate response would have been to say no when we went past my comfort level. I don’t want to wear a minimizing bra, or lose weight, or wear these things on my eyelashes, or have this blonde, straight hair.”
Caryn narrowed her eyes. “That’s the worst apology I’ve ever heard.”
“I don’t mean I should have said I wouldn’t do them. I mean I should have said I couldn’t be in your wedding.”
She rubbed her forehead angrily. “What are you trying to do to me right now? It’s too late to find someone who will fit into your dress, and my pictures will look off-balance if I don’t have an even number of bridesmaids and groomsmen.”
“I don’t mean right now. I’ll do whatever you want right now. I mean earlier, when there was time to figure it out. Caryn, I spent over three thousand dollars on your wedding alone, and I’m in four others. I don’t have that kind of money.”
“That’s just what weddings cost.”
“It’s not, actually. I mean, it might be for some people, but it isn’t in my world. And I should have told you I was in over my head before it got to the point where I started resenting you.”
Her lips had tightened into an almost invisible line, but she didn’t say anything, so I kept going.
“Look, I love you. I do. And I took the passive-aggressive route here, which was me being a horrible person and an even worse friend. And for that, I am very sorry. I’m even more sorry that I repeated things you said in confidence about the other bridesmaids, because that was worse than anything I said about you in the blog. I understand if you want nothing to do with me anymore for that. And like I said, I’ll do whatever you want me to about the wedding. If you want me there, I’ll be there in my minimizing bra, and I’ll wear my makeup however you tell me, and I’ll smile for pictures and keep my mouth shut. If you want me nowhere near it, I’ll respect that too.” I stopped talking.
“But?” she asked.
“No buts. ‘Everything before the but is bullshit,’ isn’t that how the saying goes? Well, I already said what I needed to say. Tell me what you want me to do about this weekend and that’s what I’ll do.”
“And after that?”
I hesitated. “I want to write. My own writing. Martin and I talked and he said he’s giving me a year to figure out what I want to do. So worst-case scenario, we be polite in the halls until then. If that’s what you want.”
“What do you want?”
“I’m going to leave the ball in your court on this one.”
Caryn looked unsure. “I don’t know if we can rebuild our trust. You told the whole world things that I told you in confidence.”
I nodded. “It would take a lot of work. On both sides. But I’m willing to try if you want to.”
Her eyebrows contracted slightly. If not for the Botox, her forehead might have furrowed, but that was no longer a possibility. “Maybe you were right about the lash extensions. You look like an anime character with how round your eyes already are.”
My mouth curled into a hint of a smile. It was said without malice—a Caryn way of saying I looked better the way I normally was. “I can take them out. I’ve got the baby oil in my purse ready to go.”
“Don’t you dare before the wedding. After all of this, those pictures better be flawless.”
“Make sure I get a copy of the one where Caroline is trying to stab me with a lobster fork.”
“There’s a decent chance that actually happens.”
I grinned. “As long as she stabs somewhere covered by the dress, I’ll be fine. She can’t penetrate all of that shapewear. I’m practically bulletproof.”
Caryn shook her head and almost smiled. “I don’t actually hate you anymore. I guess that’s something.”
“I don’t want to trash you on the internet anymore. So we’re making progress.”
She looked up at the clock. “You’re out of time. I’ll see you on Friday for the rehearsal dinner. Don’t be late to that. Or Saturday.”
“I won’t.”
“And you’re on your own with the other girls.”
I imagined that to look something like the Salem witch trials, only in purple evening gowns instead of puritanical dresses, but I kept that observation to myself. Instead, I told Caryn to let me know if there was anything I could do to help while she was gone.
She said she would let me know and reminded me, with a pointed look at my peeling red nail polish, that I was supposed to wear either nude nail polish or a French manicure for Saturday. I assured her that I was waiting until Thursday to get them done, so they would be fresh for the weekend.
I didn’t quite breathe a sigh of relief, as part of me had hoped I wouldn’t have to face the wicked bridesmaids of the west again. But if our friendship could survive this, there wasn’t much that could end it.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
I wasn’t late, but I was still the last of the bridesmaids to arrive at Caryn’s rehearsal. They stared at me with what I assumed was unmitigated hatred under their frozen faces.
Then, as if cued by some dog whistle I couldn’t hear, they all turned their heads and proceeded to ignore me for the rest of the evening. Caryn’s grandmother and one of her uncles were the only two people who spoke to me all night.
Which was probably for the best.
I kept to myself the following day, as we gathered at the salon for hair and makeup. I was glad we weren’t in a hotel suite getting ready, like we would be for Sharon’s and Megan’s weddings. There was room to hide at the salon.
My phone vibrated as I waited my turn to have my makeup airbrushed on. I grabbed for it, instinctively thinking it was Alex before remembering it wouldn’t be.
Good luck. It was from Megan.
Thanks. It’s pretty awkward.
You deserve awkward.
I know.
You gonna trip that Caroline chick?
I smiled. Probably the other way around. I’m on my best behavior.
If she attacks you, try not to let her get your face. I don’t want you looking like Freddy Krueger at my wedding.
I sent a thumbs-up emoji, then looked up to see Caroline watching me through narrowed eyes. I put the phone away and stared straight ahead.
We left the salon in a limo. I sat a little ways apart, just trying to be invisible. Not that it mattered; the other bridesmaids were pretending I wasn’t there anyway. When we arrived at the historic manor house overlooking the Potomac River, we all got into our dresses while the photographer took some bathrobe shots of Caryn, and then it was time to get her into her dress.
I went silently to the rest of the girls to help.
“We don’t need you,” Caroline hissed. “You’re only here at all because it was too late to get anyone who could fit into your dress.”
I recoiled as if she had slapped me.
No one said anything.
Eventually, I looked to Caryn. “Do you want me to not be in the pictures for this? I can make myself scarce.”
She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again. I remembered how happy Madison had looked on her wedding day, and I felt a wave of crushing guilt. It was my fault Caryn looked miserable today. What have I done?
Then she surprised me.
She turned her head to Caroline. “Can you, for once in your life, just stop? I told Lily I want her here. It’s not your call. If you don’t like it, you can leave.”
Caroline opened her mouth in shock and started to protest, but Caryn cut her off, leaving her standing there looking like a fish. “Look, I read Lily’s blog. And while I didn’t like that she did that, I’m glad I found out what you did to her about the shower. Do you know she didn’t even tell me? Because she knew you would spin it. So please just stop, help get me in my dress, and smile like you’re happy for me.”
In a huff, Caroline turned on her heel and went to the bathroom, and Dana shot me a quick, tight smile. I looked at Caryn, my eyes wide. “Thank you,” I mouthed. She squeezed my shoulder in response, then plastered a radiant smile on her face. “Come on. Dress time.”
For the Love of Friends Page 28
