I winced. “That was not my finest hour.”
“Really? You’re not always mainlining martinis and wine?” He leaned way over the deck railing pretending to look below him. “I see glass down there; I don’t see any liquid.”
I scrunched up my nose. “I had an excuse.”
“Then? Or tonight?”
“Both. I’m blaming you for the broken glass. If you hadn’t jumped out at me like something from a horror movie, I wouldn’t have dropped the glass. But at the engagement party, I was—let’s call it having an existential crisis.”
He laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling warmly. “An existential crisis? I think I’m going to need a judge’s ruling on that one.”
With an embellished sigh, I recounted the series of events that led to my fall from vermouth to chardonnay that night.
“Why didn’t you just say no to being in a couple of the weddings?”
“Well, I can’t to the family ones, and I had already accepted the other three when my brother and sister got engaged.”
“Yeah, but it’s not like you’re the one getting married. Who cares if you’re a bridesmaid?”
I rolled my eyes. “It doesn’t work like that with girls.”
“I guess not. I just have to keep Tim from doing anything too gross at the bachelor party and then show up on time in a tux.”
“Lucky.”
There was a pause. It wasn’t uncomfortable specifically, but neither of us had anything more to say. And without a drink in my hand, I had no props to work with. I turned and peered over the railing again. “So what should we do about this broken glass situation? Clean it up or pretend we know nothing about it?”
Alex leaned back on the rail, facing the kitchen door, and smiled. “Neither. We blame Justin.”
I laughed heartily. “Deal.”
“Come on, let’s go get you another drink so you look innocent.” He started to walk away, realized I wasn’t following, and turned back. A look at my face told him the reason, even in the dark. “I’ll run interference for you again.”
“Again?”
“God, you were drunk, weren’t you? Yeah, I spent half of the engagement party trying to help you fend him off.”
I cringed again, wishing he had spent the full party on duty, but I couldn’t say that, so I thanked him.
“We’ll add that to the list of my groomsman duties to average out the playing field a little. Now come on. It’s cold and I don’t have a jacket to give you.” He held out his arm and I took it gratefully.
Justin glanced up when we walked in together, and a cloud of annoyance crossed his face, but I figured he would get over it. He had Julie, another bridesmaid, trapped against the wall in a corner of the kitchen. Her expression of distaste made it obvious that she felt like I did. If I knew her better, or hadn’t already fallen prey to him myself, I might have launched a rescue mission, but it was every girl for herself right now.
“I think you’re safe,” Alex whispered, following my gaze.
“At least until Julie escapes. But on the plus side, she should be totally on board with blaming him for the broken glass.”
Alex steepled his fingers and said “excellent” in a Mr. Burns voice, then, while facing away from the bar, grabbed a martini glass and stealthily slid it to me behind his back. “Time for a refill?” he asked loudly.
“Yes, please.”
CHAPTER TEN
I wasn’t hungover when I arrived at the bridal salon the following morning to shop with Amy, my mother, my grandmother, and Amy’s best friend, an anemic-looking girl named Ashlee, whose vocal fry always left me feeling like she was both younger and ditzier than she actually was. I had known her since she was eleven, but she had never left much of an impression other than being a very washed-out wingwoman to my annoyingly ebullient sister. But after the first hour of dress shopping, I began to feel symptoms similar to a hangover.
“I started a dress binder,” my mother announced, pulling a three-inch monstrosity out of a Lululemon tote and setting it gingerly on the shop’s coffee table. It was filled with printed-out pages of wedding dresses, each stuck in a clear plastic page protector. The saleslady nodded sagely, as if this were commonplace behavior.
As my mother turned the pages, I saw the Pinterest logo repeated again and again. “Mom, did you print out Amy’s whole Pinterest board?”
“Who’s pinching Amy?” my grandmother asked loudly. Apparently her hearing aids had not been invited shopping with us.
My mother ignored her. “Where else would I have gotten the pictures?”
“You could have just pulled up Pinterest on your phone.”
“She’s new to this,” my mother told the saleslady in a stage whisper. “She’s never been married.” I desperately missed the champagne offerings from Caryn’s salons.
“I definitely want a princess gown,” Amy said. “Or maybe a mermaid. Do they make a princess mermaid? Because I don’t feel like I’m quite old enough to get away with a mermaid gown. They look so much better on older brides.” She turned to me. “That’ll be perfect when you get married.”
“Why don’t I just get one now?” I asked. “And I can sit around in it until I’m eighty like Miss Havisham.”
“Was she that art teacher we didn’t like?” Ashlee asked.
I looked at my mother, hoping for some backup, but she mouthed, “Stop it,” to me instead. I leaned against the back of the armchair, crossed my arms, and stopped talking.
“What’s the matter with you?” my grandmother asked. “Jealous of your sister?”
I rolled my eyes. “Absolutely not.”
“Good,” she said, patting my arm. “Don’t get married until you find a fella who has a twinkle in his eye. That was my mistake. Your grandpa didn’t. I should have held out for Frank Sinatra.”
I exhaled slowly through my mouth. Whose idea was it to bring Grandma along? I wondered. It was excruciating enough to have to sit through this with my mom and Amy.
Eventually we were escorted to a different sofa and armchair, and thankfully offered coffee, despite the dictum of the fanciest salons. I grasped it like it contained the antidote to this whole experience—I hadn’t wanted to be lectured for coming in with Starbucks again—and gave this shop an extra star in my mental ranking. The saleslady whisked Amy into a dressing room as my mother and Ashlee continued flipping through the ridiculously profligate binder and my grandmother tried to pretend she knew what was going on without her hearing aids.
I could have been invisible, so I slipped my phone out of my bag. Save me from my mother and sister, I texted Megan. My mom printed out my sister’s ENTIRE Pinterest board and laminated the sheets in a binder.
Stop it, Megan replied immediately. She did not. I snapped a stealthy shot of the binder and sent it to her. So wait, she’s actually pretending Amy is getting married? And they let Amy bring her pet Chihuahua into the store?
I stifled a laugh. Megan had dated Ashlee’s older brother briefly in high school and was merciless. And the resemblance to a Chihuahua was somewhat striking.
Amy also said mermaid dresses are for older brides and it’d be perfect for me if I was getting married.
She’s dead, Megan said. DEAD. Megan had taken an extremely targeted approach to dress shopping, in true Megan fashion. She found the handful of dresses that she wanted to try on in a single store, called them in advance, told them which dresses to have in a fitting room for her when she arrived, then went with just me and her mom, tried on four dresses and bought one. The saleslady told her she couldn’t take a picture of it, but Megan told her she was buying it so she could do what she wanted, snapped a pic over her protests, and sent it to all of the bridesmaids with the caption, “Said yes to the dress, now what are you gonna wear?” It was a strapless mermaid gown with intricate beadwork on the bodice and hips. Please tell me you told her it was okay because she could wear a mermaid dress in ten years when she gets married for real?
My mom would have murdered me with her binder.