“No, no, it’s fine,” Becca said.
“He’s a lawyer.”
“In that case, make it a bottle.”
Alex laughed. “For the birthday girl? You’ve got it.”
“Where’d you meet her?” I asked, gesturing toward the door after Becca had left with her new glass of wine. Alex and I had both taken seats at the bar.
“At Starbucks. I wrote her a note on a cup of coffee.”
“For real?”
“No. Are you always this gullible?”
I elbowed him. “Yes. I was born yesterday.”
“Promise not to judge?”
“Absolutely not. Judging is what I do.”
“I thought you did PR.”
“For a living? Yes. But my true passion is judging others.”
“I’ll consider myself warned. It was a Tinder date.” I cringed. “I know, I know.”
“Megan said you’re newly back on the dating scene.”
“Asked about me, huh?”
I rolled my eyes. “She told me you asked Tim about me first.”
“Maybe I did.”
I put my glass of wine down. I was getting flirty and that meant it was time to stop drinking. I was not letting wine lead me into the same pit with a second groomsman just because I’d had a rough day.
Evidently he felt the same way, because he also set his glass down. We sat in silence for a minute. “What’s the latest update on all the weddings?”
I put my head in my hands and groaned. “We’re at the bridesmaid dress shopping stage. It’s the worst.”
“Why?”
“Horrible bridesmaids and body shaming.”
He looked over at me. “At the risk of getting slapped for being out of line, what could they shame you about? Unless you were the one doing the shaming?”
I laughed. “Me? No. Although that would have been a great twist. When the one who thinks she’s in charge of the world told me to get a minimizing bra and a pair of Spanx, I should have looked her up and down and told her to get a boob job and eat a cheeseburger.”
“What’s a minimizing bra? Is that what you spent all that money on?”
“God no. It’s what it sounds like—it makes your boobs look smaller.”
“That’s a thing? How long was I out of commission for dating? What year is it? I want to go back to 1985!”
“Calm down, Marty McFly.” I found myself smiling despite my day. “How long were you out of commission?”
“Married three years. With her for eight.”
I raised my eyebrows. “That’s a really long time.”
“Too long, it turned out.” He picked his glass back up and took a drink. We sat in silence a moment longer. “How about you? Why are you single?”
“I get married once a year and then kill the guy and drink his blood to stay young.”
“Sounds about right.”
I hated that question. And I’d had quite enough experience with it to be a pro at dodging it. But he didn’t push, which, oddly, made me want to answer. Well, sort of answer.
“I don’t know. I guess I just haven’t met the right person. I don’t think there’s one soul mate out there. But I haven’t found anyone who I’ve been like, hey, let me spend my life with you. And I’m really good at sabotaging things that aren’t quite right.”
“Instead of settling when they aren’t. Good for you. You should sabotage it spectacularly when it’s not right. Don’t settle. Settling is bad.”
“Remind me not to play Oregon Trail with you.”
He laughed heartily. “Oh we are going back to 1985, apparently.”
I clinked my glass to his. “To Doc Brown, wherever—and whenever—he may be.”
Becca appeared at my side. “We’re heading to Scotch,” she said, naming another bar. “Do you want to stay longer?”
I did. Which meant I shouldn’t. “No. I’m coming.” I looked at Alex. “It was nice running into you. Again.”
“Can I see you again?”
Yes. Say yes. “At this rate? I think that’s unavoidable.” I flashed him a smile and got up to leave. “See you around.” I didn’t turn around, but I could feel him watching me walk away.
“Smooth,” Becca said as we walked out. “Teach me your ways.”
“Just trying to be good. He’s off-limits.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Amy called me at seven Sunday morning. And again two minutes later. Then three more times, until I finally answered. “What?” I asked gruffly. I had stayed out with Becca until shortly after one in the morning, when I declared defeat and went home, drunkenly mad at myself for not getting Alex’s number before I left the bar. But six hours and an empty bed later, I was very glad I didn’t have it.
“Did you make an appointment for today?”
“Was I supposed to?”
“Yes, it’s for your dress.”
I rubbed my eyes and came away with black fingers; apparently I hadn’t taken my makeup off when I fell into bed. “You didn’t tell me you hadn’t made an appointment.”
“Isn’t that your job? You’re the bridesmaid.”
“Technically, it’s your job. If you’re going to delegate things to me, you have to tell me what you need me to do.”
“Well, I haven’t done any of this before and you’re in like a million weddings, so I figured you knew what you were doing.”
I sighed heavily, lacking the energy to fight with her. “Which salon are you trying to go to?” By then, I knew them all. She named a fairly low-key one with a relatively less snooty staff. “I’ll call as soon as they open and see if they can squeeze us in. If they can’t, I’ll take the next available appointment.”
“Just not on a Saturday morning. Ashlee and I started doing kickboxing. And not Mondays. Or Tuesdays. Actually, just make sure it’s a Sunday. And soon.”
“Why can’t Ashlee do any of this if she’s your maid of honor?”
“Ashlee works a real job.”
I gritted my teeth. “I work a real job, Amy.”
“Ashlee is in finance, not some fluffy PR thing.”
“I’m hanging up now.”
“Okay, let me know what happens when you call the shop.”
I googled the store to find out what time it opened, then set my alarm for three hours later and went back to sleep. Amy was the absolute worst and I had no idea why Tyler wanted such a mess for a wife.
The bridal salon agreed to squeeze us in that afternoon because we were only doing bridesmaid dresses and I mentioned that another wedding I was in had an appointment the following week. My mother, Amy, and Ashlee arrived unapologetically ten minutes later than I told them to.
Amy was unnaturally bronzed for November. “Did you go to a tanning salon?”
“God no,” she said, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “That makes you look so old.”
I never went tanning and could have been a stand-in if they made a new Casper movie, but it still felt like an attempted zing. “Where’d the tan come from then? Spray?”
“Nah, Tyler and I went to Mexico last weekend. Didn’t you see my Insta stories?”
I didn’t tell her that I deliberately never watch her Instagram stories. It isn’t that I am completely uninterested in her life—although I kind of am—it is more that I can’t deal with the Boomerang everything and the excessive stickering, GIFs, and random videos detailing every vapid thing she does. It is like a constant vlog of her everyday life instead of a highlight reel and is exhausting on every level.
“Must have missed it. Why’d you go to Mexico?”
“Mom didn’t tell you?”
My mother was across the store already, stacking bridesmaid dresses across her arm while a saleslady hovered anxiously, offering to put them in a room for us. I tended to stop listening when she talked about Amy because it was all wedding talk now, but I didn’t remember hearing anything about Mexico.
“No.”
“Oh. Jake and Madison wanted us to come see the resort they booked for their wedding.”
Jake had texted me a picture the previous weekend of a tropical pool surrounded by palm trees, with the caption “wedding destination” and a check mark. But I hadn’t realized Amy and Tyler were invited on the trip.
“I didn’t know you guys were that close.”
“Jake figured it would be some good bonding time so I could get to know Madison better and he could get to know Tyler.”
“Did anyone think to invite me?”