I was also getting the distinct feeling that every time I spoke, they were just waiting to transition the conversation back to their impending nuptials. There were suddenly too many “oh, speaking of [insert literally anything I said that had nothing to do with weddings here]” segues back into bridal talk for me to feel like they were actually listening.
Even Becca, who had always been ready to drop everything to grab a drink, get a pedicure, or binge-watch the latest show with me, had moved on. That date with Will had quickly been followed by second, third, and thirty-seventh dates. At the speed they were going, they were likely to have kids any day now.
Alex and I had been hanging out a decent amount, and the fact that none of my normal crew were available was good for my bank account. Caryn was always talking me into the clothes I didn’t need, Megan into the restaurants I couldn’t afford, and Becca into the carryout more nights than we should.
And it wasn’t like the blog was earning me any real money yet. Dress shopping may have been over, but Caryn’s ridiculous email missives (and the follow-ups from Caroline and her minions) had continued to provide excellent fodder. As had my mother and sister’s running discussion about every wedding decision, which they felt the inexplicable need to conduct through three-way calls and group chats with me. But growing an audience was a slow process, and I was only making a few dollars per post so far.
Then again, this latest email was so out of the realm of realistic that my readers might think I was just making things up. I wondered if Caryn had always been this nuts and I somehow just hadn’t seen it.
“Knock, knock,” Caryn said, pushing the door open.
My eyes went to the notifications on my computer screen. Eighteen replies. I blinked heavily. “Hey.”
“Everything okay? I didn’t hear from you.”
“Yeah, was just on a phone call.” Unlike the rest of your bridesmaids, I work, I wanted to tell her. A thought dawned on me. “Are you still going to work after you get married?”
She looked taken aback. “I—well—at first, yes.”
“At first?”
“Well, not when I have kids, of course.”
My mother worked up until last year, when the last of her children finished college and she finally retired. My father would happily work until he was a hundred and twenty, if he lived that long, both because he loved his job and because he wouldn’t last long without an excuse to leave the house. So the idea of becoming a stay-at-home mom, especially one who would probably also have a nanny, was foreign to me.
“Are you planning on kids soon?”
“Well not immediately. But probably in a year or so. I’m not getting any younger and egg quality deteriorates after thirty-five.”
Was I a terrible person for debating how worthwhile it was to stay in her wedding? When we would only work together for another year or two at most? And apparently have nothing in common by then?
She shook her head. “Why do you ask, anyway?”
I tried to banish the disloyal thoughts. “No reason. Just curious.”
“So, dates are okay?”
“Yeah, should be fine,” I said absently. Then I thought about it. “Wait. Bachelorette might be a problem, depending on the weekend.”
Her eyebrows didn’t move, something I hadn’t really realized before, but her eyes narrowed slightly. “Why?”
“My brother’s wedding in Mexico is the second weekend in May.” I grimaced. “Actually, the shower could be an issue too. It depends on when my brother’s and sister’s showers and bachelorette parties are.”
“Well, if they haven’t planned them yet, doesn’t mine take priority?”
I set my jaw. “Imagine if it were Olivia’s wedding versus mine. You have to go to the family events.”
“But you’re not getting married.”
“I didn’t mean that literally. I might be flying to Chicago with my mom and sister for my sister-in-law’s shower, and I have to be at the events for my sister.”
“But I asked you to be a bridesmaid first.”
I mentally contrasted the reactions of Caryn and Megan, who would have said family absolutely came first (after saying that there was still a zero percent chance of Amy actually getting married).
But it wasn’t worth fighting this fight when I didn’t even know if there was a conflict yet. “Hopefully it’ll all be fine.”
She seemed mildly placated by that. “You’ll need to work with the other girls to figure out shower and bachelorette. Don’t let Caroline shut you out. She did that to a girl in Deanna’s wedding and it wasn’t pretty.”
“Got it.” I turned back to my computer screen, preparing to read the now twenty-two emails.
She started to say something else, but stopped herself and walked out. I breathed a sigh of relief. Where had my friend gone, and who was this psycho walking around in her skin?
The first several emails were benign enough, but then, of course, Caroline responded.
Do you have a requirement on eyelash length? And what about hair color? I was planning to get my balayage refreshed the week before the wedding, so I need to know what color you want us to have.
And then, even more ridiculously, Caryn had replied, with actual numbers of how thick the lashes should be and how long.
Was this for real?
But the last several of the messages were a different thread, started by Olivia, which didn’t include Caryn. The subject was Vegas or New Orleans?
With an ever-growing sense of trepidation, I opened Olivia’s original email.
And now it’s our turn. Girls, we need to plan the most epic, be-all, end-all bachelorette party for Caryn! I know she said small, but come on, we all know that’s not what she wants. So the question is, Vegas or New Orleans?
Vegas, Deanna replied. It’s the classic bachelorette party locale.
What about Paris? Mia asked. That way we don’t have to deal with all of the trashy people.
New Orleans is the perfect compromise, Caroline said, giving what was apparently the final word. My sister-in-law owns a travel agency. We’ll go down May 10–13. I’ll arrange everything. And I’ll book my club for the shower on May 5.
Jake and Madison’s wedding was May 11. On the one hand, great. I didn’t have the money for a trip to New Orleans, especially not on the scale they were going to want to do it, and I definitely didn’t have any desire to go on a trip with them.
But should I ask if there was an alternate weekend or just say, “Oh no, so sorry, have fun”?
There was also the issue that Caryn had just told me not to let them steamroll me, and she said she wanted a simple bachelorette party, which a three-day binge in New Orleans was not.
While I debated what to do, another email pinged in from Caroline.
With airfare, if we do two to a room at the Ritz, it’ll work out to about $1800 a person for the trip, not including spa days and all that. But we’ll cover Caryn, of course, so it’s actually $2200 a person and then incidentals, so plan on about $3000 total, but you’ll only owe me $2200.
Three thousand dollars for three nights in New Orleans? Was that a thing? And the Ritz? She was kidding, right?
I called Megan back and hissed an outline of the latest emails to her. “Must be nice,” she said.
“Nice? To ask your friends to spend three grand each on your bachelorette party?”
“Nice to be able to afford to do that.”
I had assumed we would do a night of barhopping for Megan’s bachelorette party. Did she want something bigger? And dear God, what if they all did?
“Do you want to do a trip for yours?” I asked quietly.
“I mean, I’d love it. But it’s too much money. So no.”
Another email pinged in and I told Megan I had to go, feeling like the world’s worst friend. I wasn’t spending three thousand dollars on a bender for Caryn, but I wished I had the money to do it for Megan, if that was what she wanted.
The latest email was also from Caroline. Renting the party room at her club, with catering, would run approximately a thousand dollars each, depending on how big the guest list was.
I pushed my chair back and went to Caryn’s office in a panic.
“What’s up?” she asked, looking at my wild-eyed face. “Are you okay?”
I sat down shakily in the chair across from her. “I—I’m sorry. I can’t be in your wedding.”