For the Love of Friends(20)
“You’ve got this,” Becca said reassuringly as I sat in my car outside Megan’s new house. “And if it gets awkward, text me and I’ll call you with an emergency.”
I thanked her and begged her to keep her phone handy, which she promised to do. “Give me an update even if it’s not awkward,” she said. “And worst-case scenario, you have material for your blog!”
I laughed and hung up. So far, I had made eighty-seven cents off the blog. Not exactly a runaway success, but I only had three posts. I was afraid to post it on the WeddingWire or Weddingbee forums, even though that would generate readers, because one of the brides might see it, so my only hits so far came from Google searches.
But I hadn’t written a post detailing the groomsman situation yet, so Becca was right. I could potentially get a juicy post out of this. I still hoped it would go smoothly instead though.
Before leaving the car, I typed help into a text message to her, but didn’t hit send. A good offense is the best defense and all. Thus armed against future humiliation, I took a deep breath, grabbed the bottle of wine I had brought as a de facto housewarming gift just in case other people did bring them, checked the address one more time against the number on the curb, and walked up to the front door.
“I love your dress!” Megan said, hugging me in greeting. “Is it new?”
“Borrowed. But neither new nor blue.”
“Come in, come in! Let me give you a quick tour!” She took the wine from me with a quick “You shouldn’t have,” and led me on a whirlwind tour of the house.
The doorbell rang as we were heading back down from a glimpse of the upstairs and Megan shooed me toward the kitchen, where the island was made up as a bar. “Plenty of gin and olives. Make yourself a martini.”
I will not get drunk, I told myself. No matter how much easier it would make things, I will not get drunk. A glimpse around the living room showed two of the groomsmen playing a video game with Tim, while another perused the bookshelves and a fourth told a story to two of the other bridesmaids. I threw them a half-hearted wave as I crossed through the dining room, where more people were helping themselves to the platters of appetizers. I passed Megan’s parents and spoke to them for a few minutes, hoping desperately that I hadn’t done anything too embarrassing in front of them at the engagement party. They greeted me as warmly as ever, and, relieved, I excused myself to get a drink. One is fine, I rationalized.
A handful of people were seated at the kitchen table, more gathered by the back porch door off the kitchen, and two more at the bar area. I stiffened as a man behind the island looked up at me and smiled with obvious recognition. “Lily!” he said, coming around to kiss me on the cheek.
“Mark,” I said, mentally thanking Megan for putting those pictures on her website. He was the best man.
“What are you drinking? White wine?”
I grimaced faintly. “No, thank you. I had enough of that the last time I saw you.” Mark laughed. I grabbed the gin. “Martinis are more my style anyway.” Mark reached for the shaker and the vermouth. “I can do it,” I protested.
“Nah, I make a mean one. How do you take it?”
“Dirty,” a voice behind me said. “Lily likes everything dirty.” I whirled around and saw the last of the six groomsmen, Justin, grinning lasciviously at me. I hadn’t needed his picture to know his name. Justin had been creepily hitting on me since I met him a year earlier at Megan’s birthday party.
Empirically, Justin was attractive. He had green eyes and a nice, even smile. And he was tall—at five foot nine myself, tall was always a plus. His personality, however, quickly sapped the appeal of his physical characteristics. Especially since he tried to stick his tongue down my throat within about six minutes of meeting him. Nope. Hard pass.
Please let it be anyone but him, I thought desperately. But my stomach dropped as an image of his arm around me as I stumbled outside at the engagement party so he could smoke a cigarette came crashing back. I didn’t remember kissing him, but I could picture his head leaning in toward mine. Not irrefutable evidence, but combined with the dirty comment, this was probably my guy. Ugh, Lily, why?
Mark laughed. “So you’re the reason Megan has like seventeen jars of olives here. Makes sense now.”
Deep breath. I can have one drink an hour and be fine. Or two drinks now and none later. And then I can handle this.
“What can I say? I like olives.” I laughed nervously, turning back to Mark as he began mixing my drink. “Careful,” I warned him, faking a level of gaiety I certainly didn’t feel. “If it’s not good, you don’t get a tip!” They both laughed. I can do this. Just act like a normal human being who hasn’t slept with anyone here.
He poured the drink and speared three olives to put in it before handing it to me. I took a sip and smiled. “I’ll put a dollar in the jar. Thanks!”
“Anything for the maid of honor,” he replied.
Why couldn’t I have slept with that one? I asked myself. Yes, he’s nerdy, but he’s sweet at least.
I turned around and Justin leaned against the island, his hip touching mine. Nope, I thought, scanning the room, looking for salvation. Megan called my name from the living room.
“Duty calls,” I said without a backward glance and catapulted myself at Megan. “What’s up, Megs?”