For the Love of Friends(62)

I hadn’t seen Megan in a couple of months. Yes, I had been busy with wedding stuff pretty often, but she hadn’t invited me to her house since January. She was building a whole new life, and I wasn’t in it.

“Start over. What happened?”

I gave her the short version, not wanting to keep her from her new friends and also worried she would just cut me off if I spent too long explaining.

“You have to tell her.”

“But Caroline already showed her this fake email.”

“So? She needs to know.”

“She’s not going to believe me.”

“Then is she really your friend in the first place?”

Are you anymore? I wanted to ask. Because I still need you and you’re never there.

“Look,” she continued. “If someone was doing that in my wedding, I would want to know.”

“Yeah.”

“I know that ‘yeah.’ You’re not going to tell her, are you?”

“It’s not going to help. She’s already mad at me for not going to the bachelorette party and not paying my share.”

“Then she’s being unreasonable. You have your brother’s wedding that weekend. And no one spends that kind of money on a trip they’re not even going on.”

“I think she’s going to kick me out of her wedding. Caroline hinted at it.”

“Is that such a terrible thing? Be honest.”

“It’d be so awkward at work.”

“Yeah, for her. She’s got to see you every day if she does that, not the other way around. You’ve got this.”

“Thanks, Megs.”

“Listen, I’ve got to go back in. Call me later, okay?”

I said I would, but we both knew that I wouldn’t because we were done talking for the day. Which wasn’t how it used to be, but Megan had a new life now. And I didn’t.





CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN


I sat down at my computer when I got home, but the words wouldn’t come. I needed to know how it turned out first. And as much of a relief as it might be to not be in the wedding anymore, especially with a keratin treatment and fake eyelashes still on the docket of things that I had to sit through (and pay for), I wasn’t ready to write Caryn off as a friend.

However awful she had been these past months, it didn’t cancel out the seven previous years of friendship. She had kept me sane at work when I was bored silly by the content of the press releases. Touched up my hair and makeup when I went on television. Helped me prepare for interviews with the press by going over questions they were likely to ask. Commiserated when I had to deal with scientists who lacked even basic social skills. If our friendship was the sum of its parts, yes, her behavior since gaining that diamond on her left hand had detracted from the overall equation, but we were still very much in the positive column.

I bit the inside of my lip and called her. When she didn’t answer, I left a voicemail saying that I was so sorry and to please call me.

She didn’t.



When I woke up Monday morning and saw I had neither a call nor a text from her, I felt a twinge of annoyance. What if I had been in a car accident and was lying in a hospital bed and that was why I had missed her shower? She really wasn’t going to call me back to find out what happened?

By the time I got on the Metro, that annoyance had morphed into dread. She was really mad if she didn’t even care if I was dying in a hospital bed. And I didn’t know what to do—should I tell her what Caroline did and risk her not believing me? Or just act like, Oh no! Ditzy Lily screwed something up again! Please don’t hate me?

Maybe I should just quit instead of facing her again. No, I wasn’t making real money off the blog, but there had to be some other writing job that would pay the bills. I didn’t like my job anyway, I rationalized to myself. So maybe if I just didn’t go back, I could find something that I actually enjoyed doing and it wouldn’t have to be about never seeing her again.

Just get there, I told myself. Take your cues from her.

Morning, Alex texted me just before I got to Starbucks. When he asked about the shower the previous night, I hadn’t gone into detail. Just said Caroline was a nightmare and left it at that. So he didn’t know I was a wreck today.

Hey.

Left you something at Starbucks. You seemed a little down last night.

How did he know that from a couple of texts? You’re the best.

I know.

I cut the line and waved to Taylor, who pointed toward the pickup counter. The weather had flip-flopped back to cold after the previous day’s sunshine and warmth, so it was a hot coffee, not iced. Seven more weeks and you’ll be done with weddings. You’ve got this! —A was scrawled on the sleeve.

Bolstered by the knowledge that one person was still there for me, I steeled myself to see Caryn and walked the remaining three blocks to the foundation.

She looked up, annoyed, when I came into her office. Not that her eyebrows actually rose anymore, but she looked at me expectantly nonetheless.

“Caryn, I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah. You said that in your voicemail.”

“I—”

“You could have at least told me you weren’t coming. When you realized you screwed up.”

“I didn’t realize I screwed up until I got there at two thirty—”