“Send me a picture if you do?”
“I’ll try. Most of the high-end salons won’t let you take pictures of their gowns.”
I said my goodbyes to the blondes and made my escape. When I got to my car, I turned the air conditioner up all the way and took a deep breath before I put it into reverse. That was more intense than I expected. Are all the weddings going to be like this?
I took quick stock of the five brides. Madison was the only wild card. I had no idea what her friends would be like because I didn’t really know what she was like. When it came to my sister, I knew all of the bridesmaids. Did I like them? Absolutely not. But I could be honest with Amy at least. Megan might as well have been my sister—except one I actually wanted to spend time with. And Sharon didn’t even want a wedding. I doubted her mother would allow us to go dress shopping—outside opinions might spoil her vision.
So this should be as bad as it got. And Caryn was fine. She didn’t even mind that I bailed early. Her friends were intimidating, but Caroline seemed like the only one with a real mean streak. Yes, they were all Stepford robots, but the rest of them didn’t rub it in that they were supermodel skinny with rich husbands and an innate understanding of all things wedding.
I even felt a little bad for being so judgmental about them as I waited in line at Five Guys. Whether she liked them all the time or not, they were Caryn’s friends and had been for a really long time. There had to be some redeeming qualities that I just hadn’t seen—probably because I was too hangry to look. Maybe I’d even learn to like them by June. No, they wouldn’t eat a cheeseburger with extra pickles and an order of fries in the car on their way home today. But I also refused to feel shame for eating solid food. I saw the look on Dana’s face when I suggested lunch. Diamonds may be a girl’s best friend, but those Five Guys Cajun fries are a pretty close second.
CHAPTER SIX
Once I had food in my belly, though, I felt guilty. Not about the food—it was worth every bite. But Caryn had told me her friends were awful, and instead of being the honest voice of reason, I had sided with them when they didn’t like a really spectacular and different dress. I wondered if Caryn actually hadn’t loved the simple one or if she was responding to the immediate rejection from the wicked bridesmaids of the west.
Did you find anything you liked? I texted her that night. The three dots appeared to tell me she was typing, then disappeared. They reappeared, then disappeared again. You okay? I asked after that happened the fourth time.
My phone rang, with her name and picture on the screen.
“What’s up?” The sound that greeted me was familiar—but not from Caryn. I had never seen her cry, not even when her last boyfriend broke up with her on the night she had thought he was going to propose. “Hey. What happened?”
It was another minute before she was composed enough to talk. “I hate wedding dresses,” she said finally.
“But you love wedding dresses. What happened after I left?”
“I’m fat. And I hate my friends. And Olivia told me my mom was really hurt that I didn’t bring her today, but I asked her if she wanted to come and she said she was busy.”
I wanted to slap all four of those girls, and I wanted to slap myself even harder for catering to their opinions. “Caryn, you are gorgeous. And if your friends are trying to make you feel bad about how you look, they’re not your friends, they’re jealous assholes.” She sniffled. “But seriously, though, why are they in the wedding if you don’t like them?”
“It’s complicated. If they aren’t, then they won’t speak to me anymore.”
“Would that be so bad?”
“If Greg wasn’t Caroline’s brother, maybe not. But—” She stopped talking.
“But?” I asked gently.
She didn’t respond for long enough that I checked to make sure I hadn’t dropped the call. Then she sighed. “I’ve never told anyone this.”
I waited.
“You know how my dad died when I was twelve.” I did. Her mom had remarried a man who had more money than he knew what to do with about six years ago, which Caryn had exceptionally mixed feelings about. “Well, he didn’t have life insurance. And he left us in a lot of debt. My mom—she—she still wanted us to fit in at school. And still go to the private school. So we faked it. A lot.”
I wasn’t sure where she was going with this. Who cared if she didn’t have as much money as people thought? I didn’t grow up rich and turned out fine. But she clearly expected a response, so I murmured, “Okay.”