“I’m just glad it’s not just me.”
“It’s not. She’s the actual worst person on the planet.” Her eyes widened. “Don’t tell anyone I said that.”
“Your secret is safe with me.” Her shoulders loosened slightly, and we stood in an awkward silence until she said she needed to get home and unlocked the nearby white Mercedes.
“I’ll see you around.”
Dana grinned sympathetically. “Hang in there.”
“You too.” I climbed into my much cheaper car and looked at my reflection in the rearview mirror. I can do this, I thought. Then I saw a long, gray hair, standing out among the rest of my dark strands. I named it Caroline as I clenched my teeth and yanked it out. Did she cause it? Probably not. But damn it.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I called Megan on my way to the bar where Becca was celebrating her birthday that night to tell her about Caroline’s tirade against my perceived physical flaws.
“What a piece of work!”
“I know.”
“Just seven more months and you’ll never have to deal with her again. And it’s really just the shower, the bachelorette party, and then the wedding itself. And there’s no way people like that actually let you do any planning for the shower and bachelorette, so it’ll be minimal contact.”
“Great. Seven months is enough time to drop thirty pounds so I can look like they want me to.”
“Are you going to do that?”
“If you’re trying to tell me I have to lose weight to be in your wedding, we’re not best friends anymore.”
“You’re perfect just as you are,” she said. “Although . . . you said you’d try a minimizing bra for Caryn’s?”
I took a minute before I responded. “You’re not serious.”
“No. I mean. I don’t know. Maybe. If you’re going to buy it anyway.”
“Megs.”
“I just—your boobs are really big. And it’s going to be in a church and all.”
“Are you saying my boobs are too big for God?”
“No. It’s fine. We’ll just make sure they’re covered up in your dress.”
I said okay and told her I needed to go into the bar.
“You’re not mad at me, are you?”
“No. It’s just been a long day.” A long couple of months, actually.
“Okay. I’m sorry. I love you. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
“We’ll talk tomorrow,” I agreed and hung up.
What. The. Fuck?
I showed my ID to the bouncer, which felt superfluous. No one was going to confuse me for a teenager anymore. And the underage crowd didn’t exactly do wine bars. But whatever.
“You made it!” Becca threw her arms around me. She had gone to dinner first with some friends, but I’d had to text her from dress shopping that I wouldn’t make it to that part. “Did you get your dress?”
“Happy birthday! And oh God, don’t ask.”
“What happened?”
I gave her the short version. “Are my boobs that offensive?”
“Your boobs are awesome. They’re all just jealous!”
That made some amount of sense. Megan admitted freely to being jealous of my cleavage. I was jealous of her butt. It was a tradeoff.
“No bride wants everyone staring at another girl on her wedding day.”
“I guess. Today sucked though.”
“Grab a drink. You’ll feel better!”
I took her advice and wound up talking to Lisa, one of Becca’s coworkers whom I had always liked. Becca wandered over and plopped down on the couch next to me. “You’re still talking about the dress shopping?”
“Sorry. I’m being insanely boring, aren’t I? I’ll drink more and be entertaining.”
Becca and Lisa laughed. “You’re not boring,” Lisa said.
“I keep saying her life should be a reality TV show. Did she tell you about the groomsman?”
Lisa nodded. “I’d watch.”
I opened my mouth, about to tell her she could follow my exploits on my blog, then stopped myself. One glass of wine and I was about to blow my cover already? No, bad plan. I didn’t know this woman. Instead I excused myself and got up to get another glass of wine. I checked my phone while I waited for the bartender to bring it. Amy had texted me six pictures of bridesmaid dresses. All of them were short and tight. At least she wouldn’t have an issue with my boobs—she had a matching pair.