Finally （and I HATE to bring this up）， I’d like to remind you that not everyone has paid yet. The total cost for the bachelorette weekend has increased to $3,000 each for those of us who are going, unless, like Lily, you’ve chosen to make other arrangements.
Ta ta for now!
—Caroline
I rubbed the base of my neck where it met my shoulders. Who was this crazy person? Admittedly, I felt mildly better now that she was roasting Olivia, but I felt for Dana after our conversation in the parking garage. Did Caroline actually have friends? Or just people who were too terrified of her to speak up?
But unfortunately, she had left a detail out, and it was one that I needed to know. I waited a half hour, hoping someone else would ask the question, but when no one did I finally wrote to her, being sure to reply all.
Sounds like you’ve got everything under control! But what time is the shower?
Thanks!
—Lily
She shot back an immediate answer saying only 3:00 PM. I entered it in my calendar, noting that the rest of that weekend was blissfully wide open, although I was sure that would change. And with the wedding in Mexico the following weekend, I wouldn’t have much of a reprieve before the next round of chaos.
Not that I’d had anything that felt even mildly like a break since the engagements began, anyway. Trying to juggle the details of all five weddings was exhausting and would have destroyed any social life I had—if I still had the money or friends to have one. And the blog, while therapeutic, also took more time and energy than I expected, especially as I got better at it. Building an audience meant responding to comments and pingbacks, finding other bloggers to network with, and posting links to it anonymously in places where I felt confident my brides wouldn’t be looking. The writing part was great. The rest was tedious, especially between work and weddings. But every time I got a new follower or comment, it felt a little more worth it.
And at least Megan’s was the only shower at which I was expected to do a significant amount of the planning, and the only other bridesmaid with strong opinions was Claire, Tim’s sister. Early in the process, she volunteered to host the shower at her house, which, while far away from Megan’s new home in Columbia, looked nice, if bland, from the pictures Claire sent. And certainly cheaper than renting a venue, so I agreed.
Unfortunately, that meant she thought she was in charge. The day after Caroline’s missive, I found myself driving out to Potomac to meet with Claire and the rest of the bridesmaids for a “planning sesh.”
Claire’s au pair opened the door to her McMansion. “Welcome,” Claire said expansively, coming into the foyer from a room in the back of the house. “The rest of the girls are already here, of course.”
I glanced discreetly at my wrist. I was literally two minutes late. This was a punctuality miracle for me and someone should be putting a medal around my neck, not passive-aggressively telling me I was late.
She escorted me to the living room, the long way, I realized, as we passed through every other room on the first floor to get there.
Jennifer, Kelly, and Julie were sitting together on one sofa, Chrissy was on the loveseat, and an older woman I had never seen before was in one of the two armchairs. Claire immediately arranged herself in the second armchair, which felt rude, as I was still standing, but she clearly wanted that particular chair—it was higher than the rest and arranged so it was facing the group. I said hello and then took the remaining seat next to Chrissy.
“As I was telling the other girls,” she said, expressly to me, “I asked Donna to be here today. Donna is the premier party planner in the DC area.”
I was ninety percent sure that wasn’t true, or else Caryn and her cronies would be using her, plus her Louis Vuitton Neverfull bag, sitting next to her on the floor, would be real if that were the case—and it wasn’t. Donna smiled graciously and nodded.
“The shower will be outside, of course,” Claire said. “We’ll open the pool early. Not that anyone will swim, but it’s just so much more festive when there’s a pool.”
“Do we have a backup plan?” I asked. Claire looked at me in annoyance. “The weather is so iffy in the spring. It could be ninety-four degrees or forty and raining.”
“We’ll have a tent,” Donna said reassuringly.
“A tent isn’t much help if it’s freezing out.”
Claire opened her mouth to speak, but Donna responded first. “If the forecast is bad, I’ll rent space heaters.”