Okay, maybe not the birds.
But I did sleep in and drink a cup of coffee out on the balcony, the first time it had been nice enough to do that all year. In the DC area, you tend to get about three days of true spring between winter, second winter, fake summer, monsoon season, third winter, and then swampy summer. And because it was shaping up to be one of the few true spring days, I used my free time to go for a run.
By the time I had eaten a light lunch and cleaned myself up, I felt ready to conquer the bridal shower, wicked bridesmaids of the west and all. I put on my first-ever piece of Lilly Pulitzer clothing （okay, so it was bought secondhand off Poshmark and was a few years old, but I couldn’t afford a new one and this was the only time I would ever actually wear it） and a pair of wedges and set off for the country club with my professionally wrapped gift in tow. I was even early—I knew Caroline was lying about not needing help setting up.
I gave my hair a last brush and touched up my lipstick before I handed the valet my keys and walked confidently inside.
A quick check of my watch told me it was two thirty, but there was already a sign in the lobby pointing to the Donaldson-Greene Bridal Shower. Perfect, I thought, bypassing the front desk.
The gift blocked much of my view. I had gone with a registry vase that was just barely out of my price range, and the box was enormous, especially festooned with the multiple bows and spiraling ribbons that belied a talent far beyond my wrapping abilities.
I pushed through the glass-paneled door into the room where the shower would be held and stopped cold.
Busboys buzzed around the room, piling half-empty glasses and plates into bins, throwing away discarded napkins and wrapping paper, and pulling down decorations.
Setting the gift down, I checked my watch. Then I pulled out my phone and checked the time against that. Both read the same: 2:32.
They must be cleaning up from an earlier shower, I thought. I’m still early.
But there were bags of personalized cookies on the table closest to me, and I could see, even from the doorway, that they said “Caryn” against a pale-green background for a play on her new last name.
I felt sick.
How could I have messed this up? I did literally nothing all day and actually bought a dress to fit in. I knew that missing the bachelorette weekend upset Caryn, so it was incredibly important to me that I not make waves for her shower. Hot tears pricked at my eyes as I picked up the present and left the room. In the hall, I set it down again and pulled my phone back out, searching my emails for the one from Caroline that said the time.
I found it—3:00 p.m. I reread it, noticing suddenly that it had gone only to me, not to all of the other bridesmaids. And I realized, with a sense of foreboding, that that omission wasn’t because the other bridesmaids already knew the time.
She didn’t want them to see that she had just deliberately told me the wrong time.
My hands started shaking as I considered the implications of what she had done. Caryn was never going to forgive me. Which, okay, if she knew what I had been saying about her on the internet, I could understand, but she didn’t. Caroline did this to me entirely because she didn’t like me and knew she could get away with it. There was no way she would own it, even if I told Caryn everything.
“You’re late,” a coolly amused voice said. I looked up to see Caroline smirking. “Caryn was upset.”
My fists balled involuntarily. “How could you do that? Like, I expect you to do that kind of thing to me, but how could you do that to her?”
“I don’t know what you mean.” She brushed past me to go into the party room, but I grabbed her arm. “Take your hand off me!”
I dropped her arm. “I have the email! You told me it was at three!”
“Interesting. I have an email too, telling you it was at twelve.” She looked me up and down. “How old is that dress anyway?”
“I’m showing her the email. I’m not letting you get away with this.”
She shrugged. “I already showed her the one telling you the time. With all of your email addresses on it.”
“What does that even mean? You faked an email to make me look bad? Don’t you have anything else going on in your life?”
She colored slightly. “Oh, you are not even a thought in my mind. I just didn’t want you showing up in your yard-sale dress and ruining Caryn’s day. She doesn’t need you. She has me. And we’re going to be family now. You’re nothing.”
I just looked at her, too angry to speak. Finally, voice shaking, I said, “This isn’t over.”