At this point, I don’t care if the whole bloody country’s in lockdown and I might not be able to hang out with anybody again for a couple of months. This past week has been more than enough socializing to see me through the next year.
*
I see them all to the main door of the building, one at a time.
Lucy is the first to leave—the most organized, her bags are packed first, and though she offers to stay after the others are gone to help me clean up, I tell her not to be silly and to get herself off home.
Neither of us are big huggers, but we stand outside the building awkwardly, smiling at each other, before she clicks her tongue and sighs, smiling, stepping forward to give me a light, one-armed hug, which I return.
“Thanks so much for the last week,” she says, for the billionth time.
“I really appreciate it. I know I wouldn’t have been able to handle it if it was the other way around. It’s been really nice, though.”
“Apart from the whole fight and Kim losing her shit?”
Lucy laughs, biting her lip, as if to try to stop herself. “Yeah. Yeah, apart from that.”
“Well—drive safe.”
We do the awkward dithering thing again, but don’t hug this time.
Once was plenty. She turns back once she’s halfway down the path toward the car park to give me another smile and a little wave, which I take as my cue to go back inside.
Jeremy shows up not long after, so I walk Kim down to where he’s idling along the side of the road. He jumps out, all but running to hug and kiss Kim hello. It’s sweet, how much he’s obviously missed her.
Sweet, but I still clear my throat to interrupt them, gesturing as best I can with my stack of boxes of wedding favors. “Not to interrupt the reunion, but you think you could open the boot?”
He does, blushing, and starts taking boxes off me to load into the car.
I tell him he owes me one, for suggesting it’d be a good thing to postpone the wedding, and feeding into Kim’s insecurities and our whole argument. Jeremy looks abashed, but I can’t stay mad at him.
He’s a total sweetheart.
Once we’ve stacked the last box in the car, Kim gives me a warm, tight, and sudden hug. “Ooh, thanks for this week, Liv. You’re the best. And I’m still really sorry about . . . er . . . ”
“Water under the bridge,” I tell her.
“Please,” she deadpans, giving me a serious look and clasping my hands, “never let me forget it. Next time I start acting like a bridezilla, bring it up. Never let me do that again.”
I laugh. “Code word: lockdown.”
“I love it.”
It almost seems worth it now: Kim has totally mellowed out (at least for the foreseeable future) about the state of her wedding. She was even the one who grabbed some of the petals from the wedding favors to throw off the balcony when Charlotte showed up to respond to her boyfriend’s online proposal yesterday. And she even said that it’d all work itself out, and maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing if the wedding got postponed a little after all.
“Let me know how it goes with the caterers, and the venue,” I say, though. Whatever else, I am still maid of honor. “Give me a shout if there’s anything I can help out with. Making cal s, sending emails, whatever.”
“No.” Kim’s still holding my hands, and squeezes them now, smiling at me. “You have done more than your fair share of being my maid of honor, believe me. I’ll sort it all out.”
She gives me another hug before we part ways for her to climb into the car, where I notice Jeremy picks up her hand to kiss it. Through the open window, she cal s, “I’ll text you later. Bye, Liv!”
And then, at long last, it’s Addison’s turn to leave.
By the time I’ve waved the lovebirds off and gone back to my apartment, it’s somehow miraculously back to looking vaguely like my apartment. The mess is gone, and Addison’s stuff—which had still been everywhere until maybe ten minutes ago—is now packed up into her bag, and she’s waiting near the door with her coat on, car keys dangling on the end of her finger.
She runs her free hand through her hair, shaking out the long waves, and cracks a smile at me, head tilting to the side slightly.
“Don’t look so surprised, Livvy. I know you’re dying to get your apartment all back to yourself.”
I try to smile, but just end up biting my lip and grimacing. “That obvious?”
“You were going behind us fluffing cushions and picking up empty cups last Friday, and we’d only been here a couple hours. Kim said you’re kind of, uh . . . ”
“High strung?”
“Reserved,” she corrects me. “And bitch, please. Miss Kimberly is in no position to call anybody high strung,” she adds with a cackling laugh. “She just said you’re normally kinda shy, that’s all. Private.”
I dread to think what else Kim might’ve said about me, but I say, “You’re not wrong. I have been really looking forward to being able to hear myself think again. It’s been a long week.”
“Oh, tell me about it. But, hey, if I could stay in lockdown hanging out with some awesome people and not having to work, I’d totally do it. So? Come on, Hostess with the Mostest, Butler Extraordinaire, you gonna escort me to my car too?”
I don’t know why I’m suddenly so apprehensive for her to leave, but I swallow the lump in my throat and nod, opening the door again and walking the same route for the third time, down all the stairs and out of the building.
Neither of us says anything—which is only so noticeable because Addison’s been a goddamn chatterbox all week; and it’s not like I can’t hold a conversation.
I’m suddenly glad for the note under our doors earlier this week imploring us not to use the lifts unless absolutely necessary, in an attempt to reduce the risk of infection, because there’s suddenly a weird tension in the air and I don’t think I could cope being in a confined space with her right now.
Am I overreacting? Is it just me, or does she notice it too?
I dither once we’re outside the building, ready to say good-bye, but Addison keeps on walking, so I end up following her around to the little car park, where her yellow Mini Cooper is in one of the visitors’ spaces.
I can’t help but laugh when I see it. It’s ostentatious and seems like exactly the car for Addison.
As if reading my mind, she grins at me as she tosses her bag into the back seat. “Cute, right? I couldn’t resist. It’s, like, not even the size of the cab in the truck I had when I was seventeen, I swear. It’s so quaint.”
“It’s so yellow.”
She closes the door and then steps back toward me, crossing her arms, one hip jutting out. Her eyes catch the sunlight, and her mouth twitches like she’s trying not to smile. “So?”
“So what?”
“So,” she says, “are you going to do this, or are you going to keep playing hard to get and make me do it?”
Oh my God.
I flush, but only manage to mutter, “I’m not playing hard to get.”
“Fine.” Addison tosses her head and fixes me with an amused look. “Livvy, when all this pandemic shit blows over, you wanna get a drink?”