It was hardly a budget of nothing, I thought at the time, looking at the boxes of dried rose petals, netted bags, and individually wrapped chocolates and sweets that had just shown up at my apartment that day, ready to be tied into little wedding favors.
“And besides, Addison’s not been out anywhere, and you’ve not been out anywhere, and you both live alone, and Lucy’s been living with her parents but she’s not been out anywhere else and honestly, Liv, I cannot deal, this whole thing is just—it’s such a pain. It’s not like they’ll be taking public transport to get to your place! And if Jeremy loses all that money on the bachelor party when I had to go and get a cheaper dress, I’ll be absolutely furious. It’ll be fine. If anyone gets so much as a sniffle, we’ll rearrange, but right now everything is fine.”
She said it so venomously, like she could fix this entire thing just by sheer will power alone, that I didn’t really have it in me to protest.
I did message the other bridesmaids—her future sister-in-law, Lucy, and her friend from her year abroad in America and current job, Addison—outside of the group chat, saying that I wouldn’t blame them if they didn’t want to come over . . .
Obviously, Kim had already got to them, though, or else they’d already expressed their doubts to her just like I had, because the messages I got back from them were a little too enthusiastic.
Lucy Kingsley:
Oh, don’t worry about it! I know how important this weekend is to Kim. Really excited to meet you both properly and spend some time together! We’re all being very careful right now so sure it’ll be fine xxx
Addison Goldstein:
GIRL, don’t even! I haven’t hung out with people outside of work in waaaaaay too long, I need this weekend! (Plus I think Kim will actually have an aneurysm if we don’t get those centerpieces sorted out, LOL!) Thanks again for putting us all up for the weekend, hon—see you both in a few days!
Olivia Barton:
Sure! No worries! Just thought I’d check :) Got the champers all ready and can’t wait! xxx
Obviously, I couldn’t tell them not to come.
Well, I could have, I suppose, but just thinking about dealing with the fallout gave me a headache. Not to mention someone still would have had to put the centerpieces together, and I absolutely did not want to face doing that alone.
It’s not like this weekend hasn’t been fun. Actually, it’s been some of the best fun I’ve had in a long while. We decided to treat it as a sort of test-run bachelorette party: there was karaoke, a near-constant marathon of cheesy rom-coms playing in the background, plenty of greasy takeaway food, popcorn, and of course, prosecco.
We got about halfway through constructing the centerpieces and wedding favors, but Kim had been in such a good mood she didn’t even seem to mind that things hadn’t gone to plan, for a change. She was more like her old, fun-loving, prebridezilla self; that alone made it all worth it.
It’s been a really great weekend.
But dear God, I’m glad they’re leaving.
I can’t wait to get my apartment back. Deflate the air mattress, tidy up all the blankets and pillows, clear up all of yesterday’s takeaway containers, and maybe treat myself later tonight to the last of the open bottle of prosecco left in the fridge. And, God, have I had enough wedding talk to last me a week. Two, even.
Plus—no offense to Kim’s friend Addison, but she is loud. And she doesn’t half like the sound of her own voice, cracking jokes all the time, or telling stories. I’d call her obnoxious, but I’ve only known her for three days, so I guess I should give her the benefit of the doubt. Maybe it’s just because she’s American? Kim doesn’t seem so phased, but I figure she’s used to it even if she does notice it. And Lucy’s way too polite and soft-spoken to say a remotely mean word about anyone, so I doubt she’d agree if I asked her opinion.
I mean, she’s cute. Very cute. With those little sidelong glances when she makes a joke, and a warm laugh like honey . . .
But my God, is she loud.
The girls are all packed up, and I, for one, could not be happier.
Kim kneels in the corner of the lounge, rifling through the boxes to count the centerpieces for the eighth time.
“Seventeen,” she mutters to herself, and then, “Liv! Olivia, where are the place cards?”
“Aren’t they in that box?” Lucy asks.
“No! No!” She waves a packet of beige parchment-style cardboard rectangles. “I can only find the blank ones! Oh, please don’t say we threw them out. After all that time spent on the calligraphy . . . ”
If anything has taught me patience, it’s being Kim’s maid of honor.
I step forward, opening another box and picking up a clear Ziploc bag, filled with more place cards. “Looking for these?”
“Oh, thank God! Thanks, Liv. Oh, what would I do without you?”
“I really don’t know.”
“Hey, Livvy, you’ve got some junk mail.” Addison walks back into the lounge, shoving a piece of paper at my chest. I catch it as she walks away, throwing herself onto the sofa and tapping away at her phone. I’m not sure why she can’t leave, why she’s got to wait for the others. Addison came here in her own car. She’s not getting a ride from Lucy, like Kim is.
“It’s Liv,” I tell her. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve had to correct her this weekend. The stupid nickname grates on me so much.
I glance at the junk mail. It’s a simple, printed notice with the building management’s logo at the bottom. Probably someone snuck a pet in again, or, I think, with dread curdling in my stomach, maybe we were so loud with the karaoke and stuff, someone complained about the noise.
But no, I quickly discover.
It is much, much worse than all that.
“Guys?”
They all look at me expectantly, obliviously, and I swallow the lump in my throat.
“I don’t think you’re going anywhere.”
*
“This could be worse!” Kim says, with maybe a little too much enthusiasm. Her usually bright, warm smile is toothy, bordering on feral.
“At least we’re all together! And we’ll be able to finish all the wedding stuff! Think how much we’ll be able to get done!”
She does have a point there, I concede. At least I won’t have to go through the hassle of organizing yet another wedding DIY weekend, or have to do it all myself to get it finished. That’s something.
“What about work?” Lucy asks, perched on the edge of one of my dining chairs, biting her thumb nail. Her gray-blue eyes are wide with panic.
“We’ll call our bosses tomorrow,” Addison replies, waving a hand dismissively, not even glancing over. She’s still sprawled on the sofa, having not moved since she passed me the note a few minutes ago.
Her mouth smacks as she chews some gum, and I can’t help but turn my nose up at it. “No big deal. It’ll be fine.”
“What about clothes?” Lucy cries.
Addison doesn’t have such a quick solution for that, but I do.
“Call Jeremy,” I tell her. “He can pick some of your stuff up from your parents’, and bring some things for Kim. And he can get us groceries, too, while he’s at it. I’ve got plenty of bubbly left, but I think we might run out of cereal by Tuesday, otherwise.”