I smiled. Could it be that, despite all our misunderstandings, Ben and I had finally made it to the friendship stage after all? Take that, Harry; Sally was right.
“Are you actually checking your phone right now? Is it a message from your dress, telling you whether it fits?” Sarah’s voice was slippery with hysteria, a reminder of just what Jeremy and Maria had been dealing with in my absence. I put my phone down. After the hen do, I was still on probation as far as Sarah’s forgiveness was concerned. Time to show her I was all in.
I sprang up off the bed.
Riiiiiiiip.
I froze, half bent over, my foot still on the trailing ruffle. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing it to be fine. Shit!
The entirety of the back of the dress had peeled off like the skin of an orange.
On the screen, Jeremy’s eyes were wide, his glass part way to his mouth. “Oooh, are you in trouble now,” he said.
“What, what is it?” Sarah asked.
“Nothing,” Maria and I called. I got up close to the camera.
“Jeremy, if you dare breathe a word . . .” I hissed. I could see him thinking about it.
“No, not that veil. I said a bit of bling, not visible from space. Maria!”
My friend hopped off the couch to help Sarah.
Jeremy grinned. “Evie’s ready,” he said loudly. “And doesn’t she look absolutely stunning?” It could be that he was still holding me accountable for the rat.
“I’m going first,” said Sarah. “Turn the camera on me.”
I hastily threw the trailing ruffle behind me. My mum would fix it for me before the big day, I told myself. Sarah would never know. I hoped. Because I couldn’t let her down again.
Jeremy picked up the tablet and Sarah came into view, blurry at first and then in sharp focus. Her sleek blond hair was done up in a bun, a few artful wisps escaping. Thankfully, the bridesmaid dresses were bearing the brunt of Sarah’s fairy-tale theme. Her dress was as elegant as I’d imagined. Ivory, with simple lines, strapless, hugging her compact figure and flaring out at the bottom in a fishtail, accented by a band of glittering crystals around her waist.
There was a moment of complete silence.
“Well, what do you think of me?” Sarah asked. “That’s not your cue for a smart remark, Jeremy.”
“Actually,” I heard Jeremy say, his voice soft, “I was going to say you’ve never looked more beautiful.”
I could hear Maria sniffling and a rustling sound, as if Jeremy had moved to put his arm around her.
“Oh, Sarah,” I sighed, goose bumps dancing up my arms. Sarah had always said she’d be the first one of us to get married. Looking at her now, I couldn’t have been happier for her that this was true. “It’s perfect.”
She preened. “I know.” There was movement, and the camera was briefly compressed between my friends’ bodies as they all embraced. I drank a bit more prosecco, feeling a million miles away.
I could just make out Sarah briskly wiping at her eyes before she shooed them away.
“Now, are you done messing around, Evie? Let me see you.”
All three of my friends squeezed into view to assess me.
“Why don’t you give us a twirl?” suggested Jeremy innocently.
A frayed edge of material had drifted to my hip. I did a little dance on the spot like I couldn’t be happier, using my swaying arms to shift it behind me.
“I just love it so much!” I said.
Sarah’s eyes glimmered. “I’m so glad. You know, I was thinking about my backup bridesmaid dress options all week, but you’ve decided it for me. Plus, these dresses go better with the cake. You look adorable.”
I stopped dancing. Maria gulped her prosecco and Jeremy beamed.
“Speaking of options,” I said, “have you decided on Jeremy’s outfit yet?”
Chapter 28
The Boy Who Never Grew Up
INT: THE ASH—SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 2, 7:30 P.M.
EVIE stands in the foyer of the Ash. There’s a giant Oscar-style award statue lounging in one of the fluorescent-green spring-back cinema chairs in the waiting area. The front desk is a cinema ticket drop box. A girl with pristine makeup stands behind it, wearing an approximation of an usher’s uniform and a well-practiced smile.
I placed my recently purchased copy of Peter Pan on top of the front desk while I retrieved my brand-new membership card. Monty had ceremoniously bestowed it upon me last week after NOB had delivered, telling me I’d be using it soon enough for my own meetings. I should have been pleased, except it was an expensive reminder that I still hadn’t heard from NOB. Yet here I was, doing another meet-cute, because it was the only way I could keep him writing.
When the attendant saw the name on the card, her eyes lit up. “Your guest is already upstairs waiting.”
That was unexpected. They normally made the guests wait in the lounge. I checked my card as I put it back in my purse. Was this some sort of platinum membership package? It looked pretty regular to me. I thanked her and hurried away before she could realize she’d made a mistake.
I was meeting Peter in the Ash because most of the staff there knew me. There was nowhere safer in London, and, more important, less likely to judge you. We were using the book symbol to help us recognize each other. Just like Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan in You’ve Got Mail. Given that his name was Peter, the choice had been obvious.
Peter had been sweet but brief over the last few days of messaging, insisting he made a much better impression in person. He’d told me he was thirty-two (good start), and that he’d found my card in a 1999 Pokémon annual (slight red flag) that he’d bought for his nephew (a relief). All in all, I could allow myself to feel optimistic.
I checked in with the JEMS chat like I’d promised.
MARIA: have you got there OK?
EVIE: I’m just heading up the stairs now. He’s already here
JEREMY: who do you think it is?
EVIE: Peter?
SARAH: didn’t you go to see Hot Widower’s daughter in Peter Pan before Christmas?
EVIE: is that relevant?
SARAH: I’m just saying. Peter. Peter Pan. A bit of a coincidence if you ask me
I paused on the corner of the staircase. Was she seriously suggesting it might be Ben?
He does have your number.
And hadn’t Ben been at the bar when the message arrived? I found myself thinking of how pink his ears had been on his return, almost like he was worked up about something . . .