Chapter One #3
Those two words echo through me—Classic Alice—and even though I’m standing completely upright, I feel like I’m tipping backward, falling through space until Gin catches me with a steadying smile. She knows what I know: Blackout Alice is a thing of the past.
“Such good memories in that house.” Gin squeezes my shoulder. “And we have your dad to thank for all of them.”
I like how often Gin brings Dad up. It almost feels like he’s not gone, or at least it’s proof he was ever here. I feel warm and rooted in place, at least until my phone buzzes with another text from Mom. I’ve lost track of time again, but Gin stops me before I can restart my goodbyes.
“I know you have to go, Alice. But can you please hang back for just five more minutes? For me? I have to give you something. Chrissy, you too.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, wavering. There’s that weird obligated feeling again. Mom will understand, I decide, so I smile and nod, and Gin leads us to the bar, where she produces three periwinkle gift boxes: one for me, one for Chrissy, and one for…
“You haven’t seen Renee, have you?”
Dread drops into my stomach like an anvil onto a cartoon mouse.
Renee freaking Roberts. Maybe I should have expected to see her here, but it’s been years since I’ve thought of her at all, much like you don’t think about a stain once you’ve treated it.
You just wear the dress again, forgetting there was ever a problem until, in the right light, you see that it was never really gone.
“I haven’t seen her,” Chrissy says.
Gin scans the room. “She had a work thing, so she might not have made it.”
The nausea begins to subside. She’s not here, Alice. You got off easy. Time to leave and start preparing for how to avoid her at the next event.
“Wait—isn’t that her by the door?”
I look up, following the line of Chrissy’s outstretched finger until I land on a flash of blond that makes my upset stomach throw a full-blown tantrum.
And here she comes, seeping into our evening in a cherry red leather jacket, the clack of her high heels growing clearer and louder alongside my heartbeat, which thuds up my throat.
Gin squeals and scurries to meet Renee halfway, folding her into a hug. “You made it! Oh my God, I really didn’t think you’d be here.”
My gut kicks in protest. Well, Virginia, we have that in common.
The last time I saw Renee Roberts, she was the tooth fairy, and I was a piss-drunk Sonny Bono being tossed out of my own apartment.
What sounds like a Mad Lib is actually about par for the course so far as interactions between me and Renee.
At least one of us has been in costume every time our paths have crossed: Halloween bar crawls, themed parties, theater productions…
even now, her black shift dress and red leather jacket could pass as her take on Cruella de Vil, and this wine-stained white dress makes me a literal target.
Or perhaps a wounded dalmatian? I’d rather not stick around to find out.
One of Rishi’s relatives intercepts Gin for a photo, so it’s only Renee who joins us at the bar.
She thumps her bag on the bar top, rattling every glass.
“I’m so sorry I’m late, gals.” Her voice is just how I remember it, a coarse mezzo-soprano.
She gives me a bored once-over, down and up again, then pops her lips. “Alice.”
A chill rolls down my spine. “Hi, Renee.”
With that, she does a sharp quarter turn toward Chrissy, boxing me out, but I can still hear the smile in her voice as she says, “And you. It’s been forever, hasn’t it?”
“Two forevers, actually,” Chrissy teases. “Last I saw you, I believe we were dueting…Lady Gaga?”
“Close,” Renee says. “I was dressed as Lady Gaga. We were dueting songs from Grease.”
There’s an ache in my chest like a dull saw pulling across my lungs.
Gin’s karaoke costume parties have been her birthday tradition since college, and given the damage I did at her twenty-fourth, I’m not surprised I wasn’t invited to her twenty-ninth, but it does nothing to quiet my anxiety, which won’t stop screaming at me that I don’t belong here.
But you were invited, my better sense argues.
You’re supposed to be here. So why do I feel like everything would be easier if I left?
“So Gin said you had a work thing today?” Chrissy asks, and Renee nods, her blond waves dipping down her back.
“Leave it to the Blomquist to need their events manager on a weekend.”
“The Blomquist Theater?” I wonder aloud.
Renee’s gaze shoots through the room, stopping just short of me. In a voice like artificial sweetener, she asks, “What other Blomquist is there?”
I swallow at least a dozen comebacks. I caused enough scenes in my day, and when Gin bounces her way back to us, I’m glad I kept my mouth shut.
“Sorry about that.” Gin reclaims her wineglass. “Ready to do presents? Make sure you sit next to the one with your name.” The three of us follow instructions, and Gin coyly adds, “You probably already know what these are.”
I blink down at the box. It can’t be what I think it is, can it?
Chrissy and Renee seem to think it is, based on their matching smiles and jumpy eyebrows.
I tug the bow loose and lift the lid to reveal a matte-black tumbler with my name printed on it in loopy iridescent letters.
Beside it, a small cream notecard waits with a question that sucks the air from every corner of my lungs: Will you be my bridesmaid?
Chrissy is the first to her feet, her bracelets clanging like wind chimes as she dances toward the bride for a hug. “YES! A million times yes, duh!”
Renee’s response is more subtle. She closes her box gingerly and looks up at Gin with a smile and a nod, quiet and doe eyed and almost as moved as I am by the ask.
When Gin’s eyes land on mine, I slow my breaths, trying not to hurry this moment away.
There’s too much to feel and not enough time to feel it.
Joy. Pride. Disbelief. My best friend and undoubtedly the greatest person I know is getting married, and she’s chosen me of all people to stand by her side.
I’m completely humbled and completely shocked, but I know my line, and I say it proudly.
“Of course, Gin. It’d be my honor.”
That last word triggers something in Chrissy, who wags a pink manicured finger between me and Renee. “Wait. Who’s the maid of honor?”
“I don’t have a maid of honor.” Gin straightens, a proud closed-lip smile lifting her cheeks till her freckles nearly kiss her eyelashes. “All three of you are so important to me, and you all have such specific skills and roles in my life, so I’m dividing up the duties.”
Chrissy nods along intently, and Renee reaches into her purse, producing a small red notebook and a pen that she poises dutifully over a fresh page. I pinch my brows together, trying to look equally attentive.
“Chrissy, I was hoping you could work with Mrs. Bhat on the bridal shower since you’re so connected throughout the city,” Gin says, and Renee scribbles along with her, taking diligent notes.
“Renee, you’re the professional event planner, obviously, so I figured you could take the bachelorette party.
And Alice.” Gin turns to me last, a warm glow flickering in her eyes.
“Would you want to give a speech at the reception?”
A buzz scurries from my chest to my fingertips, and for the second time tonight, I’m worried I might cry. “Of course,” I choke out. “I would love to.”
We all pose for a picture with our bridesmaid presents—Renee and Chrissy each got customized wineglasses, and my chest aches with gratitude that Gin thought to give me something I’ll actually use.
The four of us scrunch in for a selfie, and I strategically hold my cup in front of my chest to block some of the stain.
“Say Rishi!” Chrissy sings.
“Rishiiiiiiiiii,” we say in unison. It works just as well, if not better than, saying cheese.
“Oh-kay, sending this to everyone immediately.” Chrissy’s nails take off at a canter, clacking against her phone screen as she summons each of our contacts into a single text thread. She still has my number. That feels nice. “Oh my God, bridesmaid group chat!” Chrissy squeals. “Yay, it’s starting!”
“Yay!” I echo. If it sounds a little forced, it’s because it is.
I’m excited to be Gin’s bridesmaid. Shocked, yes, but also so far over the moon that my soul is in orbit.
Prior to dating and living together and eventually going no contact, Gin was my closest friend, and it’s such a privilege to be back in her life—not to mention her wedding.
But even college Alice couldn’t match Chrissy’s energy without downing a few shots first. Now, sober and scooching toward thirty, trying to be young and fun feels like wearing a waterlogged sweatshirt.
Our bridesmaid selfie has a domino effect. Guests flock to the bride for photos, and Chrissy volunteers to play camerawoman, saddling me with Renee, who looks deeply annoyed that I’m here. Lucky for both of us, I’m about not to be.
“Well, I’ve gotta head out.” I tip my head toward the door. “I’m already late for dinner with my mom.”
The bow of Renee’s top lip twitches in distaste. “How like you,” she mutters, eyes somehow both icy and bored.
Just like that, I’m fuming. Were I not so desperate to eject myself from this conversation, I would point out that she was the one late to the engagement party. But that’s not me anymore. I reach for my keys only to realize—again—that Gin has my pants and everything in the pockets.
“Gin?” I interrupt from a distance. “Do you have my keys?”
The bride steps away just long enough to hand off my key ring and hug me goodbye. We make a vague plan to grab dinner this week or next, and Chrissy squeezes me even tighter than she did earlier. Then she and Gin are back to their photo line, leaving me and Renee to exchange half-hearted waves.
What I try to say is Good to see you! But that’s a lie. It hasn’t been good. What comes out instead is just “See you,” and even that earns me an eye roll.
“I guess so,” Renee grumbles loud enough for only me to hear, but she traps me in her stare a second longer, freezing me in place with two vicious slivers of blue. “Quick tip for next time? Maybe don’t wear white if you’re not the bride.”
A chill shoots up from my feet, but I’m not allowed the benefit of explaining myself before Renee boxes me out again. After all these years, she hasn’t changed a bit.
I knew of Renee Roberts long before we ever met.
Before Gin became a music teacher, she worked at an arts nonprofit, and Renee was her favorite coworker.
They both studied theater in undergrad, and on top of her career in event management, Renee still hit the audition circuit and occasionally performed around the city.
When Gin described the vision board hanging in Renee’s cubicle—the clipped-out pictures of lit up theater marquees behind words like ambition and goal-getter—I knew for certain this person was not for me.
There has never been a shortage of things that are not for me.
An office job like the one where Gin and Renee met, for example, is not for me.
Neither is theater. Anything that could broadly be described as woo-woo, vision boards included, is definitely not for me, and neither was college, although I still snuck out of Dunlap with a diploma.
Renee, on the other hand, earned her MBA from one of the country’s most prestigious programs. She had a five-year plan to land a job at one of Chicago’s major theaters, and I had an alt-country band and no real direction.
By the time I finally met Renee Roberts in person, I already knew what to expect: my opposite.
The sun to my moon, a grounded earth sign versus my flighty Gemini sensibilities.
Gin always said that Renee was the best; from the moment we met, Renee acted like she knew it. Clearly she still does.
A different version of me—the version Renee used to know—wouldn’t let her have the last word with that “don’t wear white” comment.
A different Alice would dig in her heels and order another round, throwing insults and drinks until she knew for certain that Renee had lost and she herself had won.
But I’m not that Alice anymore. Not even close.
Instead, I box up my tumbler, reminding myself that this stupid cup alone and the fact that it’s not a wineglass are proof positive that I’m not who I used to be.
If I stooped to the level of making a vision board, the only thing on it would be to prove Renee wrong.