Chapter Fifteen #2
“What was I supposed to do? Waltz into my friend’s engagement dinner and say, Hi, hello, I’d love to be a bridesmaid, but by the way, I just got laid off?
” Renee shoves to her feet and begins to pace, and my eyes track with her, back and forth, the tarp crunching beneath her feet.
“I couldn’t make it about me like that. And then you.
” She swivels toward me, and my throat burns.
“Gin told me you were going to be there, and I thought, Oh, here’s this drunk asshole that weaseled her way back into my friend’s life—”
Ouch. But fair. And it’s not like I was thrilled to see her, either.
“—but then you’re not,” Renee goes on. “You’re not that person at all. You’re working for this prestigious recording studio—”
“For free,” I remind her. “Unpaid.”
“And here I am, a failed actor and now a failed event planner, too—”
“You haven’t failed at either of those things. You’re just not doing them anymore.”
“Then what am I doing?” Renee spreads her arms wide like a pterodactyl flapping its wings.
“I’m a planner. I plan things. I planned my whole stupid life, and I did exactly what I said I was going to do.
I got an MBA. I got the dream job, and I still ended up flat on my ass.
Meanwhile, you get to do the musician thing and barely even worry about money. ”
And the anger’s back, surging through me like an electrical charge. “Because my dad died?” I cry out. “Sorry, do you wanna trade?”
“No, that’s—” Renee slows to a halt. Her blue eyes flash with regret, and she draws in a shaky breath. “I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant. Let me just…” She lowers herself back to the tarp, kneeling in front of me and sitting back on her heels.
“I know you didn’t get as much money from your dad as you expected,” she says. “But you’ve always had money from your parents. Even before you lost your dad. Right?”
I bite my cheek. “Sort of.”
“They paid your half of the rent when you lived with Gin, right?”
“Well, yeah.”
“And your groceries? And utilities? Did you ever have to pay for your own—”
“Okay, I get your point. I had an enormous safety net while I was touring with Cold Sweat.”
Renee prods gently, but she prods all the same. “And how did you pay for those tours when you were just getting started? For the van rentals and the gas?”
A fresh shot of anger seeps through me, but she’s not wrong. Cold Sweat wouldn’t have taken off if not for the money Dad put into it. “That’s true,” I admit. “You’re right.”
Renee’s lips tug into a sad sliver of a smile as she presses both her palms to my knees, making my skin buzz.
“It was so easy to hate you,” Renee says, “when you were Gin’s mean, drunk girlfriend living her dream on her parents’ dime.
It was so easy to resent you. And I’ll be honest.” Her grip tightens, heat shooting up my thighs.
“I’m still jealous of you. I wish that I wasn’t, but I am.
You can afford to pick up the check on a bachelorette trip.
You park at the airport even though it’s literally so expensive.
You can do what you love for no money and still afford to live in the neighborhood I’m getting priced out of.
But you…it’s different now.” She blinks, and a soft sparkle returns to her eyes.
“You’re different. You’re sober. You’re…
I like you. I didn’t expect it. You—” She pauses, then adds, “You’ve become such a good friend. ”
It takes every ounce of concentration not to flinch away. A good friend. Right. That’s what I am.
“My heart breaks for you and everything you’ve been through,” Renee says, “and I wouldn’t trade places with you in a million years. But I’m still jealous of you, Alice. I wish I could pursue my dreams the way you get to.”
My memory whirls back to our conversation at the diner, how Renee assumed my shift to studio work had been a financial decision.
I know it’s a privilege to do what I love, but I’ve hardly considered how the alternative might feel.
Had I been born into a different family with average finances, I’d be just like Renee—putting my passions second to survival, and even then, it’s all come undone for her.
The thought rots in the pit of my stomach.
It can’t feel like living so much as staying alive.
My hand moves without my permission, brushing back an errant blond strand, my touch lingering on her neck. “It’s not fair,” I breathe out.
“Nothing is fair,” Renee says. “It’s not fair that I lost my job or that you were born into money and I wasn’t.
It’s not fair that your dad died so young.
None of it’s fair. But I’m still trying.
” A hint of a smile twitches on her lips.
“That’s actually why I had to tell you now.
That’s why I was late. I just got an email from the Philharmonic that I’m in the final round for a job on their events team.
I was so excited, and right away I thought, I can’t wait to tell Alice. ”
A floaty feeling rises in me. “Really?”
“Yes.” Her eyes sparkle like sapphires, and I wish she’d always look at me this way.
Like I’m made of pure gold. There are goose bumps on my soul.
“But then I knew I had to come clean about my last job and…I’m so sorry, Alice.
I should have told you sooner, but I haven’t really told anybody.
You’ve shared so much with me about your dad and The Handful and what’s happening with your mom…
I couldn’t lie to you anymore. I want to be honest with you the way you’re honest with me. ”
“Always,” I whisper, laying my hands over hers. “I will always be honest with you, Renee.”
But not with myself. I will lie to myself for as long as I have to, just to keep things exactly like this.
When my routine bends around thrift store trips with Renee and late nights at my place lettering place cards, I tell myself Renee and I are just getting closer, like Gin hoped.
We’re trying. This, I tell myself, is what good bridesmaids do.
They cuddle up beneath the good blanket while practicing job interview questions or workshopping wedding speech ideas.
They’re in constant communication, like one long conversation interrupted only by sleep and studio shifts.
They’re together nearly every day—for wedding prep purposes at first, but with time, it becomes an assumption.
Cooking for two and mornings at Grounds Crew.
It all becomes part of my routine. Because we’re friends.
Renee said it herself, so I have no choice but to believe it.