Chapter Twenty-One
Elodie gets drunk in this chapter.
Elodie
“Champagne is so good,” I declare, holding my sparkling flute high.
“Rich people champagne, though? Incredible . Amazing . You’re the luckiest woman ever .
” I point at Amber, who sits amused beside her not-even-a-little-bit-amused husband, holding her own flute of fancy rich people champagne in their fancy rich people apartment.
where the bridesmaids—plus Liam and Frank—have gathered for fancy rich people shopping time.
Which is to say: Liam’s arranged a private dress shopping experience for Ruby and provided ample yummy beverages.
I am on my… fifth? Sixth? Some wonderful number that has made thought simple and worries miniscule.
I love champagne.
“You were supposed to mix that with orange juice,” Ruby says drily, sweeping into the room like the queen she is.
I gasp. “Rubes, you look incredible . Amazing . Will’s the luckiest man ever !”
“Uh huh.” A perfectly perfect eyebrow raises above her perfectly perfect—except for how they don’t work, but whatever—eyes. “Other synonyms exist, by the way.”
“Do a spin!” I order, exiting the comfort of Liam and Amber’s couch.
Frank groans. “She’s gone mobile, people.”
“She’ll be okay,” Amelia replies, following me up. She smiles at me, so pretty, and I smile back.
“You’re so pretty!” I tell her. “Brian is the luckiest guy ever !”
She bites her lip, cutting her smile in half. “I thought that was Will.”
“Ohhh,” I nod. “Yeah. Him too. Luckiest men ever!”
Liam clears his throat, and I turn, toasting him with my… oh, I seem to have lost some champagne. I frown. “What happened to my drink?”
“You spilled it,” Amber notes. “On the floor. Please be careful. I don’t have any mafia princes here to scoop you up should you fall, and I’d hate to waste a perfectly good meet-cute opportunity.”
I blink. “Mafia?”
“Would you prefer a stalker or a kidnapper?” she asks. “I’ve already done a fight-club ringleader, but I can work with you.”
Huh. Maybe he can be a chef. An evil chef…
“Ruby,” Liam says. “Elodie wanted to see a spin.”
Oh, right! I did!
I beam at Liam, luckiest man ever, down the pitiful remains of my drink, set my empty flute on the coffee table, and join Ruby on the other side of the room. “Spin, Rhubarb, spin!”
Ruby scowls. Sniffs. Does the itty-bittiest of spins.
Her dress flows around her, the white satin lying just right to show off the curves of her body. Her corset top brings forth images of villainess coolness and Will drooling.
My bestie is hot .
“Are you comfortable?” I ask. “Because if you’re comfortable, that’s totally the one. You look—”
“Amazing? Incredible?” she interrupts. “Will’s the luckiest man ever?”
I giggle. “Yeah, that.”
She sighs, rolling the fabric of the skirt between her fingers. “It’s alright, I guess,” she mutters.
I squeal, tackling her for a hug. “You found your dress!”
Her arms wrap around me, matching me squeeze for squeeze, and she sniffles. “Not that it matters,” she whispers. “I could get married in a ratty old T-shirt for all I care.”
Tears hit my eyes, sudden in their intensity.
“I’m so happy for you,” I gush, pulling away so that I can look her in the eyes while I blub.
“Even if you’d be fine in a ratty old T-shirt, I’m glad you’re getting a dress fit for a queen instead.
You are a queen, and you deserve every good thing that you could possibly ever want and more.
A man who loves you so much that he’s already spent half his life dedicated to you.
An amazing boss. An incredible best friend.
” I hiccup. “I love you so much, Ruby. I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you in my life, but I’m grateful to infinity that you’re here.
You’re going to have the best wedding ever. I promise.”
Ruby’s eyes soften. “I love you, too, Sunny. I don’t know what you’re on about with that ‘deserving me’ nonsense, but I promise you that you’re amazing, incredible all on your own. You don’t have to do anything to ‘deserve’ anyone.”
I’m not. I’m really, really not. But I love that she thinks I am.
Warmth filters through my chest as the rest of the bridesmaids—plus Liam and Frank—join us to fawn over my gorgeous bestie. As much as she’ll let them, anyway.
Frank whistles, cursing the fact that she’s already married to her “dear Norman” and has no reason to buy another wedding dress. “Elodie’s right, Ruby. You look hot .”
“You’re beautiful,” Amelia says wetly. “The prettiest bride I’ve ever seen.”
“Are you sure you don’t want any lace or tulle?” Liam asks, circling her. His eyes narrow at her unadorned waistline.
“No lace,” several voices ring out. Ruby is so not a lace person.
Liam’s face goes void—his usual expression—and he returns to his seat. Amber watches him, amusement dancing across her hazelnut eyes.
Two previously invisible dress people come forward to discuss price and alterations with Ruby, so I beeline for my soon-to-be-refilled flute. No stressy money speak today, thank you very much. Today, my worries float away on monarch wings the color of sweet champagne and future headaches.
“Can I ask you a question?” Frank asks, following me to the refreshments.
“Of course!” I answer, tipping ambrosia into my glass. I follow it with a dash of orange juice, to make Ruby proud. “What’s up?”
“Not that I’m judging, because I’m not, but… you don’t really seem like the type of gal to get drunk in the middle of the day. You give drunk-on-life energy, not literally drunk , if you know what I mean?”
Ah. “I know what you mean.” I nod. Frank is so sage. So observant. So smart.
“Do you mind me asking why you’ve gone the route of literally drunk today? Again, I’m not judging. I love me a day-drunk white girl. However, it does raise a worry or two.”
My nose scrunches. “No worries!” I command. “This is a worry free day! Zero worries allowed! That’s what the champagne is for. Here, have some!” I hold the bottle out to her, wiggling it enticingly.
She shrugs. “Don’t mind if I do.” Then, she pours a reasonable amount into a flute, tops it with enough orange juice that I wonder if perhaps she actually knows how to mix a mimosa, something I do not. “Is that it, then?” she asks. “Chasing your worries away with alcohol?”
I mean… “Maybe?”
She hums, head tilting as she considers me. “What else have you tried?”
My brows furrow.
“Besides alcohol,” she clarifies. “To destress. What have you done?”
Oh. Uh. Well. “I’m going on a road trip soon?” I offer.
“That’s a future attempt,” she says. “I’m asking what you’ve tried previously.”
Right. Right, right, right. That thing that people do. Where they try to fix their problems instead of drowning them in fancy rich people champagne.
“Nothing!” I declare, beaming. “I’m really stupid, so I choose to let things pile higher and higher until boom , they collapse on top of me, crushing my lungs and ruining my quality of life and, oh, by the way, I can’t let anyone know that I’m being literally squished to death because I’m already kind of a lot to deal with and what if being a lot plus being literally squished to death is just too much and then everyone I love leaves me and my gravestone reads, ‘Here lies Elodie. She was a lot.’ at my empty funeral?
” I pull out my sunshiniest smile. “You know?”
“Child,” she says, blinking at me behind her round glasses. “What kind of nonsense was that?”
My eyes widen. “Nonsense?”
Her eyes narrow. “I will bop you right on your cute little nose. Are you crazy?”
My eyes widen more. “Crazy?”
“What is a friend if not someone who will lift the things that crush you? What is a friend there for if not to help you breathe a little easier?” She tsks.
“You’re out here getting literally squished to death , except you haven’t looked up ‘literally’ in the dictionary ever, and you think your friends would see that and turn away from you?
When your friends are Ruby and Will? That boy has more dedication to the people he loves than most men will ever even think about having, and Ruby put up with him even when he was being an annoying pest twenty-four-seven.
You think those two are going to throw you to the wolves with your sad little gravestone?
” She scoffs. “Yeah, right. You’re freaking nuts. ”
Uh. “Well… when you put it like that…” I hiccup.
“Give me that drink,” she says, snatching my flute out of my hands.
I whimper.
“No,” she snaps. “Day drunk isn’t cute when it’s sad. We’re going to sober you up, rally the troops, and make a plan to fix all this crushing going on.”
My head whips back and forth so violently that it incites a wave of nausea in my stomach. “Please don’t tell Ruby,” I beg. “She’s got the wedding and the learning how to live with Will and the being the best person to ever exist stuff going on. I don’t want her to worry about me, too.”
“You said, and I quote, ‘ literally squished to death .’ Do you remember that? Not to mention, Ruby can worry about you and worry about all that other stuff at the same time. Since, you know, she’s not being squished to death by her responsibilities and job and life in general.
She cares about you. She’d wring your neck if she knew you were making the decision of whether or not she should worry for her. ”
Oof. That’s… correct. “I’m a bad friend.”
“You’re not a bad friend,” Frank replies gently.
“You’re just a person, you know? People get in their feels and make silly choices and go down paths that maybe aren’t the best they could’ve chosen.
It’s a natural part of life. If you’ve messed up?
It’s fixable. Especially if the worst you’ve done is simply not ask for help. ”
I hiccup again, then sniffle. “I don’t deserve help,” I mutter.
“And your friends don’t deserve to be shut out from your life, thoughts, and emotions just because you have a warped view of your own self-worth,” Frank retorts, not unkindly.
“Don’t punish your friends to punish yourself, is all I’m saying.
Let them be a part of your life, for better or for worse.
Don’t take the honor of lifting you up when you’re crushed under the weight of life away from them. Don’t make that decision for them.”
She hands me a cocktail napkin, and I use it to wipe my face off, then another appears for me to blow my nose in. “You’re really smart,” I tell her. “They should pay you more.”
“My salary is enough to support me, my husband, and our mildly rabid chihuahua,” she says wryly. “Plus, I don’t think they increase artist salaries for things like unsolicited life advice.”
“Well, they should,” I assert. “I’ll write an email to the powers that be for you.”
She chuckles. “Let’s first work on your thing, then later we can address my thing, which is not actually a thing at all, because Liam pays me very well.”
“Okay,” I hiccup. “How about you go tell my bestest bestie in the entire world that I’m a secretive loser who doesn’t know how to adult properly and I could use some hashtag support, and I will go… uh… anywhere else while Ruby adjusts to this news?”
“Nope,” she pops, hooking her arm through mine and dragging me back to Ruby, who’s changed into her regular clothes and is filling up a plate with complementary—bless Liam Warrick—appetizers in the kitchen.
“Ruby!” Frank calls, pushing me past the counter and blocking the exit. “Elodie wants to talk to you!”
Ruby turns to me, lips upturned at the edges, practically transcendent in her joy and I… I fall into my bestie’s arms, burst into tears, and blab my whole, shameful story, ruining her outfit and, probably, our friendship in one fell swoop.