Chapter 7 #2
Avery set her wine bottle down on the coffee table and dug into an opened box of Oreos. Next to the box, a bridal magazine was flipped open to a page showcasing a gorgeous gown with a plunging neckline. Avery pointed at the dress.
“Morgan, you need that.”
“I know,” Morgan said longingly. “I’ve been staring at it all day. I love column silhouettes.”
Avery cocked her head. “Column?”
“It’s a type of wedding dress, yeah. A little form fitting. Follows the natural shape of your body.”
The doorbell rang. As Morgan padded to the foyer, Avery wiped the Oreo crumbs from her mouth and buried her face in a bridal magazine, preparing to hear the familiar grating Southern twang of her ex-best friend.
Morgan had told Avery that Blair was going to be a bridesmaid only a few days after she told Avery about the engagement.
Avery could tell Morgan had been nervous to talk about it, the way she kept tucking her hair behind her ears and talking at rapid-fire speed.
But the three of them had been best friends once—Morgan and Avery had been assigned as random roommates freshman year and met Blair down the hall, and they’d been inseparable all throughout college—so the news wasn’t exactly a surprise.
Still, Avery tried not to show too much of her actual reaction, which was one of dread; she just told Morgan that it was her special day and she could do whatever she wanted.
She didn’t see Morgan’s continued friendship with Blair as a betrayal of some sort anyway.
The friendships were kept separate and it was whatever.
It was easy to do when Blair was up in Boston and Morgan and Avery were in Manhattan.
The way it worked was that Morgan would never mention Blair to Avery, and if Blair visited, Avery would occupy herself for the weekend with guys from dating apps and dissociative rewatches of Bake Off .
“Aver- ay !” Blair squawked. Her drawl seemed extra obnoxious today. “How are you, girl?”
Blair hung her beige peacoat on Morgan’s coat rack, which made Avery’s leather jacket fall to the floor. Morgan hurried over to pick it up after Blair ignored it.
“I’m great!” Avery replied. She used the quintessential high-pitched, fake-nice voice every girl has down pat, the kind that could crack glass thousands of miles away. “How are you?”
“I’m great!” Blair’s voice rose even higher than Avery’s, somehow. “It’s so good to see you!”
Morgan darted her eyes back and forth between Avery and Blair.
Avery could see the wheels turning in Morgan’s head as she tried to figure out how to diffuse the tension, which could be sliced with the mini foil cutter knife sticking out of the wine bottle opener on the coffee table.
Avery busied herself by grabbing three glasses from the kitchen and opening the wine.
Blair was the one who gossiped the most about how Avery had cheated on Ryan, not only within their friend group after Blair heard about it from Viraj but with the whole lacrosse team as well.
Avery wasn’t naive enough to think Viraj wouldn’t have told anyone if it weren’t for Blair, but maybe he wouldn’t have made it this huge dramatic thing.
Blair, meanwhile, loved to talk shit. Things weren’t the same between Blair and Avery after that.
Morgan flashed a pained grin. “We’re just browsing through some bridal magazines and looking at dresses. Sit, Blair!”
Blair sat on the couch, on the opposite end of Avery. With her off-white manicured nails, she grabbed a magazine and a pair of scissors from the coffee table. Avery sat a glass of wine down on the table in front of Blair, as an attempt at normalcy.
“Have you decided on a veil yet?” Blair asked Morgan, pointedly not acknowledging the wine with a thank you. “That’ll inform so much of your look.”
“I’m not sure if I’m doing a veil, actually,” Morgan said. She reached for the glass of wine Avery offered her. “Oh, thanks, Avery.”
“You’re very welcome,” Avery said.
She glared at Blair. Bitch .
Blair sat up straight and tall, like she was about to conduct a business meeting.
Avery scanned Blair’s outfit: a puff-sleeve blouse, cropped black jeans, and gold kitten heels.
There was once a time when Avery admired how elegant and put-together Blair was, when she found Blair’s South Carolinian formalities charming instead of the result of a stick up her ass.
She’d even sought Blair’s help for her first date with Ryan, and Blair spent hours doing Avery’s hair and makeup and sifting through Avery’s closet to give her advice on what to wear.
Their friendship was special to Avery in college.
Sometimes she still couldn’t believe they’d fallen so far, that Blair had so viciously and vocally turned against her and encouraged all their friends to do the same.
“Well, there are lots of options,” Blair said. “There’s the cathedral or chapel veil. Those are pretty formal. Or short veils, which I don’t love, but they’re a bride favorite. There are mantillas, but they kind of look like tablecloths. My favorite is the fingertip.”
Avery flipped a page of her magazine so forcefully it almost ripped. “Morgan just said she doesn’t know if she wants a veil, Blair.”
Blair lifted her chin slightly, staring Avery down. Avery stared right back.
“I’m only trying to help,” Blair said with a shrug.
The innocent tone of her voice was a skewer through Avery’s eardrums. Blair took a compact mirror out of her polka dot makeup bag and touched up her lipstick.
“I was the maid of honor in my cousin’s wedding.
I did so much research, so I have a lot of context.
” She snapped her mirror shut and met Avery’s eye again, like a dare.
“Have you ever been a maid of honor before, Avery?”
“Nope. First time.” Then Avery kicked herself for allowing Blair the moment of superiority. She and Blair weren’t best friends anymore. There was no place for honesty in their relationship.
“It can be super overwhelming. Did you know some brides have their maids of honor sign their marriage certificate as a witness? What a responsibility!” Blair popped her lipstick cap back on, then gave Avery a sickly sweet smile.
“Seriously, let me know if you need help with anything. Being a first time maid of honor is tough .”
Avery cleared her throat, the only appropriate response to Blair’s passive aggression. Then she summoned the fake-nice voice again.
“So how long are you in town for?” It was exhausting, being this phony, obliterating people with kindness. Avery didn’t know how Blair did it all the time.
“I’m actually staying until the middle of next week for a work conference!
” Blair launched into a long-winded, self-indulgent monologue about all the “challenging but fulfilling” responsibilities she had at Deloitte, which Avery tuned out immediately.
Blair always thought she was better than everyone in college because she worked the hardest, and clearly nothing had changed.
Back then, Blair would even skip out on parties if she knew she’d be too hungover to do schoolwork the next morning.
It gave her this false sense of morality, like she could stay in and be responsible while everyone else was easily swayed by childish vices.
Avery used to laugh it off as Blair being Blair, and would sometimes even join Blair if she didn’t feel like going out either.
Now, knowing how far that superiority complex could go—knowing it made her think she knew everything —Avery wanted to smack her.
“That’s amazing , ” Avery said when Blair’s speech felt over.
Morgan taped on a smile, sensing it was time for a subject change. “My mom’s making coquito for the engagement party. ’Tis the season. Get excited.”
“Hell yes!” Avery cheered. Gabriela always used to send Morgan back to campus after Thanksgiving with two homemade bottles, and it got everyone through the final slog until the December holiday break. “Your mom’s coquito is the best.”
“I know, I miss it. I’ve started looking up decorations for the party, too. I’m thinking pink. To match the color scheme of Sel Rrose.”
Sel Rrose was a rustic restaurant in the Lower East Side, with an entrance bordered by two pink doors and a bar with gold stools and exposed brick.
It was beautiful, expensive-looking, and Instagrammable—the perfect spot for an engagement party.
Avery had suggested the spot to Morgan after it was featured in a Metropolitan story, and Morgan loved the urban, industrial romantic vibe.
“But you don’t want a hot pink,” Blair said, like this was the most astute clarification. “You want something chic. Like a muted dusty pink.”
Avery heaved a sigh. “Right. That’s the shade of pink in the restaurant.”
Blair blinked like a robot programmed to do human movements. “Great, just confirming. There are lots of shades of pink, you know.”
Frustration bounced around in Avery’s throat, like a cage fighter preparing for the ring. Shut the fuck up! she wanted to shout. Just shut the fuck up!
“This isn’t a Sweet Sixteen, Blair,” is what finally came foaming out of her mouth. “We wouldn’t do hot pink either way.”
Morgan’s lip twitched.
“Right.” Blair blinked again. “And maybe, Morgan , you could get some bubble letter balloons that spell out ‘love.’ I see them all over.”
Avery had seen those balloons online too and was going to suggest them to Morgan days ago. She chugged her wine, annoyed that she didn’t bring them up sooner.
“That’s a cute idea!” Morgan said. “And I agree on the dusty pink. That’ll match the flowers, too. We’re getting bouquets of soft pink roses and ivory ranunculus, tied together with a gold band.”
“Ranunculus,” Avery repeated, holding back laughter. “That sounds like the name of a dinosaur. The Ranunculus, ” she began in a dramatic, vaguely British nature documentary voice, “ with its slender neck and tail hung low— ”
“Ranunculus is actually a very common bridal flower,” Blair said, unamused.
Avery stifled an eye roll. She could’ve sworn Blair had a sense of humor once.
“You should mix in some anemones and hellebores, too,” Blair continued. “They’re in-season and very popular for the winter.”
“Definitely,” Morgan agreed. “They’re kind of expensive, but maybe now I can consider them. Noah’s connection to the venue alleviated so much financial stress.”
Avery’s heart seized, startled by the sound of his name.
“Yes, I heard about the amazing discount!” Blair said, a smile curling on her lips. “He is so generous.” She turned to Avery. “Last month, he got us a table at Sons of Essex and paid for all the alcohol.”
Avery couldn’t have given less of a shit. “Wow. Cool.”
“He’s also so hot.” Blair folded her lips together and made a mmmm sound as she sank deeper into the couch. “He’s a tall drink of iced tea, that boy.”
Avery’s eyes darted around the room in frantic search of the wine bottle.
Noah was not hot. He was a predator. He reminded Avery of this guy she once saw on an episode of Worst Roommate Ever who was so smart and charming that he could trick people into living with him until they found out he was secretly a creepy serial squatter.
“You’re such a sucker for tall guys, Blair,” Morgan encouraged.
“He’s six-four! Who wouldn’t love that?” Blair was practically swooning. “And I love blonds. Specifically Noah’s shade, where it’s, like, a dirty light brown. And his eyes .”
His eyes.
Following Avery everywhere she went.
She took out her phone to reread Pete’s text message.
She thought of that night at the bar: how he teased her so deliciously, how that final release made her see stars, how that glimmer of happiness thawed something deep and cold inside her.
She’d give anything to do that again, anything to feel that again. Anything to get away from talk of Noah.
She sent him a text. hey, are you busy tonight? what are you up to?
Her phone buzzed almost immediately. Avery had to laugh at Pete’s lack of chill.
Usually, a two-second reply time would make Avery want to ghost; a guy that was too eager tended to be looking for more than she was willing to give emotionally.
But right now, in her desperation, she was grateful for Pete’s urgency, regardless of what it might mean.
The faster she could have sex with him, the faster she could convince herself that Noah didn’t have power over her anymore.
Not much, Pete replied . Chillin at home on the island. Why?
Avery scratched her head. Getting to Staten Island would require two subway transfers, a boat ride, and then who knew how much farther? Avery hadn’t exactly spent her weekends exploring Staten Island like people explored Williamsburg. Was she about to do this?
She texted him back. send me your address?
“Sorry guys. I, um, just got an email from my boss.” Avery kept her brows creased and her fingers moving across the keyboard, because this was a very, very, very important email. “I need to run home to finish up some work.”
Blair flipped through a magazine without looking up. “Bummer!”
“You sure?” Morgan asked, frowning. “I was gonna order pizza …”
“Yes. I’m sorry.” Avery threw on her leather jacket and hoisted her tote bag over her shoulder. “Next week we’ll do Rubirosa’s—on me. Promise.”
She paused for a moment to stare into Morgan’s sad, downturned eyes.
She hated that she was disappointing her best friend, but she hurried out of the apartment before Morgan could say another word.
She pressed hard on the elevator button, the skin under her nail turning white, until the elevator rumbled and ascended from the lobby.
As she waited for it, she closed her eyes to block out the sounds of Blair and Morgan’s conversation wafting into the hallway.
Avery didn’t want to chance hearing Noah’s name again, even low and muffled through Morgan’s front door.
She couldn’t bear the sound of it, the mere thought of it.
It was just a reminder of how she’d have to spend the next eight months until the wedding lying through her teeth around him and everyone else. Pretending that she was okay.