3. Bridesmaid Duties #2
Later, after the massages and the manicures and the parade of wedding-related activities, Margot sat alone on the venue's back terrace.
The afternoon had faded into evening, gold light slanting across the vineyard.
Sophie was inside getting her nails painted a pale pink.
The other bridesmaids had scattered to their rooms to rest before dinner.
Margot sat on a stone bench, staring at her phone without seeing it, trying to remember why she'd fought so hard for a life that felt this empty.
Her phone buzzed. A photo from Delphine, a sunset over what looked like the Algarve, so blurry it might as well be abstract art. Wish you were here! Also I got proposed to by a fisherman. Said no but it was cute.
Margot typed back: Your photos are still terrible.
Love you too sis followed by seventeen emojis.
Margot almost smiled. Her younger sister had been traveling for three years now, hopping from country to country, writing about cafes and hiking trails and local festivals for a travel blog that somehow paid her bills.
She sent postcards that arrived months late and blurry photos with captions that made no sense.
She was chaos personified, and Margot worried about her constantly, and she loved her in a way that felt uncomplicated in a life where nothing else did.
The partnership. She'd wanted it since law school.
The validation, the achievement, the proof that she was worth something.
She'd worked eighty-hour weeks. She'd missed holidays and birthdays and the slow collapse of her last relationship, which had ended with her girlfriend standing in their shared apartment saying, You're not even here when you're here. What's the point?
The paths not taken haunted her sometimes.
Cassidy Monroe, her law school study partner, had gone into prosecution instead of corporate.
Last month Margot had seen her name in the news.
Some high-profile case, justice served. Cassidy had looked fierce in the courtroom photos.
Certain. Like she knew exactly why she did what she did.
She'd made partner six months ago. The announcement had come with champagne and congratulations and a corner office with a view of the Manhattan skyline.
She still didn't know if it had been worth it.
"There you are."
Becca's voice came from behind her. Margot didn't turn.
"Sophie was worried. You disappeared."
"I needed air."
"Fair enough." Becca settled onto the bench beside her, close but not touching. "Beautiful out here. The light."
"Yes."
"You're doing that thing again."
Margot looked at her then. "What thing?"
"The monosyllable thing. Where you answer without saying anything."
"I wasn't aware I was obligated to elaborate."
"You're not. But I'm curious." Becca was studying her with that unnerving attention. The kind that made Margot feel exposed. "What are you thinking about? When you stare at the vineyard like it owes you money?"
Margot almost smiled. "Work."
"Always work?"
Margot ran her thumb along the edge of her phone case, a habit she didn't realize she had until someone pointed it out. "Usually."
Becca pulled her knees up, wrapping her arms around them. "That sounds lonely."
"It's efficient."
Becca considered. "You know what I think?"
"I suspect you're going to tell me."
"I think you've spent so long being good at your job that you forgot how to be good at being alive. Now you're at your best friend's wedding, surrounded by people who care about you, and you don't know what to do with yourself."
The words landed too close. She should deflect. Should retreat behind her walls, as she always did when someone got too close.
Instead, she said: "What if being good at being alive was never something I knew how to do?"
Becca's expression softened. "Then you learn. Everyone has to learn. It's not a talent you're born with. It's a practice."
"A practice." The word sat strange in Margot's mouth, like a language she'd once spoken and forgotten.
"Like yoga. Or meditation. Or making croissants." Becca smiled, but gently. "You show up. You try. You fail spectacularly sometimes. And then you try again."
"That sounds exhausting."
"It is. But it's better than the alternative."
The gold light deepened to amber. Somewhere inside the venue, soft jazz drifted through the open windows.
"Why are you being nice to me?" Margot asked.
The question came out raw and honest, unintended.
Becca didn't seem surprised. "Because you're Sophie's best friend.
And because I think there's more to you than the ice queen routine.
And because…" She paused, something moving across her face.
"Because I know what it's like to feel like you're too much.
And I think you know what it's like to feel like you're not enough.
And I think maybe those are the same thing, just from different angles. "
Margot had no response to that.
She'd spent her whole life being not enough. Not warm enough, not soft enough, not the kind of person people wanted to be around. She'd compensated by being good at other things, by being competent and reliable and useful, but it had never quite filled the gap.
And here was this woman she'd known for less than forty-eight hours, saying things that cut to the center of her.
"You barely know me," Margot said.
"I know you're smart," Becca replied. "I know you're loyal. The way you look at Sophie proves that. I know you work too hard and sleep too little and you've built walls so high you can't see over them anymore. I know you almost kissed me last night and it scared you."
Margot went still.
"I'm not asking for anything," Becca continued. "I'm just saying. I see you. Not the mask. You."
The words settled between them. Something trembled deep inside her, in the place where she'd stored all the things she didn't let herself feel.
She should say something. Should acknowledge what Becca had offered: this vulnerability, this kindness.
But Sophie chose that moment to appear in the terrace doorway.
"There you are! Dinner's in thirty, and I need both of you to help me choose between two identical shades of lipstick. Margot, you have opinions about everything. Becca, you're moral support."
The moment shattered.
Becca stood, offering Margot a hand up. "Duty calls."
Margot took her hand. The contact was brief, just long enough to stand, but it echoed through her long after Becca let go.
They walked back into the venue together. Sophie chattered between them about lipstick and tomorrow's schedule and all the small details that made up a wedding weekend.
And Margot thought about what Becca had said.
I see you.
She couldn't remember the last time anyone had.