Enjoy the first chapter of my next book Boss of Me, available here!
Chelsea
I wish for the third time tonight that I could say no to Steph. But I can’t. I haven’t been able to since I met her in Kindergarten and she declared that we were going to be best friends. Her strawberry blonde hair was tied up into pigtails, and she was wearing a pair of purple corduroy overalls with a tutu over top. I was dressed in a boring baby blue t-shirt and denim skirt that my mom made me wear. Even then I felt boring and plain next to her. But Steph saw something in me: an accomplice. I willingly allowed Steph to decide what we’d do during recess, and that was that. Through the years there were more than a few times when Steph got me in trouble with her, but I had to admit that my life would be a lot more boring without her.
Tonight though, I just want to be home, sinking into a tub of bubbles. With a bottle of wine. Maybe two. Definitely not out at this microbrewery. I’m wearing a red dress that’s definitely too fancy for this place. This was a jeans and flannel kind of a place. The yellowy dim lights make it hard to see anything but the game on the flatscreens, and the blasting music makes it impossible to have a conversation. We’re at a rickety table that hasn’t seen a dishrag in months. I’m terrified to put my elbows on it. I don’t know why she’s picked this place of all places to discuss her wedding plans. It’s out of the way, and all I can think about is whether I want to brave public transit in an hour or spring for a cab. I take a sip of my pint. I know nothing about beer, except that I’ve yet to find one I really like.
“So bring me up to date on things,” I say. I’m the maid of honor of course, but my duties, the bachelorette party, the shower, etc. come later down the line. She only got engaged a month ago after all, so I figure I have at least a few months before I have to start looking into anything.
“It’s awful!” Steph sighs. “I really want to go with something more relaxed, like this cute little barn an hour outside of the city. Lots of lace and burlap and candles, that sort of a thing. But Michael’s mom insists on having it in a hotel or something. She doesn’t want to get cow poop on her dress she says, even though I keep telling her it’s an actual wedding venue.”
“And what does Michael say?”
She rolls her eyes and takes a swig of her beer. She ordered some kind of dark beer that looks bitter and earthy. It must be good though, because she’s already drank half. That or her future mother-in-law really is that difficult.
“He says that he’s not going to get between us. The thing is, his mom is helping pay for a third of the wedding so she thinks she’s got veto power.”
“Steph, of course she thinks that. She’s paying for it. Why don’t you just cut out fifty people from the guest list and say no thanks to her money?”
“I wish I could, but then I’d have to answer to my mom.”
Poor Steph. She’s been dating Michael since we went to university together. You’d think that after six years his mom would be used to her by now, but she’s still convinced that there’s a chance Michael will change his mind. The two of them are truly a perfect couple, equally blonde, tall and gorgeous. They’re going to have sickeningly cute babies. I feel a little pang of jealousy that I force way down my gut. It’s not Steph’s fault she found her soul mate during frosh week while I’ve been dating one loser after another.
Our food finally arrives: A cheeseburger and fries for me, and a grilled chicken burger for Steph. She’s one of those people who are perpetually saying their on a diet, while sabotaging it. She says she means it this time with the wedding and all, but I’ll believe it when I see it. Not that she needs to be. Her Marilyn Monroe-like figure attracts tons of attention, all of it good from the male species.
“This is good,” I say, my mood improving slightly from the infusion of salt and fat. I eye the dry chicken breast in her burger. “How’s yours?”
“Fine,” she says, but then I see her chug down her mouthful with beer. Definitely dry.
“How’d you hear about this place again?”
Instead of answering, her eyes see something over my shoulder, following it across the room for a second before coming back to me. Oh no. She has that look again. That look that says ‘hey I think there’s a cute guy for you’. It’s stepped up quite a bit since she got engaged. I think maybe she feels guilty that I still haven’t found someone to have a decent relationship with. I try to tell her that at twenty four I still have plenty of time, but she doesn’t listen.