Page 69 of Love You Truly

She stops and points at a pair of chaise lounges under a giant orange umbrella, so I drop onto a soft white towel atop one of the chaises. She takes the one next to me, but not before sweeping my dress off the ground and gathering it around my ankles to keep it clean.

“See, if I were a real bride, I’d know to do that,” I mumble, air leaving my lungs as I give in to how ill-prepared I am for my role. “I thought on the day of the wedding, some sort of bride sixth sense would kick in, and I’d be able to run on instinct. Guess not.”

I don’t plan to sound so defeatist, but the words took up residence someplace in my chest about an hour ago, and apparently, they took their first opportunity to escape. I sneak a look at Beatrix, expecting to see disappointment in her eyes. After all, she should expect a better performance from me when I’ve spent years convincing everyone in town that all I’ve ever wanted was a husband.

So it surprises me when she reaches over and pats the back of my hand. She meets my eyes, and I don’t see disappointment. If anything, it seems like she understands how I feel, which is impressive since I’m still grappling with it myself.

“Let it out.” Without removing her hand, she leans back on her chaise and closes her eyes. Warm afternoon sun kisses her skin, and I feel tempted to crank the umbrella above my head shut. Eyes still closed, Beatrix points at the lever. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Your makeup looks perfect. Stay in the shade so you don’t sweat it off, for heaven’s sake.”

“Are you a mind reader?”

Beatrix shrugs and lets out a laugh. “I’m an event planner. Kind of the same thing. I also double as a therapist, punching bag, and general idea person for anything that has nothing to do with event planning.”

“In other words, you’re like a professional friend?”

She opens her eyes and swivels her legs around so she’s sitting on the lounge facing me. “Yup. If you need one.”

Some people collect friends like treasured mementos. They tuck them into their friendship bank regardless of whether they shared an apartment for two years or met on an airplane and talked for only an hour.

New friends enter the collection like seashells pocketed on vacation or ticket stubs from a favorite event. And there they stay, a link to some meaningful time or event in the past. A roadmap to new treasures in the future. Why would anyone squander that potential?

I can’t answer that because I do the opposite. Friends correspond to the moment in my life when we were thrown together, and generally, I leave it at that. I assume it’s what the other person wants. The only ones who’ve chased me have been men, and they want sex, not friendship.

So Beatrix confuses me with what sounds like an offer of friendship at the very moment when I could use one. At least, I think that’s what she’s doing.

“I—I think I always need one.” It’s way too confessional for a moment between future fake sisters-in-law on a couple of chaise lounges. The champagne must have gone to my head.

“You do.”

“Sorry?”

“We all need a good friend. Doesn’t have to be a best friend, but yeah. You should always have someone to lean on. Talk to.”

I open my mouth and close it again. I want to tell her that she’s right and wrong at the same time. I’d love to have that kind of person in my life, sure. Who wouldn’t? And it’s worked out fine.

“I have…people.”

“People?”

“You know, people who work for me and all that. I have conversations. It’s all good.”

Beatrix bursts out laughing. “You’re funny. I really wish we’d stayed friends because I always really liked you.”

I’m glad she can only see me from the side because my eyes are probably as wide as saucers. “You did?”

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

I shake my head and think back to high school. I try to remember what Beatrix was like and why I assumed she didn’t like me all that much.

The high school Beatrix was similar to the woman sitting next to me now. Self-assured, beautiful, smart. She was all the things I aspired to be, but back then, I didn’t know how to be any of those things.

I wonder how differently my life would have turned out if I’d stopped walking with my head down to avoid what I felt sure were judgmental looks from my female peers. Maybe I’d have a crew of women as friends now. Maybe I’d have gone to business school a long time ago instead of letting other people’s perceptions dictate my path.

“Sorry. I guess I’m just nervous about the wedding.”

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