Page 2 of Always the Bridesmaid

We’ll all be staying in a house I’ve arranged for us (using Drew’s credit card to pay the rent) in Surrey – apparently a ceremonial county in southeast England, according to Wikipedia – in the week running up to the wedding. The week after, I’m staying in London to see the British sights.

‘And I can’t wait for us all to be together again,’ I add, shielding the half-eaten breakfast in my mouth with my hand as I speak. ‘My first trip to England! I know I say this all the time but it’s crazy that all of the guys fell for Brits. I love it! Are you excited to be going home?’

While I sip my latte and take another inelegant bite of French toast, dabbing excess icing sugar from the side of my mouth with a napkin, I note the exchange of apprehensive looks between Becky and Izzy.

‘Come on, it won’t be so bad,’ I say, attempting to sound reassuring.

‘Won’t it?’ Izzy asks, one eyebrow raised in question. ‘My sister let slip to my parents that I’ll be back in the country. They want to have lunch.’

‘Lunch sounds… nice, no?’ I can feel my face twist, as if I’m bracing myself for falling debris landing on my head.

‘Not just lunch. Lunch with Brooks and his daughter. They’re still grieving the career they always wanted me to have, using the degree that they paid for. They still think music, health and fitness is like my gap-year career. They don’t get TikTok and Insta, they don’t realize I have a brand now. Or maybe they do and they still don’t care because I’m not some kind of literary correspondent for The Guardian.’

‘Hmm… You never know, maybe they’ve missed you and thought about things, and—’

‘Sarah, I assure you, it would be… the worst lunch imaginable.’

‘I’m not sure where to go with this. I don’t think I have a strong message of positivity off the cuff, so in a while I’m going to come back to you with some kind of Sarah affirmation. For now, there’s always French toast, if you would indulge just one time. It’s worth the cals, I promise.’

I take another bite of my toast and purr as if I’m making love to it.

Izzy rolls her eyes but her amusement is evident.

‘How about you, Becky? Are you looking forward to it?’ Izzy asks.

‘The wedding? Massively.’ Becky swallows a mouthful of smashed avocado on sourdough, rubbing a spot of green mush from the tip of her nose with the back of her hand. ‘I’m so happy for Jake and Jess and we haven’t seen much of Drew’s parents and sister recently, so it will be lovely to catch up with the family. But being in England? Having to pretend that every place I see isn’t a trigger from my past? Nope, zero excitement about that.’

‘Okay, I usually pride myself on choosing my audience but it seems long hours and an early morning have messed with my mojo,’ I say jokingly. ‘Seriously though, if either of you feels anxious or down about the trip, please, please talk to me. I have no purpose in life if I’m not trying to fix things.’

Becky smiles. ‘A week of hanging out with my best friends will be all the fixing I need.’

‘I second that,’ Izzy says.

‘Eek, it’s going to be fabulous!’ I say, rubbing my hands together. ‘Now, I must go home and pack for our flight.’ I rise from my stool and brush sugar from my yoga leggings, then finish my latte. ‘I’m so pleased it worked out that we can all travel together.’

2

SARAH

The alarm on my coffee machine chimes, then the distinct sound of grinding beans filters through to the one bedroom of my apartment in West Village. Drew and Becky bought me the machine as a Christmas gift last year and I love the smell that fills my home every morning but I truly hate the offensively loud noise it makes.

It’s Monday and the start of my ten working days of vacation from the office. It’s the longest block of leave I’ve taken since my honeymoon. The thought comes to me as I walk into the kitchen of my open-plan living space, stilling me momentarily as I reach for a mug. It kills the giddiness I have been feeling about my trip.

I read the message written in Script font on the mug – You’ve Got This. I nod, as if the mug has physically rather than metaphorically spoken to me, and I tell myself what I always try to remind myself in these moments of melancholy – at least you met him and enjoyed four beautiful years together.

My husband was stolen from me far too soon. Before any of our life plans and dreams had come to fruition. I have been without him now for double the length of time I was with him and still the pain of his loss is ever-present, ever-real. It catches me off-guard. Something as simple as my mind acknowledging the last time I took a two-week break from work can thrust me back into darkness in an instant.

‘London, London, London,’ I whisper to myself as I set about pouring filter coffee into my mug and adding oat milk from the refrigerator. But it doesn’t stop me from thinking of him. You would have been so excited, Danny.

I remind myself that I’ll be enjoying the sights and sounds of London for both of us. That is why I have booked to stay an extra week after the wedding, when all my friends will be heading back across the Atlantic. I’ll carry him with me, in my head and in my heart.

Turning my back on the coffee machine, I lean against the benchtop and savor my first mouthful of coffee, sighing around the creamy caffeinated drink.

‘That’s better. Let’s get you ready and Newark Airport bound, lady,’ I tell myself.

An hour later, my hair is washed, dried, and whipped into a loose chignon to fend off the static that always makes it go wild on a long-haul flight. I’ve bought a travel outfit specifically for the flight out: a wide-legged black jumpsuit, which looks smart but has the essential elasticated waistband I need to absorb the forty-thousand feet airplane bloat.

There have been many times in my life that I have resented the height I was born with – at nearly six feet tall and with a personal preference that women should always be taller than their male partners, it lessened the available partner pool significantly in my singleton days, pre-Danny – but today, my ability to pull off a wide-legged jumpsuit with comfy flats is undoubtedly a perk of being lanky.

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