‘I don’t do this,’ I said, holding my mug of hot coffee away from his body and ignoring the semi that was starting to bother my thigh. ‘I don’t usually go home with people.’
‘You don’t have to explain yourself,’ Will said, still standing in front of me, his peen properly waking up and poking me in the leg. ‘I’m not judging you.’
‘I bet everyone says that, though, don’t they?’ I tried to reach the kitchen top to put my mug down but it was too far away. ‘I bet everyone says “Ooh, I don’t usually do this”.’
‘I don’t know,’ he muttered into my ear, his hands circling my waist and resting on my bum. ‘I don’t usually do this either.’
There wasn’t enough time for me to work out whether he was making a joke, telling the truth or taking the piss, because the next thing I knew, we were awkwardly clambering down onto the floor, my mum’s cardigan was off and we were doing it on the kitchen floor.
Which is a part I will leave out when I tell the grandkids about how we met but have already texted to all my friends. Obviously.
Being a bridesmaid is a huge honour but it’s also a celebration! Tell us all about your bride and your special friendship in the spaces below:
Tell us about the day you met your bride:
We were flatmates at uni and I was very excited to meet a proper American. She bought our love with Peppermint Patties and Reese’s Pieces and Maybelline Great Lash mascara. It was a simpler time.
What were your first impressions of her?
I thought she was incredibly glamorous because she was from New York and she had really cool clothes, like proper Levis and Abercrombie & Fitch jumpers, and she said ‘sneakers’ instead of ‘trainers’. She was sweet and funny and thoughtful, and even though she was nice, she was never a drip. She just seemed so much more grown-up than us.
What were your first impressions of her husband-to-be?
Before I met him, all I knew was that Michael had bought Lauren a Swiffer sweeper for her birthday. Entirely without irony. When I met him at Lauren’s party, we had a perfectly nice conversation about dinosaur erotica and the price of Kentucky Fried Chicken. I still haven’t got over that Swiffer though.
Share a happy memory from when you met your bride-to-be:
Lauren had never had a drink until she moved to England. We changed that pretty quickly and introduced her to snakebite and black. Unfortunately she drank one too many and threw up all over the Student Union toilets and was barred for the rest of the semester. Maybe you had to be there.
What life lesson have you learned from your friendship?
She was the first person who made me look at the wider world and realize there was more out there. She also taught me how to make fajitas, and you can’t put a price on something like that.
Sunday May 17th, evening
Today I feel: Full.
Today I am thankful for: Food.
‘Bloody hell.’
When Lauren had sent out the e-vites for her engagement party at her dad’s house, we figured we were looking at a lovely Sunday afternoon of handmade sandwiches in the living room with a glass of Pimm’s in the garden if we were lucky.
It was ten years since we’d been to Lauren’s dad’s house. Lauren’s dad had moved.
‘How is this somewhere people actually live?’ Sarah asked, handing her coat to one of the two people clamouring over it at the front door. ‘Are they his servants? Does he have servants?’
‘I don’t know,’ I whispered, taking a glass of champagne from another bow-tied helper. ‘When did he get this rich?’
We knew Lauren was From Money, but the last time I checked it wasn’t Scrooge McDuck money. I half expected to open a cupboard and have bags of gold coins fall out and smother me.
‘Maybe he won the lottery and she didn’t tell us,’ Sarah suggested as we were shown through the house and out into a marquee in the back garden. ‘Maybe she thought we’d feel weird about it.’
‘She would be right,’ I replied. ‘This is insane.’
A string quartet played in the corner of the marquee and fairy lights were strung all across the ceiling, fighting the dismal British weather to create a happy atmosphere. In the middle of it all stood Lauren, happily clutching Michael her Swiffer-loving fiancé’s arm.
‘Hey!’ She broke away the moment she saw us and rushed over as fast as her four-inch heels would carry her. ‘You’re here!’
‘Nice shoes,’ I said, accepting a hug and a kiss on the cheek.
‘Thanks,’ she said, kicking up a heel as she hugged Sarah. ‘I was thinking about these for your bridesmaid shoes, actually.’
‘All the better to break an ankle in,’ I replied. ‘So, um, when did your dad become the head of an international drug cartel? Because that’s the only person I can imagine would live in this house.’
‘Oh, haha,’ she replied, taking a glass of champagne from another waiter.
Sarah grabbed a second, her first almost finished. ‘What?’ She shrugged.
‘He’s an estate agent,’ Lauren said, waving at more people as they arrived. ‘He gets good deals on houses.’
‘Especially when he has the previous owners killed,’ Sarah added. ‘I’ve always got a Mafia vibe off your dad. Is that how he ended up in America? Is that how he met your mum?’
‘He’s not in the Mafia and he doesn’t run a drug cartel,’ she replied. ‘He’s just having a good year. And since my mom got remarried, he doesn’t have to pay her alimony any more. That probably helps.’
‘Is your mum here?’ Sarah asked, checking the marquee with fear in her eyes. ‘Please tell me she couldn’t make it.’
‘She couldn’t make it,’ Lauren said, entirely unimpressed. ‘It’s a long way for her. She sent flowers. She’ll come for the wedding, obviously. I don’t know why you’re so afraid of her.’
‘Lauren, your mother is the only woman on earth who has ever knocked me out,’ Sarah replied, rubbing her jaw to nurse a ten-year-old injury. ‘And she’s thirty years older than me.’
‘You did hit on my dad,’ she pointed out. ‘It wasn’t totally undeserved.’
‘I didn’t know he was your dad,’ Sarah sulked, rubbing her jaw as though the punch had happened yesterday. ‘And looking at this place, I wish I’d tried harder.’
‘You could have been mother of the bride,’ I said, patting her on the back. ‘It would have been beautiful.’
‘If you’re going to invite drunk nineteen-year-olds to you dad’s company Christmas party, you should provide some sort of handout to tell them who they may and may not kiss under the mistletoe,’ she said. ‘Totally innocent mistake.’
‘You had your tongue so far down his throat, I nearly threw up,’ Lauren replied. ‘You’re lucky I ever spoke to you again.’
‘This is a beautiful party,’ I said loudly, watching as tray after tray after tray of food was brought out and passed around. ‘That is my official and professional opinion. Who did you use?’
‘For