Drew
“WAIT, YOU’RE SERIOUS about having a rehearsal for the hen’s night?” I stare at my sister’s bridesmaids, each more tanned and manicured than the last. Annaleigh, Sherilee and...crap, what was the third one’s name again? I’ll call her Merrily in my head until I have a chance to ask my sister.
Not that there’s anything merry about her, mind you. She’s staring at me like I’m patient zero. Is it my fishnets? Maybe it’s the fact that I was a little heavy-handed with the eyeliner today and ended up looking less Brigitte Bardot and more stripper-at-the-end-of-a-long-shift.
“Yes. We’re very serious about having a rehearsal for the hen’s night.” Annaleigh exchanges a look with the other two, as though mentally questioning how my twin sister and I share DNA.
Thankfully, Presley isn’t here tonight.
I swear I’d intended to play nice. My twin and I might be chalk and cheese, as my mum always likes to say, but I love Presley. I really do...just not her taste in clothing, men, food, music, home decor or life interests.
Nor her taste in friends, either, it seems.
“This wedding is going to be perfect.” Sherilee tucks a strand of hair behind her ears, revealing a winking stone that’s so big it must be putting strain on her earlobe. It pales in comparison to the one on her finger, however. “Capital P Perfect. That means every event before the wedding will be perfect, too. The bridal shower, the kitchen tea, the dress fittings, the makeup and hair trials, the rehearsal dinner, the Jack and Jill party and the hen’s night.”
“The Jack and what?” My head is spinning.
“The Jack and Jill party.” Merrily sighs as if she thinks I’m a small, dumb animal. “It’s a combined hen’s and buck’s party.”
“In additional to the actual hen’s and buck’s party?”
“Yes,” all three of them say at once with identical, exasperated tones.
“And you’re organising it, along with the best man,” Annaleigh says. “I’ve passed on your email address, so you should hear from him soon. All the events have been divided up. You’ve got the Jack and Jill, and the presentation for the rehearsal dinner. I’ve got...”
Oh, boy. I’ve already tuned out the droning list of tasks that lie ahead of me.
I look longingly at my beer, which sits untouched, condensation gathering on the glass, next to three flutes of prosecco. I feel like being the first to reach for the booze will be seen as a sign of weakness, like flinching in a fight. But man, I could use a drink right now.
I picture my sister’s sweet face, with her silvery-blue eyes so similar to mine—sans stripper makeup, of course—and tell myself to get my shit together. Do it for Presley! I’m an adult and I deal with snotty people all the time at work. I’m a flight attendant, after all. I can totally manage this.
When Annaleigh pauses to take a breath, I put on my brightest smile. It doesn’t crack any of the icy facades in front of me. “How do you all know Presley?”
“We work together,” Merrily replies.
“Oh, right.” I nod. Finally, something I know. “At the Wentworth Department Store.”
“Head office,” Sherilee adds. “I’m in the communications team, Annaleigh works with Presley in training and Pauline is in recruitment.”
Pauline. I make a mental note to remember Merrily’s real name this time.
“Sounds fun,” I say benignly. There’s a beat of silence and I shift in my seat.
“Presley told us that you go by your middle name, right?” Annaleigh asks, as though she’s trying to keep the conversation from stalling completely. “We’re having T-shirts printed for the hen’s night. Would you prefer Melanie or Drew?”
“Drew.”
Melanie might be the name on my birth certificate and passport, but I’ve always been Drew to my family and friends. I got my middle name from my Uncle Andrew. It’s a weird quirk of our family. Presley is the same; her real first name is Anne, but no one calls her that.
“Why don’t you use your real name?” Pauline asks.
I shrug. “It’s kind of...basic.”
She frowns. “My sister’s name is Melanie.”
An awkward silence descends over the group, burrowing under my skin. But the moment Sherilee opens her mouth and begins to discuss the best type of napkin origami for rehearsal dinner table settings, I question my stance on silence.
An hour later, things have not improved. I’m learning that weddings are serious business, with Google spreadsheets and accountabilities and brainstorming sessions and rehearsals and dress rehearsals. I wouldn’t be shocked if one of them asked me to set a SMART goal for how I want the wedding to go.
And it’s not even my damn wedding!