Upbeat, pop music blasts from the Bluetooth speakers as I climb the stairs and peek inside Meredith’s room. There’s the frantic, pre-wedding energy in the air, with everyone in various stages of undress. Jocelyn is sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of a light-up vanity as she applies foundation to her skin, and Vanessa is plaiting her hair in a loose braid, giving me a bright smile when I make my way into the room. Katherine is steaming the bridesmaids’ gowns—mismatched floral dresses with embroidered embellishments. She doesn’t look at me, diverting her gaze as she focuses on the fabric in her hand, and I’m baffled by how she can stand in this room right now.
Ignoring her, I head straight for Meredith, who is sitting in a chair by the window. Her hair is pinned up in rollers and there are purple eye masks adhered to the delicate skin underneath her eyes.
“How are we feeling this morning?” I ask in a voice way more chipper than how I actually feel.
“I got my iced coffee. I got my girls. I finally got service on my phone. Life is good.”
I stare at her, trying to think of an excuse to get her alone, when she hops up from her chair as if she’s forgotten something.
“You need my details, right?” she says, gathering a pair of white espadrille sandals, seashell jewelry, a sandalwood-scented perfume. Her dress, a crocheted two-piece with bell sleeves, hangs on a wooden hanger on the window frame.
“I put my jewelry and some knick-knacks in here,” she says, handing me a plastic box. “There’s a letter from Grant in there as well. I waited to open it. I thought maybe you could get a photo of me reading it.”
My stomach tightens at the suggestion.
“Did he give it to you this morning?” I ask, wondering what excuse he’s offered for why he came home sporting a black eye.
“Nope! He had Jocelyn messenger it over from the barn. They’re all getting ready over there. We decided to do the whole one-last-night-apart thing. His idea, of course. He’s so much more of a traditionalist than me.”
All my instincts tell me to keep my mouth shut, to smile and nod, and pretend I didn’t catch the groom wrist-deep in the maid of honor, but staring at my friend, I let my courage win.
“You know, Mere. I’d love to get your opinion on bridal party photo locations, since we’ll be doing them on site. Do you have a second to run downstairs with me?”
“Totally,” she beams, and follows me down the stairs. I wait until the moment we’re out of earshot before I rip off the proverbial Band-Aid.
“I have to tell you something.”
Her face falls. “Oh God, is it the bakery? They promised me they could make a vegan cake shaped like our dog, but I didn’t believe them. The consistency isn’t conducive to sculpting, or at least that’s what another bakery told me,” she says, taking a deep breath. “If it looks like a mutant, maybe we can have cupcakes instead. I’m not really sold on the whole feeding each other thing, but ...”
“It’s not the cake,” I reply.
Her eyebrows furrow in contemplation. “What is it?”
“Mere,” I say, grabbing her arm to hold her attention. “I hate to do this, today of all days, but I would feel like shit if I didn’t say anything. And I get it if you don’t believe me, but I have to tell you ...”
The words come out too quickly, and Meredith stares at me with a concerned expression.
“I saw Grant and Katherine hooking up in the bathroom last night.”
I take a wary step back, my nails in my palms, waiting for her response. I expect screaming, crying, or a rare burst of violence. But I don’t expect laughter.
I consider that it might be a shock response. I’ve heard about people who find themselves hysterically giggling in uncomfortable situations with no ability to control it. But then her expression turns serious.
“Oh my God. Mira. No,” she says, consoling me. “Grant and I have an open relationship.”
The admission is so unexpected that I have to take a seat on the edge of the couch.
“You do?”
She nods, placing a hand on my shoulder.
“Grant asked me last night, before they did anything. That’s the rule. We have to ask for permission, but I was with Derrick so ...”
“Oh,” I say, letting the reality of it sink in.
“I’m so sorry. I know that must have been awkward.”
“I just . . . I thought . . .”
