“Why the hell not?”
“Because! That’s ridiculous! You’re busy!”
“Very rarely.”
“I hate these hooks!”
“Oh man, not those little silver hooks that you have to try to attach through the little silver holes?”
“The exact ones!”
“You can’t do those on your own. No one can!”
“I have to!”
“No, you don’t! Now, please can you let me in?”
“What about the Uber?”
“It’s fine, the driver’s lovely. Him and Leo are having a nice chat, and he says he can wait.”
“Have you just made that up?”
“Let me in.”
Giving up, I stomp down to the front door and open it. Ruby comes barging in and marches into the bedroom, as I spot Leo in the backseat of a car parked in front and give him an apologetic wave.
“Okay, turn around,” Ruby instructs, as I trail into the bedroom behind her. She starts at the bottom hook. “They are very fiddly, these things.”
“How am I going to get out of it at the end of the night?”
“I’ll unhook it for you in the taxi on the way back.” She finishes the top one at the neck. “Done. Now, what shoes are you going for and have you packed your clutch?”
This is a weird role reversal for us. Usually it’s me giving Ruby instructions, while she flails about the place, leaving everything to the last minute. At university, I ended up keeping her purse in my bag because she always forgot it and there was nothing more annoying than when we’d finally get to the front of the club queue and she wouldn’t have her ID. We had a bit of a running joke the past year about how different our weddings were going to be—mine, organized and coordinated down to the last minute; hers, a jumble of celebratory confusion. A few weeks after Leo proposed, I asked her whether she had any ideas for the big day.
“I know I definitely want food,” she told me sincerely. “And also trumpets.”
So, for Ruby to take over as the leader in our current scenario was mildly concerning. But I’m not going to argue when she’s talking sense. I hurriedly select a pair of shoes and put them on while she takes my phone off charge and shoves it in the clutch lying on my unmade bed, along with my card wallet, before going into the bathroom and grabbing my lipstick and eyeliner.
“What are you doing?” I ask, putting on my earrings and watching her tear off some toilet paper, wrap it up, and slide that into my clutch, too.
“You should always have spare toilet paper in your clutch, Freya. You taught me that.”
“Did I?”
“Yep. First year. I’ve never forgotten it.”
“It is a good tip.”
“You look amazing.”
“So do you. I love your dress.” I smile, admiring her red floral outfit and the way she’s styled her hair, sweeping her black curls over one shoulder.
“Are you ready?”
I take a deep breath. “Yeah, I’m ready. I think.”
“Remember, you have to be the last one standing.”
