Page 85 of My Ex-Best Friend's Wedding

We grin at each other. In unison and without hesitation we say, “Big mistake. Huuuuge. I have to go shopping.”

I reach for my phone. “Hey, Siri,” I say. “Play ‘Pretty Woman.’”

Bree grabs a wooden hanger and taps it against a clothing rod in time to the song’s opening drum licks.

Ray Orbison’s voice fills the dressing room. We automatically bob our heads.

Bree puts down her “drumstick” and grabs the empty champagne bottle while I throw imaginary dressing room curtains aside and twirl and strut—as much as you can in a designer wedding gown and heels.

She holds the bottle to her lips and then to mine as we sing our hearts out. In this moment we’re sixteen again moving in tandem, bumping hips, raising our arms over our heads as we fall into the dance moves we choreographed a lifetime ago.

Bree’s smile is ready and her laughter is light. Our interactions have been so few and so fraught for so long that I’ve forgotten this side of her. Or perhaps I’d just blocked it so I could bear to be without her.

“Merccccyyyyy!” We both lean into our “microphone” to give the word extra emphasis then prance in a circle, belting out the lyrics with everything we’ve got.

We’re doing a final twirl, pretending to drum the last song licks when the dressing room door opens. Daria slips inside. “Nice choreography.” She smiles. “You two have some moves.”

We laugh and take mock bows.

“Just wanted to make sure I could dance in this gown,” I say, trying to catch my breath. “You know, at the reception.”

“Yeah,” she laughs. “I can understand that.”

“It looked highly danceable to me,” Bree adds with an almost straight face.

“Definitely danceable,” I agree. “I really appreciate you making this happen today,” I say as Daria helps me out of the off-the-shoulder gown. “There are so many great choices. I’m going to need to give this all some thought.”

Bree and I are still smiling when we climb into a cab for the ride back to the Upper West Side.

THE DRESS and my mother arise in my mind. As if she’s following my train of thought—and at this point maybe she is—Bree says, “You do know that your parents are dating, right?”

My parents. “Are they really?” I can’t quite picture it. “It’s so weird to think of them that way. As a couple, I mean.”

Bree sighs. “You need to speak to her, Lauren. My parents abandoned me and to this day they’ve never asked to be forgiven or even realize they’ve done anything to be forgiven for.” She pauses, but only, it turns out, to take a breath. “Kendra has always put you first your entire life. She loves you unconditionally. She did what she did to try to protect you and Jake and his family. Think how hard that must have been when it seems pretty clear she loved him. Has probably always loved him. And could certainly have used his help and support—both financially and emotionally. Now when you finally have a chance to have both of your parents in your life are you really going to turn your back on your mother?”

Not too long ago (possibly even before brunch this morning) I might have labeled Bree’s comments a tirade, but her concern is apparent and there’s no doubting her sincerity.

Has Bree always been nicer than I am? More forgiving? “I hear you,” I say finally. “But I keep thinking about how different my life would have been if my father had been a part of it.”

“But he is now,” Bree says. “And so is your mother.” She draws a breath and I realize how carefully she’s choosing her words. “I don’t want to spoil what’s been a really great day, but at least from where I’m sitting it doesn’t look as if your life turned out so badly.”

When I don’t argue she continues, “I was just thinking. Maybe the Queen of Beach Reads could change direction if she wanted to. Reinvent herself. Or write something entirely different under another name. Like Stephen King, or Dean Koontz, or Agatha Christie, or... Lemony Snicket.”

I manage to stop before the automatic knee-jerk protest.Bree’s right. There are plenty of ways to change course if I want to. I can even afford to take a break to figure it out if I choose. I feel a burst of excitement and relief at the possibility. Why have I been so afraid of even considering a change? “That’s not entirely crazy.”

“Gee, thanks.”

We smile at each other. Genuine smiles. With nothing hidden or held back.

I’ve forgotten what it’s like to have someone who’s known me so long and so well and who’s there to support me. I’ve given up so much more than I let myself realize.

?Back on the Upper West Side I have the cabdriver drop us off in front of my favorite ice cream place, Emack & Bolio’s. Although I lobby for their famous ice cream pizza, we end up with ice cream cones that we lick as we amble over to Riverside Drive so that I can show Bree my favorite view out over the Henry Hudson Parkway to the Hudson River itself.

It’s late in the afternoon when the sky begins to darken. Rain clouds appear in the distance.

“We could walk down to Columbus Circle and the Time Warner Center. Or I could see if there’s a recital at Juilliard.” I take out my cell phone prepared to Google.

“I think I’ve gone as far as I’m going today,” Bree replies. “I’m whipped, but God, I can’t believe you live right in the center of everything.”

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