The Best Friend's Guide to Surviving Matrimony (and All That Other Happy Shit)

I'm not sure how long it was before we were called into the living room. It may have been a mere matter of minutes, but it felt like it had been hours. However long it was, the amount of things we managed to accomplish in that time frame was absolutely outstanding.

Not only did we get Lexxi completely plastered against his will ("If I drink one more shot, I'm gonna - God dammit, you two!"), but had also conducted a half-assed game of beer pong using empty wine glasses and a quarter Mike found (which ended abruptly when broken glass sprayed across the coffee table after a particularly rough toss), convinced Michael to join us in a round of fifty-two pick up, and had rallied a raucous a capella version of the Thompson Twins' "Hold Me Now" that was loud enough to wake up the entire neighborhood. Until someone popped in to drag us to the living room, we weren't even aware that there was a party going on anywhere else but with us.

We filed clumsily down the hall to the high-ceilinged entertainment room, where the rest of the guests had squeezed themselves in and were chatting amongst each other as they waited for the couple's "speech" to begin. The six of us settled in around the crowd's perimeter. I was laying snugly in Michael's arms, the two of us propped against the wall, Jo beside us. Evie was holding a green-faced Lexxi upright on the opposite side of us while Stix lurked somewhere nearby with his arms folded irritably. I studied him for a moment, tempted to shout something obscene about he and Jo and his cock, but just as soon as the thought came, it was swept away by the clanging of glass and my attention was drawn to the center of the room.

There stood the dream couple, Satchel holding a wine glass in one hand and his opposite arm wrapped tight around Vivian. They seemed to fit together like two pieces to a jigsaw puzzle. Hip-to-hip, they were practically the picture of perfection: two brunette bombshells, two unbearably gorgeous human beings without a single flaw between them. I could understand why he'd picked her. It only made sense that he'd want to be with someone as perfect as himself.

At the same time, I couldn't help but wonder what I would look like on Satchel's arm. The thought was so bittersweet, and indulgence that hurt at the same time. While it was a nice fantasy to entertain, there was no doubt in my mind that compared to Vivian, I was no competition. She was so charming and intelligent and beautiful - everything Satchel wanted in a wife, evidently; everything that I wasn't. I was nothing like Viv. I couldn't be even if I tried.

I would never be what Satchel was looking for, and the thought made my heart ache so much that I shook.

Satchel cleared his throat, directing my attention to him once again. A light smile covered his face, a bashful little smirk that twisted my guts, as he began to speak. "Hey there, everyone." He blushed, laughing airily as a chorus of "hellos" came back at him. "Hi, guys. First off, we'd like to thank everybody for coming out. It was kinda short notice. It's amazing that all of you showed up. Thank you."

I shifted in Michael's embrace. My brain was fuzzy and hearing him be so formal didn't seem to register with me. I felt like this wasn't Satchel I was watching, but somebody else I didn't know.

"Secondly, I speak for both Vivian and I when I say that we hope you stay with us for this entire journey - the engagement, the wedding and beyond. I know it's said that friends and family kinda fall to the wayside when you get married, but that's not gonna happen here. We need you guys. We want to be there to love and support you just as much as you're going to love and support us."

He paused for a moment and a wave of applause washed up in the silence. His cheeks grew even more red, his head dipping to hide the blush. Vivian was grinning wide, proud and infatuated and just in love, holding his hand tight like she was meant to do it. Like it was her job now.

Watching this display of shyness made me feel sick. Just standing there in Michael's arms, watching as Satchel hid his face from the crowd, I felt like I was going to puke. This was wrong. So, so wrong. This was Satchel - Satchel that spewed the word "fuck" like it was an adjective, that blasted Van Halen with the windows down because he didn't care, that sent his ex-girlfriend shirts that said nasty phrases like "I'm on the Hole Patrol" on the back of them. This was Satchel that could take a stage and own it, not give a shit about looking crazy or stupid because fuck it, he was Satchel and he didn't give one damn about what you had to think. This was Satchel who was now blushing because of a mere round of applause and trying to hide behind his fiance.

And it was in that moment that a seed of hatred was planted inside of me. Because no, I couldn't hate Vivian for being the woman I wasn't and winning over Satchel's heart, but I could hate anyone that took away his spirit.

"You okay?" Michael nuzzled close to my ear, head rolling forward drowsily. "You're stiff as a rock."

I nodded shortly. "I'm fine."

"Well, as you know," Satchel started again, evidently having regained his composure, "The next few months are going to be hectic for us. Planning a wedding in three months can be difficult, especially when you have no clue what you're doing." He chuckled. "Viv and I don't have the slightest idea where to start with this mess. We're completely lost. So we decided to extend an invitation to a couple of our closest friends asking if they would help us out." With a grand arm gesture toward our side of the room, he pointed out the two now-fuming brunettes with a grin. "I'm grateful to announce that my longtime friends Stix and Joanna are now officially our honorary wedding planners."

A round of clapter broke out, along with a few catcalls from the crowd. Absolutely indignant, the two stepped forward and gave curteous (albeit forced) waves, perfectly civil until the fanfare died down. Then, they exchanged disdainful glares before flopping back onto the wall with a unified huff.

Once the room grew quiet once more, Satchel suddenly passed the hand off to Vivian, who departed from his side and stepped forward with a smile. "Hello, everybody. Thanks so much for coming, you guys are wonderful." She giggled at the few waves she got. "Well, Satchel and I have been talking a lot recently about who to invite to be in our wedding party. As a home-schooled only child, it was difficult making friends growing up. To this day, there are still very few people I feel close to."

A few girls in the crowd cooed. "What a sob story," I said probably a little too loud, rolling my eyes. Michael pinched me.

"Since there aren't very many people I can trust in my life," she continued, "I've done a lot of thinking on who to choose to be my maid of honor. We want to pick someone who can be there for us whenever, who will support our relationship through thick and thin." She then turned on her heel to face our side of the room again, her eyes linking with mine.

My stomach immediately sunk. Oh no.

"Carrie," she said, extending a hand, "Will you come over here?"

Gasps rose up from the crowd. Michael was suddenly holding me much too tight.

You have got to be kidding me.

Every eye in the room was on me, and suddenly, I wished I hadn't worn that stupid dress. I wished I hadn't done those shots. I wished I hadn't had sex with Jeremy in my stupid over-sized office chair. I wished I hadn't smoked that weed. I wished that when Satchel had called and begged me to go to his friggin' wedding, I had said no. I wished I had never done any of that stupid stuff. Maybe if I hadn't, none of this would be happening to me.

That's what you get for being friendly, my brain told me. That's what you get for being kind. Remember what Dad told you?

I closed my eyes, breathing deep, heart slamming, and tried to remember.

"Never be a softie," he'd said, taking a puff from his cigar and blowing the sick, cherry-scented fumes in my direction. "Be a softie and you'll get trampled on. See what happened to me? I was soft, and my wife up and left me to raise a kid on my own. I don't know the first thing about taking care of a fuckin' child. But I screwed myself over. This is what I get for going soft."

"Go." Michael nudged me from behind, pushing me towards the crowd. My fingers curled into his shirt, but he pulled away. "You don't have a choice, baby. You gotta."

He nudged me again, sending me stumbling forward. I was suddenly all too aware of how high my heels were and how blurry my vision was. Vivian's hand was still stretched toward me, her smile inviting. She wasn't trying to take advantage of me. She wasn't trampling me. I was okay.

Encouraging myself to move, I picked my way through the crowd with as much caution as I could muster. I felt as if I was going to tip over at any moment. My dress that had once felt so sexy now felt trashy and embarrassing as hundreds of eyes traced my every move. When I finally met Vivian at the center of the room, I was at a loss as to what to do next, so I faintly reached out for one of the many hands that swam around in my vision and allowed her to pull me in close.

"Carrie," she said, voice soft, eyes melting softly into my skull. She smelled like spice and vanilla and looked like an angel, and although I hated her, I loved her too. "You're closer to Satchel than almost anyone. You've been there for him through practically everything. He trusts you with every ounce of his being. You're a very, very special woman in his life." She squeezed my hand, her smile growing warmer and even more inviting. "I want a maid of honor that I can trust has my best interest at heart, who will be dedicated and willing. Somebody who cares for Satchel just as much as I do and means a lot to him. Somebody like yourself."

I just stared at her, dumbfounded and nearly on the verge of tears. No. No, no, no. I didn't care for Satchel as much as she did. I cared for him more than her - more than anyone. Why did I do this to myself? Why did I screw myself over?

I knew the question was coming before she even asked it, but the words sounded just as horrible as they left her lips: "Carrie, will you be my maiden of honor?"

My gut whirled. I felt like I was going to be sick, for real this time. None of this made sense. Why me? Why not somebody else? Jo was ten times closer to him than I was. Why couldn't she be sucked into this mess while I was the innocent wedding planner? At least then I'd be able to ruin their wedding day. At least that way I could be curled up at home as they shared their vows instead of having to stand there and keep cool through it all. I wasn't prepared for that kind of thing, I was strong enough to do it. I would be a wreck before they could even say, "I do."

I had to tell her no. There wasn't any way I'd be able to do it. I couldn't put myself through that kind of pain - dealing with this was hard enough.

Panicking, I glanced up and caught Satchel's eyes. He had that eager look on his face, the one that said he already knew what I would say.

My stomach spun again. Saying no would kill him. And that would be that - I'd see him at the wedding, if I even had the heart to attend, and then he'd be gone. He'd be so busy with his new life that he wouldn't have the time to bother with me anymore. He'd stop sending t-shirts, stop inviting me to shows, and eventually, he'd just stop everything altogether. No more birthday presents or Christmas cards or surprise visits to the office. He'd be gone, just like that.

The thought wrapped around my heart like an iron fist. Was I willing to let him go like this? Could I really accept this fate? Say "no" and close the door forever?

You're a very special woman in his life.

There'd be no chance of reconciliation. No chance of winning him back.

You'll get trampled on.

There'd be no more funny code names, no more late nights chugging pints at the House of Blues.

He trusts you with every ounce of his being.

No more Satchel.

You're a softie.

I closed my eyes. I had to do this.

"I'll...I'll do it. I'll be your maid of honor."