A while after sending the RSVP…
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"So you're saying I should wear a suit. That's your advice."
Renée leaned back in the barstool and stared at her friend. She was a pretty brunette, with the kind of figure that made her wish the woman wasn't straight. They'd known each other since after college... but the author hadn't *seen* her in months. A rather flaky BFF.
"If you want to attract attention, sure."
Naomi's expression was amused as she responded. That was usually the case. It was also usually at someone else's expense.
"What do you mean? Why would I want to attract attention at a wedding?"
"Why are you asking me? I can feel those looks, you know."
A glass of wine appeared in front of her as the bartender passed by. It wasn't the first time she'd been caught staring, but the other woman always took it in stride. A stride that stepped right towards clever pushbacks.
"Are you having fun teasing me?"
Renée accepted the glass that her friend had bought and took a sip. It was a little dry, but not unpleasant. The kind of taste that grew on her.
"You know, this is why I don't usually take advice from you. It's never straightforward."
The brunette chuckled. She had a deep voice, but it became extra whenever they went out drinking. Like she was trying to embody the sultry, noir-film bar gals filled with life experience.
"But isn't it more fun that way? If you know the outcome waiting ahead of time, why even bother?"
Renée could only shake her head. Her friend was not wrong, but the way she approached things was often unhelpful.
"If you're looking for a man, wear something sexy. If you're looking for a wife, wear a suit. If you're looking for an ex, wear whatever is comfortable."
"That's... you make the weirdest amount of sense about things you shouldn't understand."
While they were technical best friends, she had kept the name and full circumstances of what happened with her ex close to her heart. Not to mention, she hadn't said *who* would be there at the wedding... just that she wanted to look good. Naomi shrugged.
"I don't understand it, but you do. That's all that matters when you are the wise one."
She paused for a moment and glanced at her phone. The writer wasn't trying to, but could see a few messages as she shook the device in her hand with the screen facing her.
"I have to run. I have a date."
Renée rolled her eyes.
"A date? Really? Is this another serious thing?"
"No."
Her friend shrugged as she slipped off her seat. She wasn't really dressed for a casual night out, which meant it was likely the person *was* important. Of course, Naomi never cared if she was caught in her bullshit.
"So when are you going to settle down? Or are you just planning to play the field until your face gives up and falls off."
"I'm not playing the field. I'm looking for the right person."
"At least tell me you're not going to marry a stranger. I've seen that dating app symbol on your homescreen."
Naomi strutted closer and slapped her hand on the author's shoulder - a lot harder than necessary.
"I'd marry you first, Ren. Just make sure to wear the suit."
"You're such an ass."
"But I'm the best kind. The jerk you can't hate because I'm too pretty. Don't forget to text me if you end up needing to crash somewhere. Keep your phone on in case I need the same."
Renée shook her head, but the brunette was already gone.
The author was left alone to drink her glass of wine. It was a good time to mull over her options.
The wedding was in a week. She hadn't packed or bought a present. And she had no idea what to expect from anything after she got there.
"Fuck it."
It was not like there were any better alternatives.
Renée pulled out her phone and searched for the most expensive boutique she could find. Then she called to make an appointment. She was sure they would be too busy to fit her in so soon. Getting rejected would be the perfect excuse.
"Hello, my name is Renée Laurent and I'd like to order a custom tailored suit."
"Ms. Laurent, we'd be honored. I have an appointment available this weekend for a first fitting."
She blinked. There were a number of times in her life where she felt that the universe - or probably the devil laughing his horns off - were out to make a fool of her. They made good anecdotes and fuel for her writing at times... after she got over them.
"...Yes, of course. Thank you."
"Perfect. We'd like to create a bespoke piece for you."
"Ah..."
She was going to regret this. In financial cost. Emotional embarrassment. And every other possible way.
"Do you have any suggestions for an evening suit for a destination wedding?"
"Of course, Ms. Laurent. We would be happy to help. Would you like to bring in a pattern or a photo of something you'd like to be inspired by?"
"Sure. I can bring that in."
"Fantastic. We'll see you Saturday morning, Ms. Laurent. You can reach our personal tailor, Mr. Clem, at..."
She nodded along and pretended she was taking notes. Instead she was taking stock of exactly where she went wrong in her decisions today. This led down a dangerous rabbit hole of 'how long' she had been making the inferior choices, so she shelved the hell out of that train of thought.
"Yes. Yes, of course. I'll see you then. Have a good day."
"Have a wonderful day, Ms. Laurent."
Renée put her phone down. The conversation had left her exhausted, even if it had only taken a few minutes. Her fingers drummed the bar countertop.
The next week would be a rush of activity. She had to finish up her writing. Make sure she could take the time off. Sort out everything else in her life that had fallen apart while she'd been in a writing fugue state before the wedding planner had called.
"It's the phone, isn't it? Answering or calling. It's always the phone's fault."
The author slammed back the remaining wine in her glass.