LOVE IS IN THE MAIL

The moment my front door slams, I know exactly who has just arrived and why. I’m not psychic, my clairvoyance skills are limited to guessing who the murderer is before the end in a few bad detective series. And yet, I have no doubt about the reason why my best friend Madelyn came to my house: she has news to tell me. Something big enough for her to show up in the middle of the week and she should be at work by now. An announcement that will change our lives, well… especially hers! I hear the sound of her handbag filled with junk, which crashes miserably in the hallway. Delicacy will never be her middle name. Hobbs, my Labrador, who as usual was sleeping peacefully at my feet, jumps up to greet the newcomer and certainly get some scratching behind his ears. I hear Madelyn talking to him before she says: “Cora?” “Living room!” I barely have time to save my work when she appears, Hobbs wagging his tail at her side. I don't know which one looks the most excited! But I guess Madelyn's enthusiasm isn’t due to the reunion with my dog. Her cheeks are rosy and a broad smile stretches to her ears. That's what I thought. In less than two minutes, she will tell me the big news. But just to annoy her, I'm going to pretend I haven't noticed that she is as restless as a fashionista on the first day of sales outside her favourite store. “How about a tea?” I formulate my question with an innocent look while making my way to the kitchen. I can feel behind my back that her face has fallen. It's confirmed: tea, or whatever the drink, is the last of her concerns. “Maybe after,” she says. “I have to tell you something first, I can't hold on any longer!” “The toilet is down the hall,” I joke. “Cora! You know very well that I wasn’t talking about that! I have something to tell you and it's important!” What did I say? She's dying for me to ask her why she shows up at my house in the middle of the morning looking like she's plugged into 220 volts. “Oh, yes?” I answer, grabbing the cup on the edge of the sink, knowingly avoiding her eyes. I like this little game, but I give it ten seconds maximum for her to c***k. Besides, she doesn’t prove me wrong and is a bit irritated when she asks me: “Cora! Can I have your attention, please?” I turn in her direction and smile like the Cheshire cat. “Yes, Madelyn?” She utters the successive words with a machine gun rhythm and a tone so high that, if I didn’t know her, I would immediately consider her completely hysterical: “Jameson asked me last night and I said yes!” She shows off her left hand right under my nose, the ring finger of which is now adorned with a superb diamond solitaire. If possible, she looks even more radiant than earlier, and her happiness is contagious. I burst out laughing. “Congratulations!” My enthusiasm isn’t feigned. Madelyn can't keep still, she hops like a kid who has just been told that she can have candy. She ends up throwing herself into my arms, nearly toppling us both. “Oops! Sorry,” she said, pulling away. “Don’t apologize! This is great news!” Seeing her so happy brings tears to my eyes. I grabbed her hand to take a closer look at the ring, just to hide my emotion. “Show me that rock!” It’s even more beautiful in real life. Her boyfriend, sorry her fiancé, Jameson, asked me to help him choose it. I couldn't go to the jewellery store with him, but he bombarded me with messages along with dozens of photos of solitaires, each more beautiful than the next so that I could give him my opinion. And I'm glad to see that he took my advice. Something understated and elegant with a little touch of originality, just like Madelyn, in truth. That's why her untimely arrival in my kitchen doesn't surprise me more than this. I knew he would be on one knee soon, and I was hoping to be one of the first to officially know. “You didn't make fun of it,” I said. “No. But he could have asked me with a piece of wire and I would still have said yes. You know me.” Indeed, she’s not lying. If there’s one thing that Madelyn is not, it’s materialistic. And above all, she's madly in love with Jameson. “I advised him against that option, it would have rusted after a while,” I replied, deadpan. She pretends to be offended. “You knew he was going to propose! You didn’t tell me!” “He made me promise, and you know I don't take that lightly...” “Yes, you're the best at keeping a secret or keeping a promise. Until now, I thought it was great, but now I'm not quite sure. I thought you would always be loyal to me.” I give her a bored look. “Well, I actually thought of you first, and I thought it would be a thousand times nicer if he surprised you with his proposal. Was I wrong?” She seems to think about the question for a moment. “No, I think you're right, it's better this way.” “Well, since we agree, I suggest that we sit on the terrace and that you tell me in detail about this marriage proposal. But before that, I need you to grab two glasses from the cupboard, I'm going to get the bottle of champagne that I put in the fridge for this occasion. She opens her mouth, taken aback. “You knew I was going to rush to your place to let you know!” “Madelyn, I know you as if I had made you. It's if you hadn't come that I would have been surprised, and to be honest, very disappointed, too.” I love my terrace. I'm a girl from the South, so when I moved in on my own, the number one criterion was to have a place where I could make the most of the outdoors as soon as a ray of sunlight came out. And today I don’t regret this choice. Even though fall is already here. We are seated in the open air to sip our champagne flute. “So, when? When is the wedding scheduled?” I ask the new bride. “We can't do it at the end of the summer because of the harvest, and Jas refuses to wait two years, so it will be in the spring. April or May certainly." “Whoa! It doesn't leave you much time to organize everything!” Madelyn shrugs her shoulders. “We already have the place, since it will be done at the Estate, the rest shouldn’t be too complicated to manage.” Indeed, Jameson's family owns the prestigious Verne Estate, one of the most famous wine estates in our village of Locron and the Côtes de Provence region. It’s also a place that hosts receptions such as weddings throughout the year. “And then I’m counting on you to help me,” she adds, with a wink. “Of course, if you want, maybe I can take care of your invitations.” As a professional graphic designer, that's logically my task, right? “That would be great indeed, especially since I love everything you do. But the truth is, I had thought of a few other little things you could give me a hand with.” I look at her, curious, but with a little apprehension at the same time. “You know I'm not a wedding planner? The only wedding I attended was my aunt Celine’s a few years ago, and since it was already her fourth, she refrained from following most traditions, so you can't say that I’m an expert.” Madelyn laughs. “I'm not asking you to plan my wedding! For that, don't worry, I think my mother will be happy to help me out. With three daughters at home, she has been preparing for this for years. No, what I’m offering you is to help me when I have to make decisions: choose between two dresses, between roses and peonies, that sort of thing! You always have great taste and you’re the only one I trust enough to respect my preferences and help me organize a wedding that won't make me ashamed when I see the pictures in a few years. “OK, you want me to act as an advisor in a way? To prevent you from falling for a pink meringue dress, for example," I say, bringing my flute to my lips. “Yes… well… I'm doing this really badly!” I raise an eyebrow, amused. I don't know what she's trying to do, but seeing her embarrassed is pretty funny. “In fact, what I'm trying to tell you is that I would like you to be my Maid of Honor!” she finally cried. I take a few seconds before answering, the time to empty my glass. “Then why don’t you just ask me? It’s not like you barely know me or that I’m going to eat you alive for daring to ask me!” “I… It's ridiculous, I know. It's just… I feel a little guilty for imposing this on you.” “First of all, you not imposing anything on me; and secondly, I absolutely don’t see why you feel guilty! What could possibly make you feel like that?” We look at each other and I notice her eyes are getting wet. I grab her hand. “Hey! What's happening? You aren’t going to cry!” “I'm sorry, Cora,” she gasps. “I feel like I’m throwing my happiness at you and leaving you on the sidelines at the same time.” “Is that what worries you?” I say, getting closer to her. I put a hand on her shoulder. “Madi, did it not occur to you that seeing you happy just made me happy too? You met a great boy; getting married is just the next logical step in your relationship. I knew this day was coming, and believe me when I say I’m thrilled. You’re not abandoning me at all. Just because you’re getting married doesn’t mean we won’t see each other!” “I understand, it's just...” She doesn't need to add more, I know exactly what she’s thinking. As far back as I can remember, we've always been a team her and me. A pair that nothing and no one could separate. Several teachers have tried and failed here. In the village, we are called the infernal duo. But above all, we have, whatever the ordeals, been there systematically for each other. In good times and in bad times. And there have been times. Without her, I'm not sure I could have faced everything that happened five years ago. She’s my crutch, my indispensable cheerleader, much more than my best friend, really. There are no words strong enough to describe our relationship. And yet we knew that one day we would end up meeting someone who would also take a place in our lives, in a different way of course. That someone is Jameson, and it's Madelyn's heart that he has delighted. So in our childhood dreams, we had of course idealized that day: we were both going to marry two brothers on the same day (Jameson has two sisters, so that's a bad start) and we’ll live in two neighbouring houses. But since fairy tales are just children's fables, it didn't quite go as planned. But it could be a lot worse. My girlfriend is going to marry someone I like, and since they work two to three kilometres from my house, I have a good chance that they’ll stay and live in the neighbourhood. “I'm so happy for you,” I murmur, a sob stuck in my throat. I really mean that. I’m sure they’re perfect for each other. My eyes meet my best friend's as I still squeeze her hand in mine. My eyes tell her everything my mouth can't say. I feel a tear rolling down my cheek. Madelyn is also overcome with emotion. “I'll always be there for you, you know that?” she says. “I’m not going to abandon you just because I'll be married.” “I know, I'm not crying because I'm sad. I’m crying because I’m happy for you." I try to put a smile on my lips so that she understands I'm telling the truth, and I continue: “It's great that you found someone like Jameson. He’s wonderful and you are a very beautiful couple. I know he'll make you happy. This is already the case." I'm sincere. Ever since my friend met the charming heir to the Verne wine estate, she has carried with her this aura specific to the most fulfilled women. This marriage is the logical continuation of the evolution of their relationship and I can only rejoice. Even if deep down I have a little pang in my heart, and that's quite normal. However, I don’t let myself be won over by nostalgia. It’s not conceivable to tarnish her happiness. So I pull myself together and announce: “I didn't really answer your question earlier. Yes, my dear, I’ll be delighted to be Maid of Honor.” “Is that true?” I give her a look that makes her understand that I find the question stupid. “Of course. Do you really think I'll let someone else do it for me?” “To be honest, if you had told me no, I would have harassed you until you said yes,” she says. “I would have refused to marry Jas if you hadn’t been by my side.” I display a victorious little pout. “I hope so!” I raise my glass to toast again. “So, to this beautiful wedding which I will attend with you as a Maid of Honor!” She gently bangs her flute against mine. “To this beautiful wedding!” We each take a sip, then an idea comes to mind: “Who will be your second witness?” “I thought I would ask my sister.” “Leona or Lena?” “Lena is too young, I'm going to ask Leo the question, it would be a good opportunity to get us a little closer, don't you think?” Madelyn’s and her sisters don’t have much in common. Madelyn is passionate about horse riding and outdoor activities, while Leona lives in Paris and swears by theatre and cinema. Lena, the youngest, 17, is in her goth phase and in the midst of a teenage crisis, which means that she hates just about everyone at the moment except herself (and even then). I don't know if the fact that she chooses Leona as a witness will actually make them closer, but I guess it can't hurt them either. And frankly, I'm relieved that she didn't tell me she had another girlfriend she was considering offering the job to. Me, jealous? Yes, I admit it. “OK, you’ll have to give me Leo’s e-mail address, though.” “If you want, but don't worry, I'm not going to ask you to turn into wedding planners. If you're both there on D-Day, and on time, that's more than enough for me.” “You forget the bachelorette party!” She looks at me surprised. “A bachelorette party? I don't need that Cora,” she adds, shaking her head. “Oh, yes, you're going to have one! You can't escape it. Do you know any couples who get married without burying their single life?” “My parents?” she answers tit for tat. “Your parents got married almost thirty years ago! Talk about a reference! I was talking about people our age.” “Well, I'm a bit like you, I don't have any friends around me who got married,” she said, shrugging her shoulders. “Great! This will be a first for both of us.” “Cora… I don't want to impose that on you, you…” “Don’t finish that sentence,” I say. “I want to take care of it and I will. So I suggest that we refill our champagne glasses, and after that, you give me a list of your friends that I have to contact. Then I'll take care of everything, trust me.” My tone is final, she doesn't flinch. Instead, she gets up to retrieve the bottle and after she has served us, we toast once more to this future marriage.