If We Lived Here by Lindsey Palmer

and her eyes kept tearing up, making it difficult to apply mascara.
    “Em, don’t listen to anything Connor says. He’s never in his life had a girlfriend for more than three weeks. He’s just jealous of people in happy relationships.”
    “He’s an asshole is what he is.”
    “He probably spent the rest of the speech ribbing each and every other person in the room. It’s just his style.”
    “Charming. I can’t believe you’re friends with that guy.”
    “ Was friends with him. Back in college, ages ago. He’s not my best man.”
    “Yeah, because you’re not getting married, because you’re apparently so skilled at stalling me.” Emma muttered it under her breath with more conviction than she felt.
    “What was that?”
    “Nothing, never mind. Come on, let’s go face the music.”
    Emma was angry, although unclear over who or what was its target. She wanted desperately to talk to Annie to sort things out, but spotting her best friend across the room, Emma saw she was blocked three bodies deep by well-wishers. She and Nick had missed the dinner, and the only available chairs were at a table of old ladies. They took their seats amid a cloud of perfume, and Emma attacked the dessert, shoveling down two slabs of carrot cake to feed both her hunger and her hurt. “Is someone eating for two, perhaps?” asked the most shrunken of the ladies, her arthritic talon tapping at Emma’s shoulder. “Or is this just the hearty appetite of a growing girl?” Emma silently mouthed a response, cruelly wishing the woman might believe her hearing to blame for the noiselessness. She reached for another piece of cake.
    Emma was creating waves with her fork in the frosting, practically daring her seatmates to scold her for playing with her food, when she heard the opening beats to Cee Lo Green’s “Fuck You” sound through the speakers. She looked up, and there was Annie looking right at her, beckoning her and Nick. Emma nudged Nick up to the stage.
    “Attention, everybody, this here is my amazing maid of honor, Emma, and her dashing beau, and look, don’t they clean up nice?” Annie paused for the applause, urging Emma to curtsy. “Ems has been my friend since forever. It’s thanks to her that I made it through school, since she let me cheat off her pretty much all the way through. That’s what friends are for, right? And then she was this close to becoming Dr. Emma Feit, Ph.D., but I of course convinced her to jump ship and come keep me company in Manhattan instead. Anyway, something you may not know is that these two have so kindly agreed to share their big day with Eli and me. See, tomorrow marks the three-year anniversary of when Emma and Nick met, in a room much like this one, at a wedding kind of like this one, only less classy and perfect, of course.”
    Emma leaned in to the mike. “She can only say that because that bride’s not here.” Both had lost touch with the childhood friend since her wedding three years ago.
    “Anyway, Emma and I were dancing to this very song when we spotted him, this dashing, blue-eyed guy at the bar. Emma ditched me on the dance floor to go find her prince, and the rest is history. So here’s to you guys, mazel tov! ” Annie pecked the cheeks of both Emma and Nick, and Emma smiled even though her friend’s version of that night wasn’t quite accurate. The music pumped louder, and Eli swooped in to spin his bride to be. Other couples began dotting the dance floor, and Nick took Emma’s waist. As Eli dipped his fiancée, Annie winked at Emma and mouthed the lyrics about being sorry she couldn’t afford a Ferrari.
    Emma crooned back halfheartedly, declaring herself not an Xbox but an Atari. She dropped her head onto Nick’s shoulder, blocking out her flitting friend. There was something very different about singing this song with Annie when it had come out years ago—back then, belting out their bitterness at being broke and living in wretched apartments and regularly