“If money is the issue, I’ll pay for you,” she hissed.

“Money isn’t ‘the issue,’” I said. “Maybe, if you’d given me advance notice...”

Silent seething, then: “I shouldn’t have to beg you to come. You’re my maid of honor,” she pleaded, voice rising. “Though you haven’t done sh*t for me so far.”

I was swallowed by sudden rage. Who was this diva demanding that I shell out my precious time and money on another stupid dinner? “It’s not all about you, Allie!” I screamed. “I have a life, you know, even though you barely ask me about it! F**k you!”

And so all of the frustrations I’d been repressing—about our friendship, about my stagnant love life, about living up to Allie’s overpriced expectations of me—escaped from my mouth like a bottle exploding.

A few minutes later, my phone rang again. I didn’t recognize the number, so I let it hit voicemail before listening to a strange, Splenda-sweet message from Becky, one of Allie’s bridesmaids.

“Hi Laura, Allie’s decided that she’d feel more comfortable if you don’t take part in the wedding festivities. Call me if you have any questions; thanks!”

A wave of relief washed over me. “No maid-of-honor toast for me!” I thought as I drove home with tears in my eyes.

Epilogue: After I left an apologetic message, Allie decided she wanted me at the wedding, but not in the wedding. I ended up attending as a guest—and she promoted another bridesmaid to the maid-of-honor position. It was the most awkward evening of my life, but I was glad to be there. Our friendship is still recovering.