Brady invited me to Boston for the weekend. He said it would be nice to get out of the city and that we might find plans, but nothing major.

“Maybe pack something nice for Sunday in case we do anything,” he’d instructed nonchalantly.

I waited until Saturday morning to pack even though we had plans of leaving at 8:30am. I threw a bunch of random shit into my weekender, including a black lacy number that I thought I could throw on as a costume for Saturday night if needed.

We dropped Tucker off with the sitter and then drove 4+ hours to get to our cute, industrial Airbnb near Boston Common. I didn’t know our plan until we got there and Brady informed me that we had a little bit of time to kill then we had a wedding to attend that evening.

“Wait, wedding? Who’s getting married?” I asked.

“My friend, Josh. I told you,” Brady said.

I know that I’m getting old and my memory is fading, but I know for sure that Brady did not tell me about a wedding.

“No you didn’t! I didn’t plan to come for a wedding! I don’t have anything to wear!” I exclaimed.

“It’s okay, it’s not black tie or anything. Just something casual,” Brady assured me.

Not only had I not packed anything suitable to wear to a wedding, I hadn’t washed my hair in five days and I didn’t bring any face makeup with me. I was in no shape to be going to a wedding.

“Aside from the fact that you decided not to tell me that and that is fucking rude, I do not want to go to a wedding today. I don’t have anything to wear, I look disgusting and I’m in not in the mood to socialize,” I said as calmly as I could.

Brady looked at me like I’d better lose the attitude. “I told you that it isn’t a formal wedding. Wear whatever you want. I’d like it if you’d come with me, but if this is how you are going to be then you don’t have to come.”

Do you ever get so frustrated that you want to scream? Brady just didn’t understand. A girl needs warning about this kind of thing. Obviously Brady thought I was being high maintenance and annoying, but he just didn’t get it.

And instead of allowing me to take the spare five hours we had to wash my hair and shop for something to wear, Brady insisted on going to see historical landmarks as if he hadn’t seen them a million times since he’s from the area. Then he wanted to go to this taco place that he loves. I spent the day with anxiety about what the fuck I was going to put on for the wedding.

When we finally got back to the apartment, it was 4:30.

“Let’s try to leave by 5:30. I don’t know how long it’ll take to get there,” Brady said.

“That won’t be enough time to wash my hair! I have to wash it, it smells like spoiled milk!” I said.

He looked at me like I was crazy. I guess it was my own fault for letting myself go a bit, but still. I stormed off. I ended up wearing a leather skirt and black tights. The top I’d packed to go with the skirt was a plunging leopard print bodysuit which didn’t seem appropriate for the wedding. So I decided to wear the top to a set of silk pajamas I’d brought. It was hot pink, but it was kind of cute I guess. It was that or wear a graphic tee since I am super casual these days. I doused my hair in dry shampoo leaving my roots a cute eggshell shade. I slicked it up into a bun.

Brady was right in that the wedding wasn’t your traditional formal situation. The bride was wearing a fascinator and strapless dress with tattoos covering her shoulders and arms. But still, I felt and looked unprepared.

At the after party, a random girl came up to me. Brady was talking to friends and I was hitting up the vegan snack bar.

“Who are you here with?” she asked.

She had dyed white blonde hair, pale skin, huge dark black eyes and hand tattoos a la Rihanna.

“My boyfriend. Why?” I said, immediately defensive.

“Just asking. I’ve never met you,” she said, unfazed. “I’m Lola.”

“Reese,” I said back.

“Who is your boyfriend?” she wanted to know.

“His name is Brady. Do you know him?” I was curious to see if she had any dirt on him.

“Oh, yeah yeah. I was just talking to him since he lives in New York now,” she said.

“With me,” I added, in case she missed that memo.

“Mmmhm. I do too.”

Lola and I continued talking for a bit. She asked about how I’m liking the city and because I hadn’t talked to anyone about it in a few days, I told her how much I’m hating work.

“Quit,” Lola said. “You don’t need that shit. New York has too many opportunities for you to be miserable.”

And I loved her carefree attitude. After chatting for a while, I really needed to go find Brady. Lola said she’d go with me. When we found him, he was with a group of people. Do y’all remember when Brady’s friend named Jenny confronted me and made me cry? I was in a really vulnerable state at the time. She was there and standing in the group. I was pleasantly surprised to see her.

“Hey, I met Lola who I love,” I greeted Brady. “Introduce me to your friends?”

He introduced me to the group, a couple guys and then Jenny. Once he finished, I circled back to Jenny.

“We’ve met, correct?” I said.

If y’all remember last time we saw Jenny, she was wearing a maxi dress and booties. She was wearing the exact same outfit at the wedding. This was like three years ago.

“Yeah, we have,” was all Jenny said back.

I pretended to rack my brain. “Didn’t you verbally assault me at a dinner table once?”

Before Jenny could even think about saying anything back, Brady yanked my shoulder back, catching me off guard.

“Are you fucking crazy?” I demanded.

“Do not start,” he said sternly, through clinched teeth.

Sensing he wasn’t joking around, I walked off and Lola followed. Brady came and found me a few minutes later and didn’t mention what had just happened. We danced and drank a little bit, but I think everyone was just weirded out that it was a cash bar, not an open bar. A cash bar feels like it’s discouraging drinking and no one wanted to be the only one trashed.

Luckily, an hour later, someone decided we should go to a bar nearby. Brady chugged down his drink and I turned to Lola, making sure she was coming.

“I hate going out in Boston, but I guess I’ll come,” she said.

“You share my sentiments,” I told her.

A few hours later, Lola and I were tearing up the small dance floor. I was absolutely hammered, but trying to hide it because Lola and I’d had about the same amount to drink and she was two inches shorter and one hundred pounds lighter. She is tiny. It was embarrassing.

We’d talked at the previous bar and she told me about her on/off boyfriend.

“I love him, but I really don’t trust him. I don’t trust anything with a penis honestly. They can’t control them. That’s not a stereotype, that’s science,” she said.

“No, I completely agree with you! You’re absolutely right. I don’t even trust my male dog!” I said. Lola laughed.

At the end of the night when it was time to go home, Brady found me outside smoking a cig with Lola. We’d already exchanged numbers and followed each other on every social network and we hugged goodbye.

“I literally love Loz [pronounced Lowz]. I’m so glad I have another friend in New York now,” I told Brady as we walked back to the apartment.

“Yeah, me too. She’s cool,” he said back.

I grabbed his hand and leaned up to kiss him, but he rudely pulled away from me and said, “You smell like an ashtray.”

The next day, after a big breakfast to cure my hangover, Brady and I went to a brewery for a tasting and a tour. The girl serving us started talking to us and telling us about her life (including moving to Boston with her boyfriend for his job) and she reminded me a lot of myself actually. We use a lot of the same phrases and have some of the same mannerisms and it was kind of weird. When she walked away for a moment, I asked Brady if he noticed and he looked at me like I was crazy. I loved her at the time though. Her name was Marie.

We hung out there for about two hours and learned about all kinds of man issues Marie was having like how her boyfriend’s mother hates her and always sends her messages on Facebook telling her to take pictures and posts down. Can’t relate. Once it was time to go, Brady paid for our experience and left a hefty tip for her on his card.

“Here, I’m going to give you my business card. I’m a manager here and you guys are welcome back anytime. I’ll write down my cell too. Feel free to call me or you can even text me,” she said and handed the card to Brady.

At the time, it didn’t seem that weird because we’d had such a good time with her. But when we got back home and I saw the card on Brady’s nightstand while he was showering, I got absolutely furious.

I snapped a picture of the card and sent it to Lola, who I’d been texting all day, and told her what happened.

“I’ll handle it. Get rid of the card,” she said back. I didn’t know what that meant, but I was happy to know that I had a supporter on my team. I did as I was instructed and ripped the card into teeny, tiny pieces.

An hour later, Lola sent me a string of screenshots from a conversation she’d had with Marie. Lola had texted her pretending to be Brady and Marie eagerly texted back, “Hey! I was hoping I’d hear from you. :-)”

They had a long conversation in which Brady (Lola) hinted at meeting up and hanging out and Marie suggested places in both Boston and New York City for them to meet. I was never mentioned by either of them.

“Can’t trust bitches either,” Lola said.

“You’re so good at this,” I commented, realizing how much she sounded like a cheating man in the texts.

“Experience,” she said.

As of this evening, Brady (Lola) and Marie are still texting.