The message arrived while I was eating lunch at my desk, staring down at another sad salad that felt like punishment for last weekend’s pizza binge.
My phone screen lit up with a name I hadn’t seen in forever: Tessa.
We’d been close back in college, practically inseparable, but after graduation, life took us in different directions. Our friendship had faded to the occasional Instagram like and birthday text.
Curious, I unlocked my phone.
“CLAIRE! I’M ENGAGED!!! And I need you to be one of my bridesmaids! I can’t imagine my big day without you. Please say yes!”
I almost choked on a cherry tomato.
Her excitement felt a little… off. We hadn’t talked in ages. Why would she suddenly want me to stand beside her on the most important day of her life? Still, it was flattering to be asked. It meant something, right? That we were still important to each other, even after all this time.
“I’d be honored!” I texted back, adding way too many exclamation points to match her energy.
Looking back, I should have trusted my instincts. Something about this was off. But Tessa had always been larger than life—flashy, dramatic, a little over-the-top. I figured this was just her usual way of doing things.
A week later, a fancy rose-gold embossed folder arrived at my door. Inside was a detailed, multi-page itinerary for the wedding weekend.
Welcome dinner at a Michelin-starred restaurant. Wine tasting at a luxury vineyard. Spa day with full treatments. The wedding itself, held at an exclusive vineyard estate.
Later that night, my phone buzzed again.
“Did you get my wedding packet?”
I flipped through the pages. It looked extravagant. Expensive.
“Just going through it now. Looks amazing,” I replied.
“I know it’s a lot, but it’s going to be SO worth it! Just wait till you see the bridesmaids’ dresses! They’re Vera Wang!!!”
My stomach clenched.
“Vera Wang?” I typed cautiously.
“Don’t worry, they’re only $750! Plus alterations. Oh, and we’re all getting custom shoes dyed to match.”
I stared at my screen. Was she serious? That was more than my rent.
I swallowed hard and forced a smiley-face emoji. “Sounds perfect.”
And that was just the beginning.
Over the next few months, the expenses kept piling up. A hair and makeup trial ($200). A matching gift for the bride ($150). A weekend stay at a fancy resort for the bachelorette party ($400). Travel, accessories, endless little costs that kept stacking higher and higher.
By the time the wedding weekend arrived, I had already spent over $1,300.
I couldn’t really afford it, but I told myself it was worth it. This was about friendship. About celebrating Tessa and being there for her.
The morning of the wedding was like a scene from a movie.
All of us bridesmaids gathered in Tessa’s massive suite, wrapped in matching silk robes embroidered with our names. A team of hair and makeup artists buzzed around us, turning ordinary women into magazine-worthy versions of ourselves.
Tessa’s maid of honor, Jen, handed me a crystal flute filled with orange juice and champagne. “Mimosa?”
“God, yes,” I sighed, taking a generous sip.
Tessa emerged from the bathroom, absolutely breathtaking. Her dark hair was styled in cascading curls, her makeup was flawless, and she looked every bit the perfect bride.
“You look incredible,” I said sincerely.
“Do I? I was worried the highlight was too much.” She turned her face, examining herself in the mirror.
“It’s perfect. Today’s going to be amazing.”
For a while, it was.
We laughed, took hundreds of photos, reminisced about our college days. All the stress of the past few months melted away. I felt relieved. Maybe this really was worth it. Maybe everything would be fine.
Then we arrived at the vineyard.
The place was breathtaking—rolling green hills covered in grapevines, elegant stone buildings, flower arrangements straight out of a magazine.
As soon as the limo stopped, Tessa turned to Jen. “Let’s get inside before anyone sees me.”
She and her maid of honor rushed toward the entrance, leaving the rest of us trailing behind. Typical Tessa—always wanting to make an entrance.
I stepped out, smoothing the ridiculously expensive dress. As I approached the entrance, a woman with a clipboard stepped forward, blocking my path.
“Names, please?”
One by one, we gave our names, and she checked us off. The other bridesmaids walked ahead while I lingered, admiring the vineyard. When I moved to follow them, the woman held up a hand.
“Claire, you’re listed as a non-covered guest. We need your $5,000 event contribution.”
I laughed. “Very funny. I’m a bridesmaid.”
She didn’t smile. “Yes, and all non-covered wedding party members are responsible for their share of the venue and vendor minimum. Your name is on the balance list. We accept credit cards and Venmo.”
My stomach twisted. “There must be some mistake. I need to talk to the bride.”
A few minutes later, Tessa appeared, her dress hidden beneath a satin robe, her expression already annoyed.
“What’s the problem?” she asked impatiently. “We’re about to start pre-ceremony photos.”
“The problem?” I repeated, incredulous. “Nobody told me I had to pay $5,000 to be in your wedding.”
Tessa blinked, as if computing a difficult equation. “It’s standard. You agreed to be part of this.”
“Standard?! Since when do bridesmaids pay for the venue?”
“OMG, Claire! The contract required a certain headcount, so Jason and I decided the wedding party would contribute. I thought you understood.”
“How would I understand something you never told me?” My voice rose. “You never mentioned this in any text, email, or ‘fancy itinerary.’”
Tessa’s face hardened. “When you agree to be in a wedding, you’re agreeing to help make someone’s dream come true. This is my dream wedding.”
And that’s when I realized.
She hadn’t asked me to be her bridesmaid because she missed me. She just needed my money.
I stepped away. “I need to think about this.”
Tessa huffed. “Fine. But we’re taking photos without you.”
She turned on her heel and stormed inside.
If I had any doubts about her true intentions, that reaction erased them.
I walked to the side, heels sinking into the grass. Guests were arriving. Then, an idea struck me.
I pulled out my phone and took a selfie—flawless makeup, expensive dress, vineyard in the background. Then I typed:
“Just got hit with a $5,000 charge at the door to be a bridesmaid in a wedding I already spent $1,300 on… #WeddingShocker #CashOrCredit”
I tagged Tessa. The venue. The vendors.
No second thoughts. I hit post.
It was impulsive. It was petty. It was glorious.
Within minutes, guests were whispering, checking their phones.
Ten minutes later, Tessa stormed back. “WHAT DID YOU DO?!”
“I told the truth.”
“TAKE IT DOWN. NOW.”
“No. I think it’s too late.”
And it was.
Two bridesmaids and three groomsmen left. Guests turned back to their cars. The caterer demanded payment.
I didn’t stay to see the rest. I called an Uber, still in my $750 dress.
That night, Tessa’s voicemail crackled: “You humiliated me on the best day of my life. How could you?”
I deleted it.
Because friendship isn’t a bill. And manipulation isn’t love.
