“Dress shopping for the wedding.” Beth smiled.

This was my first lesson that when there’s a wedding being planned, there is no such thing as conversations not about the wedding.

“Wait, with Dad?”

Beth nodded. Steam from the mug rose in front of her face and fogged up her glasses.

“Isn’t that kind of against the rules?”

Beth shrugged, looking uncomfortable. “I don’t really have anyone else to go with me. My mother passed away when I was little. I don’t have any sisters. I don’t really have very many girlfriends here.”

It’s a pet peeve of mine that straight women call their friends “girlfriends.” They are not your girlfriends. If you are not getting up close and personal with the lady garden then there are words for that: friends, mates, buddies, pals, etc., etc. Leave us our word, OK?

But I didn’t say anything. I vaguely remembered Dad saying Beth moved to Ireland a couple of years ago to open a branch of her business in Dublin and yet she still didn’t have any proper friends. Having had no friends for a while now, I thought it could be kind of hard on someone. If they were the needy type like Beth obviously was. So I didn’t suggest she take Mum’s friends too, even though it was the first thing that occurred to me. I actually felt kind of sorry for her.

One-nil for maturity.

She waved her hand, insisting it didn’t matter. She wanted Dad to be there for the dress shopping anyway. I didn’t know what was more pitiful, that she had no mates or that she only had Dad to make up for it.

Then something happened that I can’t quite explain, even now. The pity I was feeling for her somehow morphed into the words:

“What if I go with you?”

As soon as they left my mouth I wanted to snatch them back and I prayed she’d say, Oh, I couldn’t ask you to do that and I would nod and run upstairs before I got myself into any more trouble.

“Really?” Her whole body perked out of a slump, and her eyes shone.

“Well, I’m sure you don’t actually want me there—”

“No, no, I do. That would be brilliant. You know, they give you free champagne and everything,” she said, like it was a bribe.

I checked my pretend watch. “Well, it’s about time for my three p.m. drink so that works out well. What time is the appointment?”

“In half an hour.”

“I’ll get dressed,” I said, pasting on a smile and trying my hardest not to shudder visibly with regret.