When *Jules got engaged, the world tilted on its axis in the best possible way. We were sitting in her lounge room, polishing off a bottle of wine that a client had given me, when she dropped the news. I screamed so loudly that her cat bolted under the couch, and Jules' face lit up with that familiar, cheeky grin.
"We did it!" she laughed, thrusting her hand out to show off a modest but beautiful ring. "Can you believe it?"
We. It's always been we. Jules and I have been inseparable since the first day of preschool. From then on, it was Jules and *Maddie (that's me). Two halves of the same ridiculous, giggling whole.
Growing up on the same street, our houses were like extensions of each other. Her mum always had the best snacks, and my dad was forever happy to teach us how to kick a footy or check the oil in our first cars. It was her house for swimming in the pool, and my house for the best DVD collection. Whatever it was, we were together.
We planned our futures like architects sketching blueprints. Most sleepovers turned into a wedding planning session, complete with mood boards and mock guest lists.
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"You'll be my maid of honour," Jules declared when we were about 12. She had a stack of bridal magazines that her newlywed cousin had given her. "Obviously."
"Obviously," I replied, cutting out a picture of a princess gown that neither of us would ever wear in real life.
When we were 18, fresh out of school, we took a gap year and travelled through Europe together. For six months, we worked in a tiny Scottish pub where we poured pints for gruff locals and spent our tips on dodgy hostels and greasy chips. Even back then a few wines with dinner could turn into an imaginary wedding brainstorming session. By the time we returned home, I knew the exact colour palette Jules wanted for her big day ("dusty pink and sage green, Maddie, it's classic"), and she knew I'd have eucalyptus sprigs in my bouquet.
Back in Australia when we'd moved into a sharehouse together and eventually into separate places with our boyfriends, Jules and I were still thick as thieves. Sleepovers persisted, although now they included wine and gossip about our increasingly complicated adult lives. She was my constant, my sister in everything but blood. So, of course, when she got engaged, I assumed I'd be standing beside her at the altar, holding her bouquet and handing her tissues for happy tears.
But then the bombshell dropped. And it wasn't the glittery, confetti-filled kind.
"We've decided to have a small wedding," Jules told me over brunch a few weeks later. Her voice was bright, but her hands were twisting nervously in her lap. "Just immediate family. Destination. Very intimate."
I stared at her, fork halfway to my mouth. I nodded, but my chest felt tight. No bridal party. No me. Not even as a guest. It was like the ground beneath our decades of friendship had shifted, and I was tumbling into a void I hadn't seen coming.
By the time I got home, the tears had started. They didn't stop for hours. I climbed into bed and stayed there, cocooned in my doona, where I wept real wracking sobs.
The grief was physical. My chest ached, my stomach churned. I couldn't eat, couldn't sleep. I replayed every conversation we'd had in the lead-up to this moment, searching for clues.
Maybe it wasn't Jules' decision. Maybe it was her fiancé, *Sam. He'd always been a bit wary of how close Jules and I were, joking that we were like an old married couple. Had he convinced her that I was too much? That our friendship was too intense? The idea festered in my mind, growing darker and heavier with each passing day.I felt ridiculous. This was her wedding, she could do what she wanted. But those thoughts always returned to that grieving feeling. Family only? What am I?
I couldn't confront Jules, though. What would I even say? "Hey, I know it's your wedding, but what about me?" It sounded selfish, petty. But the pain was real.
The loss sat heavy, reshaping what I thought I knew about us. Jules and Maddie. Maddie and Jules. I didn't know if I'd ever be able to think about us in the same way again.Time helped. I tried to stay away from Jules but it was impossible. We were connected and, as incredible as it was, this was the first real blip in our friendship.
She was kind and smart enough to know to not talk about the wedding planning in front of me and our other friends were empathetic enough to make plans so that I'd be busy when the day came around. They never said that's what they were doing, but a weekend away for a mud soaked obstacle course adventure was not something we'd ever planned before! It was obvious and I was grateful for the intense muddy distraction.
I'm still sad that I wasn't there when Jules got married and I don't love the relationship she has with her (slightly controlling) husband. But I love Jules and I wouldn't let anything, even this, come between us.
Feature Image: Getty.
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