Their happiness depressed me. I needed a drink.

We’d all been invited to go to a restaurant for lunch with Elizabeth’s parents, relatives and friends after the ceremony. Julie and I drove over there quickly, so we could have a glass of wine first. I needed it to make it through the lunch, pretend I was having a good time and to be able to show my enthusiasm for the new graduate.

When everyone arrived, they all started eating and I had a few more glasses of wine. Everyone was ordering alcohol. No one noticed that I was ordering more than the rest of them. It was such a lucky break to be able to order all of the wine I wanted without anyone paying attention to me, counting my drinks, or asking rudely, “Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”

The whole time, Elizabeth and Robert kept hugging one another and whispering together, gazing into each other’s eyes. And I kept ordering another drink.

Before long, Elizabeth hit her glass with her spoon to get everyone’s attention. “Thank you all for coming,” she said, standing. “This is a special day for me for two reasons: First, because I’ve just graduated from college. And second,” here she smiled and sat on Robert’s lap, “because I am announcing here — to my friends and family — that Robert and I are getting married in October!”

It was a jubilant moment. Everyone clapped and cheered. There was excitement and joy in the air for the happy couple. We were all having such a good time. I felt a sense of anxiety permeating my entire body. I certainly clapped and smiled. I couldn’t avoid doing that. But I kept thinking how it should have been me being happy, getting married — having two special reasons to celebrate.

Envy, that’s what I was feeling. Not pride or joy or good wishes for my best friend, but envy. I knew I shouldn’t feel it, but I did. I hated to admit it, but the truth was, I wasn’t happy for Elizabeth.

By the time Julie and I left, I was pretty buzzed from the numerous glasses of wine I’d imbibed. But it hadn’t been nearly enough. “You want to stop at that liquor store by the house and get some wine when we get back to Santa Barbara?” I asked.

Julie took one look at me, saw the desperate expression in my eyes and instantly agreed. It took one and a half hours to drive back home that Saturday afternoon. It was clear I shouldn’t have been driving, because I was very drunk.

I always treated the freeway like a Free Zone when I was drunk. I told myself it was easier to drive drunk on the freeway because it was well-lit and didn’t have cross-streets with stop signs that could sneak up on you. It didn’t have any convenient buildings or bushes for the highway patrol to hide behind either! I felt certain the cops would never notice me amid the mass of cars on the freeway at any given time. Drunk as I was sometimes, I’m sure my weaving was conspicuous, even if I did manage to stay in my own lane. But I liked to think otherwise.

On the way home, I told Julie about my being jealous of Elizabeth. It was like “getting it out of my system” in a therapy session. I felt almost cured. I was always open and honest with Julie. She was my drinking companion and I kept no secrets from her, even though what I shared with her was embarrassing at times. But once we started drinking again, the jealousy came back in full force.

As soon as we got home, I downed another glass of wine with Julie, telling her how envious I was of Elizabeth and Robert and how I never thought I could be as happy as they were.

Since I was drunk, I didn’t pretend to feel happy for them. I sincerely hoped Elizabeth and Robert wouldn’t get married. I tried to cheer myself up by thinking of all the things that could go wrong. They could get into a big fight and call off the wedding — after all, they’d only been dating for four months or so. That kind of thing happened all the time.

“And, you know what else?” I told Julie, nodding my head as if this were the real corker. “Elizabeth is actually the ‘older woman.’ That’s never going to work!”

“She’s older than he is?” Julie asked groggily, taking another swig of wine.

“Oh yeah,” I smirked. “Robert’s twenty-three. Elizabeth is twenty-SIX!”

Julie just stared at me for a minute, like she was trying to put the pieces together. I found it incredibly annoying.

I continued, “So, obviously… he could wake up one morning and realize he’s much too young to get married. He’d have to give up dating. He’d be stuck with her for the rest of his life! She may be ready for that kind of thing, but he’s just a kid.” October was a long way off. There was plenty of time for a disaster.

“I have history with Elizabeth,” I needlessly explained to Julie. “I haven’t seen her much lately, maybe twice a year, but that’s just because she doesn’t like to drink, so there’s no point. But we go way back.” I poured myself another glass of wine. “If she marries Robert, I’ll never see her. I won’t have a best friend anymore.”

I’d always thought I was Elizabeth’s best friend. So it came as a surprise to me when Elizabeth didn’t choose me as her maid of honor.

I was upset at first, but then I realized I was happy not to be chosen maid of honor because of all the work it would be for me. It would also mean I’d have to spend a lot more time acting as if I were happy about Elizabeth getting married. So being a bridesmaid instead was a blessing.

As usual, the real focal point of the rehearsal dinner and the wedding itself was the drinking. At the dinner before the wedding rehearsal, everything was free, including drinks, so there was definitely an upside to Elizabeth getting married. I had a few Bloody Marys and a few Tequila Sunrises, and then ate a light dinner. I tried my best to look pleasant while I sat at the table, toasting appropriately and getting buzzed.

At the wedding rehearsal the next day, we were supposed to meet at the church at 7:00 p.m. I dreaded having to go and act happy again for Elizabeth. I asked Julie to go out with me for a few drinks first, then I could drop her off at home before going to the rehearsal. We went to a nice restaurant in town that I knew served huge glasses of wine. I was going to need lots of alcohol to make it through the hours of cheer and joy at that rehearsal.

A half-hour before I had to go, I’d already had two huge glasses of wine, but felt I could use one more. I guzzled it down in about twenty minutes. I thought I was slightly buzzed, but the wine really hit me when I stood up. I was drunk and giddy. We were laughing all the way to the car.

By the time I dropped Julie off at home, I was feeling GOOD and ready to take on the wedding rehearsal. Maybe the night wouldn’t be so bad. I hated having to be there at all. And I wasn’t used to doing things that I didn’t want to.

When I walked into the church, the rehearsal was already underway.

“You’re late,” Elizabeth’s mother whispered to me in the lobby. “We started fifteen minutes ago!”

From the front of the church, Elizabeth turned to see that I’d come in. I gave her a wave. She looked a little miffed.

“I’ve got to go to the bathroom!” I said, urgently, to Elizabeth’s mother.

“Right now?” she asked.

“YES!” After all that wine, I needed relief.

“The bathroom’s outside,” she said.

Almost as soon as I’d arrived, I turned around and went back outside. Elizabeth gave me a look, but I didn’t care. Let her wait for me.

I walked over to the bathroom doors on the side of the building, but they were locked. That’s when I saw a nun, in a long, black habit, strolling by.

“Oh, Sister,” I called, giggling slightly. Since I’m not Catholic, the whole Father-Sister-Mother-Child thing had always struck me as quirky and amusing. When I was drunk, it seemed even funnier.

“Yes, dear,” she said, coming toward me earnestly.

I snickered just a bit. “I have to go to the bathroom — it’s an emergency — and this door is locked,” I explained. “Is there a bathroom anywhere I can use?”

The rectory was right behind the church. The nun took me over there and knocked on the door. “This is very unusual,” she said. “But I’m sure Father Mark and Father James will allow you to come in and use the bathroom — since it’s an emergency.”

When a priest opened the door, she explained my predicament. I couldn’t tell whether she knew how drunk I was or not. If she was aware of it, she didn’t let on. I was on the lookout for knowing glances between her and the priest, but didn’t see any.

Father James took me into the rectory and pointed to the bathroom. He said I could let myself out when I was done. I walked carefully behind him, so he wouldn’t notice if I staggered a little. I thought it was so cool to be in a rectory by myself that I probably spent a little longer in there than I realized. When I went back to the rehearsal, they had gone through most of the steps without me.

The next morning, I woke up with one of the worst hangovers I ever had.

I couldn’t believe it! I had a hangover on Elizabeth’s wedding day when I had to be taking pictures, doing all kinds of things at the wedding. I took aspirin, but it didn’t help.

My stomach felt so queasy that I didn’t even have a cigarette all day, which was highly unusual for me. I didn’t dare smoke. I was afraid I would get sick and I was just holding it together as it was.

Miraculously, even though I hadn’t really seen much of the rehearsal, I did okay at the wedding. Afterward, when we all lined up on the steps of the church for the picture of the wedding party, I felt like absolute death. With a pounding headache, I curled my lips up in the imitation of a smile and hoped for the best.

To my amazement, just about everyone who sees that picture of the wedding party says I was the prettiest girl in it. You can definitely fool some of the people, some of the time.

But not all the people, all of the time.

After Elizabeth and Robert had settled into domestic, wedded bliss, I went over to their house one night for drinks. It had been ages since we’d spent any quality time together that Elizabeth and I were looking forward to catching up during cocktail hour.

When I arrived with a six-pack of lite beer, Elizabeth pointed me toward the refrigerator. I appreciated the chance to see what other alcohol might be available, if my beer ran out. They had several bottles of wine. I felt at ease knowing that.

After about an hour, Robert left the room, so Elizabeth and I could talk. I was having a great time. I drank all of my beer in about two hours. I was feeling good. I was talkative and I wasn’t slurring my words. It was a good place to be, but still I wanted more alcohol.

When I got up to throw my last beer bottle away, I asked Elizabeth, “Would you mind if I had a glass of wine?”

“You’re done with the whole six-pack, Linda? You drank all of those beers in two hours?”

“They were lite beers. They don’t get me very buzzed.”

Elizabeth took on the tone of some sort of stern parent. “No, Linda. You don’t need any more alcohol. How about a glass of water?”

I could feel the anger rise in me. Who did she think she was to monitor me? It was outrageous. I really didn’t want to battle with Elizabeth, but I wanted another drink.

Despite what she’d said, I made my way to the kitchen and said, with a bit of an attitude, “It’s no problem. I’ll get it.”

Elizabeth followed me, looking disappointed. “You can have ONE glass of wine. I really shouldn’t let you, because you’re driving.” She poured me a glass herself.

I drank it fast. After the six pack, that one glass of wine made me very buzzed. I was feeling great though. I was high. “Can I have one more glass?” I smiled. I didn’t want to stop.

“No,” Elizabeth insisted. “You said one and I shouldn’t have given you that one glass. You’re getting drunk now. I can see that. You’re too drunk to drive.”

I knew she’d made up her mind. So had I. I wanted more. Elizabeth wasn’t going to give it to me, so I went to grab my keys.

Elizabeth was one step ahead of me. She snatched the keys out from under me. They were in her hands.

My face changed. “GIVE ME MY DAMN KEYS,” I yelled, raising my voice so she’d give them back to me.

“No.”

I lunged at Elizabeth to scare her and throw her off, then grabbed the keys out of her hands.

I gave her a triumphant look. I had my keys. And I started for the door.

“If you won’t give me any wine, I’ll go drive myself to get some wine,” I yelled, walking defiantly out the front door.

Worried about my safety, Elizabeth followed me out to my car, yelling at me not to get in the car. She knew I was determined to keep drinking. And she was determined not to let me drive when I was drunk.

“Come back inside,” she said. “If you give me your keys, I’ll give you as much wine as you want.”

That was all I wanted to hear.

I gave Elizabeth my keys and went peaceably back inside. There were still a few bottles in the refrigerator. And Elizabeth kept her word. She let me have as much wine as I wanted. I got totally drunk and spent the night in the guest bedroom.

The next morning Elizabeth made me coffee and gave me some aspirin for my nasty headache. She told me she had never seen me like that before and said I shouldn’t drink if I acted like that. The secret was out. I’d managed to cover it up at the wedding, but now there was no mistake. Elizabeth knew I had a serious problem with alcohol. She said she would never drink with me again. But I didn’t care.