Lauren plowed through a dense pile of pristine white gift wrapping to uncover more wine glasses, serving trays, and silver picture frames than any couple could ever put to good use, but she graciously complimented each gift and thanked the giver. Once the gifts were opened and cake served, the guests trickled out of Shannon’s apartment. It wasn’t long until we were alone.
Together with Shannon and Lauren, we finished the dregs of eight champagne bottles. Shannon regaled us with another round of tragic dating stories: the guy who made his own deodorant, the guy who didn’t mention he was engaged until they were naked, the guy who kept an awkwardly large collection of stuffed animals, the guy who wanted to be a lactation consultant because he was really into boobs. For a beautiful, successful woman, Shannon tapped into a special crop of Boston’s most eligible bachelors.
Later, I found myself shuttling stray champagne flutes into the kitchen when Lauren wrapped her arm around my waist. “Hear from your boy tonight?” she asked, her finger swiping a dollop of frosting off the cake.
“I assume he’s the one blowing up my phone, considering it hasn’t stopped vibrating, but I haven’t looked. Yours?”
She sucked another dollop of frosting from her finger and nodded. “Yep. It’s amusing that he’s spending his bachelor party texting. I’m thinking about wandering down Berkeley Street soon. I wouldn’t be surprised to find him chatting up an oak tree or passed out in Park Plaza.”
“I thought Nick was supervising,” I whispered as Shannon approached.
Lauren shrugged. “He was on call, and something came up.”
As much as I enjoyed Patrick’s drunken texts, I was more interested in getting him home.
“That’s the last time I order a cake this size for twenty skinny bitches,” Shannon muttered. “We probably could have shared a single cupcake.”
“Speak for yourself,” Lauren said. “This cake and I have plans. There’s nothing better than cold cake for breakfast.”
“It’s all yours.”
“Thanks for such a wonderful night, Shan.” Lauren folded Shannon into a tight hug. “You’re the best non-maid of honor this girl could ask for.”
“You’re the best sister-in-law,” Shannon retorted, her eyes meeting mine over Lauren’s shoulder. “You make my brother happy, and you take care of him, and that’s more than I could ever ask for.”
I held her loaded gaze for a beat before excusing myself to the bathroom—thatbathroom—to apply a fresh coat of lip balm and check my phone. Three texts from Jess inviting me out for drinks and dancing—declined with the promise of catching up later in the week. One from Charlotte showing off a cute new sundress. Twelve from Patrick.
19:47 Patrick:what time is your thing finished?
19:59 Patrick:tell me when you’re done and i’ll leave
20:22 Patrick:three good reasons why you’d hate this restaurant
20:24 Patrick:1. waiters in white jackets.
20:25 Patrick:2. there’s pot roast on the menu. it claims to be epic but…
20:26 Patrick:3. all kinds of raw bar up in here
20:41 Patrick:but you’d be all about the beet salad
21:53 Patrick:I actually think you’d like a few things on this dessert menu
22:09 Patrick:is there a cake at this party?
22:34 Patrick:how long has it been since i touched you? it feels like 400 years and i hate that
22:35 Patrick:when I get you home, youre mine.
23:04 Patrick:here’s the thing about whiskey: its great
I chuckled, and typed out a quick response.
00:19 Andy:on my way out soon, glad I missed the raw bar, you saw me this afternoon, and im always yours.
00:20 Andy:where are you?
Emerging from the bathroom, I found Lauren belting a light raincoat while Shannon reclined on a tufted chaise. “Don’t worry about this stuff,” Shannon said, her hand waving toward the mountain of gifts. “I’ll keep it in my guest room until Matt can drop by.”
