“Maybe you two should elope, then you can say you were married when it happened,” I add.
Bianca gasps. “We have to get married at St. Catherine’s.”
Izzy shakes her head. “Elope and then renew your vows at St. Catherine’s after you spill the news to your parents that you’re preggers and already married.”
Bianca’s hand covers her stomach. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Well, you two better think quick because you’re running out of time. I was as big as a whale when I was pregnant,” Daphne says, giving the waiter a quick nod as he places a wineglass in front of her.
“Are we ready to order?” he asks.
Bianca looks relieved that the conversation is over and our attention is elsewhere. I don’t envy her—not her youth or owing an explanation to her parents about getting knocked up before taking her vows.
“You two already working on my next niece or nephew?” Daphne asks.
“We’ve gone over this before, Daphne. If it happens, it happens.” I shrug, but there’s a part of me that wants to scream yes from the rooftops. “If not, that’s okay too. We have Tate and Brax, and they’re more than a handful.”
“You’re past the dreaded diaper phase. I wouldn’t start over if I were you,” Delilah says, placing her hand over mine. “You get the joy of having kids without the stretch marks and weak bladder. Count yourself lucky.”
“Your body is tight and perky,” Max says. “Enjoy the hell out of that.”
I wouldn’t call my body either of those words, but it’s nice to hear. “Oh, please. It’s not like you guys have saggy tits and stomach pouches.”
“It’s amazing what good underwear and a killer bra can do.” Mia laughs. “Don’t let the polished exterior fool you. When I get naked, everything heads for the floor.”
“Jesus, I found a gray pube last week, too. I nearly died,” Izzy says, and I jerk my head back at the candor of her words.
“Gross, Auntie. Don’t talk about such things. That doesn’t really happen, does it?” Gigi looks absolutely horrified.
Suzy’s holding her face in her hands, muttering into her palm as she shakes her head, but that doesn’t stop the conversation from happening.
“Gigi.” Izzy straightens her back and leans over the table, dropping her voice. “As you get older, every bit of hair you have turns gray.”
Gigi blanches. “Oh, dear God. What do you do?”
“Wax, tweeze, or let it happen,” Izzy says casually as she picks up her wine and takes a sip.
“Girl, you can’t tweeze them. Jesus. Do you know how painful that is?” Angel grimaces.
“I know firsthand, chick. Shit is awful.”
“I always thought of you as a Brazilian type of woman,” Max adds like we’re talking about dresses and not the hair around our vaginas.
Izzy drags her hand down her face. “I used to be, but then I stopped when I got pregnant and just never went back. But it looks like I’m about to restart my standing appointment again because gray pubes are not happening.”
Gigi picks up her phone, trying to hide her shocked and disgusted face. “I can’t listen to this anymore. You guys are freaking me out.”
“Someday, when you find your first gray hair, you’ll remember this conversation, sweetie.” Izzy gives her niece a smile. “Trust me, experiencing it is way more horrifying than hearing about it.”
“I’m not listening,” Gigi sings into her phone screen. “This is way too much information and oversharing from all of you, not to mention gross and the things nightmares of made of.”
Aging is a nightmare. No one tells you that shit when you’re young. They’re too busy telling you how fabulous your thirties and forties are to give you the real truth. How things move south, tits and ass included, and how your skin starts to look more like crumpled tissue paper than the supple silk it used to.
“I have an idea,” Daphne says, thankfully rescuing us from the topic of aging. “Why don’t you guys get married at city hall this week while the family is all here?”
Delilah claps her hands together. “That’s a great idea. Come on, Bianca. We’ll find you the perfect dress today, and you can be married before the weekend.”
“I don’t know. I’d have to talk to Vinnie about it.”
