The three of them turned to me. Vera grinned. “That leaves you, Dillon. You’re the only one left to debauch.”
“Ha! I’m not debauching alone,” I told them adamantly. “We debauch together or not at all.”
They shrugged. Apparently, it was a not at all kind of night.
“There go my fun plans for strip clubs and lap dances,” I told them—even though I wasn’t serious. Our real schedule for the night included supper at a hole in the wall that supposedly served the best chips and guac in town—possibly the state. Also, possibly the entire world. Margaritas for those of us not with child and an in-house lime refresher for the preggo one. Then dessert, at another hole in the wall that served the best tiramisu in the universe and had an excellent selection of Prosecco. Then second dessert with coffee and added Baileys for those of us not baking a human, raspberry fried ice cream and in-house ice cream cookie sandwiches with mascarpone cream sauce. But first cocktails and apps at this adorable Americana hipster place, Craft, that was known for their excellent bartending and house-made appetizers.
Basically, unlike other bachelorettes I’d been to where we were in a secret contest to see who could eat the least and drink the most, this one was all about seeing who could gain the most weight from our never-ending progressive dinner.
Which is why I loved this group of friends the most. They were the friends I had been waiting for my entire life. My personal circle of soulmates that I had to search for and find, and then claim for my own.
My prep school friends were all trophy wives and cautionary tales. My culinary school friends excelled at passive aggressive competitions that belittled and soul-stripped.
These girls were real. Authentic. True blue soul sisters with zero agenda and one hundred percent support—all day every day.
I couldn’t have picked better friends. Or a better bachelorette.
All Vera wanted to do was keep it small, chill and full of her favorite pregnancy cravings. Molly, Kaya and I were all over that.
“Good!” Vera exclaimed, clapping her hands. “Because I invited the boys!”
“What?” I screeched the word.
Vera’s expression fell. “Was that not okay?”
I schooled my expression and swallowed the complaint I wanted to voice. “It’s fine,” I assured her. “Totally fine.”
“Two fines,” Kaya noted. “It’s definitely not fine.”
Bumping her with my shoulder, I tried to come up with an excuse, but nothing came to mind.
“Are you really upset?” Vera asked, looking crushed.
I reached across the table and grabbed her hand, squeezing it in mine. “I’m not upset at all. This night is about you. I want to do whatever you want to do.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Dillon.”
They were all staring at me with expectant expressions. The truth came out unintentionally because I loved these people too much to default to my usual borrowed personalities. I didn’t have it in me to befinewith them. “It’s hard, okay? It’s hard being the third wheel. Or the…” I quickly counted the couples that would be here tonight. “Seventh wheel.” I held up my hands. “I don’t want to be the loser here without a boyfriend.”
“I don’t have a boyfriend. I have a fiancé.” Molly said, in the most pretentious voice ever. She eyed Vera. “Do you have a boyfriend?”
She jutted out her chin and sniffed the air. With the snobbiest tone on the planet, she said, “I have a baby daddy.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. At least they meant well. “And I have a string of bad dates. During my most recent, I snuck out of the coffee shop while he went to the bathroom.” At their dropped jaws and raised eyebrows, I admitted, “Not my finest moment.”
“Was he skeezy?” Kaya asked.
“It was nine in the morning, so it wasn’t like he tried to get all inappropriate. We just… didn’t click.”
“You’ve got to click,” Molly agreed.
“And we texted fine,” I continued. “But there was zero chemistry in person. I laughed more with Vann in the two minutes I spent with him than I did on the entire date.”
“Vann?” Vera asked, but I felt the question resonate around the table.
The waiter chose that moment to finally stop by and grab our drink order. A white wine spritzer for Molly, a paloma for Kaya, a water with cucumber for Vera and my latest obsession—an Old Fashioned with Buffalo Trace. One extra cherry. Thank you very much.
I could do the champagne cocktails and froufrou drinks when pushed, but whiskey was my thing—American. Barrel-Aged. Twelve-year-old. Amen and amen.
