Amber glares at me. “Those reviews aren’t accurate because people are more likely to complain than leave a compliment.”
“She’s right, you know,” Andy says in an urgent tone. “People love to complain, especially online instead of to your face. Most of the time when someone changes their mind, it’s because they were either drunk or super high, and when they sobered up, they realize they don’t want a dragon on their forehead or neck or whatever. It’s not because I screwed up.”
“Ha!We’renot getting forehead tattoos!” Quinn says, as though she’s just proven her case.
Ignoring her, I continue questioning the witness. “Thank you, Andy. I have one last question for you, and then I’ll let you get on with your evening. To the best of your knowledge, have you ever had anyone return to your…emporium, crying or in a rage because they wish they’d already had their tattoo done?”
“No,” he says, scratching his scruffy chin. “Never.”
“Thank you.” I turn back to the group, triumphant. How can they possibly want to go through with it now? “You see? We will not regretnotgetting tattoos, but there’s a 20% chance we will have serious regrets about getting them.”
Amber makes a loud growling sound that comes from deep in her chest. “Arg! Why do you have to go all lawyer-mum on us? Ihate itwhen you do this!”
“How to ruin your sister’s weekend,” Valerie mutters.
“Yeah, nice,” Quinn adds, shaking her head at me.
“I willnever regrethaving a sisterhood tattoo,” Valerie says, crossing her arms across her chest. “Ever. I will want to remember this weekend and their weddingfor the rest of my life.”
She stretches out one arm in front of her, palm down, peering around the group dramatically. “Who’s with me?”
“I am,” Kandi says through gritted teeth, putting her hand on top of Valerie’s, as though this is the uniting of a group of warriors about to unleash hell on the evils of the world.
“Me, too,” Quinn says with a firm nod, covering Kandi’s hand with hers. “I choose to join the Sisterhood of Amber.”
Well, she booked the appointments, so…
Amber puts her hand in and gives me a pleading look. “It would mean so much to me if you were part of the Sisterhood.”
“We’re not even Celtic.” I let the words slip out before I can think to stop them. Amber sniffs, fighting back tears that cause my heart to sink. “I’m sorry. It’s just…is it really so awful if I don’t participate in thisoneactivity? I promise I’ll do everything else this weekend.”
She tries to fan her tears away quickly with her perfectly manicured hands. “Why can’t you just be fun for one weekend?”
“I’m trying, Amber. I really am. What if we all got matching necklaces to wear to the wedding?” I suggest.
“Don’t be such a puss,” Valerie says. “You gave birth to a baby, for God’s sake. This won’t be nearly as painful.”
“You know what? That’s enough,” I say, holding up one hand. “I’m not going to be bullied into getting a tattoo, all right? So forget it, already. I’ve tried to be nice about it, but it’s an idiotic idea. Nobody needs a tattoo commemorating a hen’s weekend, or to depict their faith in someone else’s stupid marriage, which statistically speaking, has a fifty percent chance in ending in divorce, which means there’s a pretty big chance you’ll have a symbol of their love long after it ends. No offence, Amber. I’m not implying you and Dane won’t make it but it’s a statistical fact.”
“One that didn’t need to be mentioned,” Quinn mutters.
Amber bites her bottom lip, clearly trying not to burst into tears, and I realize I’m doing precisely what my mother said I would—which is ruin her special weekend. Guilt overcomes me, and I close my eyes for a second. “You’re right, Quinn. I’m sorry, Amber. I’m just scared of needles.” And hepatitis. And I’m broke. And have no desire to commemorate this crap weekend permanently. “I have no right to ruin your fun time. Let’s start over, okay? You go ahead, and I’ll…take photos of you all getting your tattoos.”
Amber stares at me for a second, hope filling her eyes. “So you’ll stop trying to talk us out of it?”
Nodding, I say, “Get as many tattoos as you want. Put Dane’s name across your face in some swirly font for all I care. I just want you to be happy.”
“Thanks, Bree,” she says, hugging me tightly. “I’m sorry I tried to talk you into getting a tattoo. I sometimes forget how hard your life must be.”
“That’s okay. You’re trying to make me part of your tribe which is really sweet,” I say. “Most brides would probably leave their boring old sister at home, but you invited me along.”
Randy Andy takes this as his cue and says, “Who’s up first?”
***
Four bars and too many shots later, my head is spinning as I sit on a stool and hold the table for the rest of the bridal party while they gyrate dangerously close to one another on the dance floor for that imagine-us-kissing attention. It totally works, and as the pounding beat of a remix of “Thing for You” by Martin Solveig thunders through the stuffy, crowded club, a group of guys who’ve been eyeing Amber and her friends dance their way over to them, overbites already on full display. Within seconds, they’re all paired up. Let the dirty dancing begin.
Urgh. I don’t think Dane would love to see that guy’s hands clutching his fiancée’s hips like that. Or that grinding. I watch as I sip my vodka slime, wondering if I should put a stop to it. Somehow, my brain is unable to come up with the right answer, so I stay put. The truth is, Dane is very likely tied to a chair centre-stage at a strip club with someone named Cherry Rain rubbing up against him at this very moment.
