“I already know all of that, Mummy,” Isabelle says.
“I was talking to Auntie Dolores,” I say, throwing a look over my shoulder and receiving a sharp glare in exchange.
The sound of a speech grows louder as we make our way toward the back gate that stands open. Dammit. The speeches have started. We are unforgivably late.
Another large sign greets us that says:
Come help us celebrate Mr. and Mrs. Fabulously Happy.
A snorting sound coming from behind me tells me Auntie Dolores has also noticed the sign. “That’s a bit rich, don’t you think?”
I stop and turn to her, shifting the present that is now growing heavy in my left arm. “Seriously. Behave or I’m not buying any bacon when I go to the market tomorrow.”
Dolores narrows her eyes. “You wouldn’t dare.”
Dolores calls herself a bacoholic and brings a baggy of it wherever she goes, just in case she needs her bacofix. Honestly, she puts it on everything from pizza to desserts. Her latest creation is called the bacon weave apple pie.
Staring her down, I say, “I’m hot, I’m wearing at fake chimpanzee in place of a boyfriend, and I’ve had three hours of sleep. If you want to roll the dice, old lady, go for it.”
Isabelle’s eyes grow wide, and she makes a gasping sound. Tugging on my hand, she whispers, “You said we’re not supposed to call her old.”
Bollocks. She’s got me there. A flash of guilt has me softening my expression. “Please, Auntie, for Amber. Can we please try to make a good impression?”
“I don’t know why you care so much,” Dolores sniffs. “It’s not like she ever looks past the nose on her face to see what kind of a life you have.”
“That’s not true. And even if it were, it doesn’t matter. She’s my little sister, and she’s getting married, so I’m going to do whatever I can to make this the best possible experience for her.”
As we round the corner of the house into the enormous back garden, I’m greeted by a sight that makes all my muscles tense up. Suddenly, the whole Sonny and Cher thing becomes completely clear. “It will be hilarious, just go with it. Bree. People will die when they see Izzy dressed as Sonny Bono.”
There, standing at the front of the crowd next to Dane’s parents, who are dressed as Fred and Wilma Flintstone, are none other than Sonny and Cher themselves—or as I like to call them, Mum and Dad. They’re both smiling at Dane’s dad, Trenton Hammer, who is going on about how they’re gaining a daughter.
I purse my lips together and blow a long, frustrated sigh out of my nose, watching as Dolores makes her way over to the buffet table to set down her cheese people. Isabelle lets go of my hand and races to catch up with her, no doubt hoping to sneak some of the sweets off the table before I can get there.
“She really is the perfect Juliet to our little Romeo,” Trenton says, holding up a glass of champagne. The sight of Dolores and Isabelle catches his eye, and he fumbles for words for a moment as he glances back and forth between them and my parents. Amber, who is standing arm in arm with Dane, takes note of the second set of matching pop stars, her smile transforming into shock.
Dane’s too busy chugging his beer to notice his fiancée is upset. A six-foot-six, hulking specimen, Dane loves two things: smashing things and beer. He’s basically a younger version of his dad, who owns the only demolition company on the island. According to Dane, there is absolutely no better feeling than hitting a wall with a sledgehammer, and from the looks of this swanky property, I’m guessing there’s some money in it as well. It’s got that we-made-it-big-and-we-want-everyone-to-know air about it with the carefully manicured yard filled with randomly placed fountains and Grecian—mostly nude—statues scattered about in the oddest of places. On the far side, there’s a large swimming pool and a tiki bar—obviously—with twinkle lights and a giant bust of Elvis Presley wearing a pink and white lei sitting on the bar top. There’s so much going on that it takes me a minute to realize several large shrubs have been trained to resemble women in various sexy poses, which is both off-putting and wildly funny. I chew on the inside of my cheek to stifle the laugh that is threatening to come out. The overall effect is quite jarring, really. It’s a mashup of gaudy and erotic garden art that begs the visitor to post photos solely to shock their friends.
I stay toward the back, next to a stone statue of a unicorn, not wanting to attract unwanted attention to myself and Mr. Bananas. Dane’s mum, Sharon, tugs on her husband’s shoulder and whispers something in his ear. Then, much to my horror, she points at me, and his eyes follow her finger until they land on yours truly.
“Oh, she made it, folks! Amber’s big sister is here. Come on up here, dear. I’m sure you have a few words for the happy couple.”
No. No, I don’t. I shake my head and half-whisper, half call, “That’s okay, no. I don’t want to interrupt.”
“Don’t be silly,” Dane’s mum says, gesturing wildly for me to join them.
Oh bugger. I make my way toward them, my feet as heavy as the nudie statues I’m weaving through as the humiliation of this moment sets in.
“Who are you dressed as, dear?” Sharon asks.
“Jane Goodall,” I mutter. Turning, I face the small crowd and chuckle awkwardly. “This is Mr. Bananas. He’s my plus-one this afternoon.”
Amber lets out a loud, phony laugh. “Brianna’s such a kidder. Wait till you all get to know her. She is honestly the funniest. Go on. Say something funny.”
Dance, puppet, dance. “Well, I haven’t exactly been working on my comedy routine lately, so…I don’t really have anything prepared.”
I glance at Amber’s three besties, Kandi, Valerie, and Quinn, all of who have a disdain for me that I happily return. Their faces are scrunched up in disgust as they hang off their boyfriends’ arms. Quinn and her date are Cleopatra and Mark Antony. Valerie and her plus-one have gone all classy as Megan Markle and Prince Harry, while Kandi and her boyfriend, Jared, have opted for the even classier Hugh Hefner with a Playboy Bunny. Not really what I would call a famous couple, but since I’m wearing my date, I probably shouldn’t talk.
Off to the side, I hear one of the guests ask, “Is she really a comedian? She doesn’t look funny.”
