Javier:By the way
Javier:shit I’m in a car with someone nosy
Javier:How long do people think I’ve been gone?
Me:Since Wednesday afternoon
Javier:Perfect, thanks
Me:No problem
Okay. Great. Great, right? He’s fine, my decision to wait another twenty-four hours before letting everyone know we fucked was the right one, and now everything is normal and no one needs to panic.
I stand up, pace through my apartment for a bit, sit back down, text my dad to double-check that Javier’s actually turned up and that wasn’t some creepy weirdo who murdered him andtook his phone, and then I get back to figuring out what to do with the eight pounds of beluga lentils I bought by accident.
“Back here!”Emily shouts when I open her front door, and I say a silent prayer of thanks that I got the right house. She and her fiancé live in the far-flung suburbs, and all the houses look just similar enough that it makes me uncertain.
When I walk into the back room, at least six heads turn toward me, all attached to women who are sitting on the floor. The room looks like there’s been a craft-and-glitter explosion.
“Madeline!” Emily yelps, throwing both her hands in the air. “Hi! We just got started! You look so cute! Hold on!” She pushes herself off the floor, grabs a wineglass that’s mostly full of what I think is a mimosa, and comes over to me. “You remember everyone?”
“Mostly!” I say, trying to match her energy.Everyoneis Emily’s college friends, all of whom were in her sorority and all of whom have manicures and hairstyles and “natural” makeup that makes them look like they woke up with flawless skin and well-shaped eyebrows. Even though I wore mascaraandblushanddid my eyebrows, I still feel like a swamp witch right now. I have an old, ugly suspicion that all the other girls else got a pamphlet titledHow to Do Femininity Right and Not Be a Total Weirdoone day in eighth grade while I was out sick.
“We’re still waiting on Sarah and Katie,” she says, gesturing at everyone with her drink. “Let’s go get you a mimosa. Does anyone else need anything?”
There’s a chorus of “No!” and Emily leads me into her bright kitchen.
“Thanks for coming,” she says as she grabs a glass and the champagne. “I know crafting for a bridal shower isn’t really yourthing.”
“It’s notnotmy thing,” I say, chipper and cheerful. “Make it mostly orange juice—I gotta drive in a few hours.”
She obliges. “You know what I mean. All this, like,woo, wedding!stuff. You never seemed that into it.”
There’s a part of me that wants to say something disparaging about weddings and flowers and girly excitement, but it’s not worth listening to.
“I promise that I like drinking and throwing glitter around as much as the next gal,” I tell her and immediately wonder why I saidgal.
Emily pours orange juice and gives me a skeptical look.
I sigh. “Just because I don’t have a vision board for engagement rings doesn’t mean I don’t like doing wedding stuff with you! This is fun, and I like seeing your other friends. Last time we hung out, Katie told me about boob tape.”
“You didn’t know about boob tape?” She sounds scandalized. “Boob tape isimportant.”
Sure. It was in that manual I never got, probably.
“This is why I need crafting and glitter and shit.”
“All right,” she says. “Cheers to that.”
She hands me my glass of mostly orange juice, and we clink them together.
“Your hair isso pretty,”Katie is saying to me, both of us sitting on the floor trying to make flower crowns. “Do you have to bleach it first?”
“Yeah, it’s a whole thing.” I carefully tape a daffodil to a flower crown. I’ve decided this one is “springtime sunrise” themed. “I have to get it bleached and then re-dye every few weeks, and I do a lot of hair masks and deep conditioning. It’s a lot of upkeep, and sometimes I dye my bathroom by accident.”
“Ooh, I bet that stuff stains,” offers Piper, who’s sitting on my other side.
“I’ve ruined a lot of towels,” I admit. “And pillowcases.”
