I sat up too, reached for my bag. “Actually…I brought it.”
“You brought the journal?”
“I brought the journal.”
Pauline squealed and bounced on the bed like we were sixteen again. “Okay, okay, what are we doing first? Please say we’re doing something that would make your mother clutch her pearls and call me the bad influence on her daughter.”
I flipped through pages until I found it. Number forty.
“Wear bright red lipstick with complete confidence and go somewhere you’d never normally go.”
Pauline’s eyes went wide. “Claudette Specter, you have never worn red lipstick in your entire life.”
“I said it was too bold. Too much attention.”
“So you’re going to put on the boldest lipstick color known to mankind and go gambling in Vegas.”
“That’s the plan.” I pulled out my makeup bag and produced the tube—the brightest, most aggressive red I’d ever seen. The kind of color that demanded attention.
“That’s not lipstick,” Pauline breathed. “That’s a weapon.”
“Is it too much?”
“It’s perfect. Sit. Let me help you before you end up looking like you got in a fight with a crayon.”
She pulled me over to the mirror and started working on my makeup. We fell into that easy rhythm we’d had since high school—her talking while I tried not to move.
“So whose wedding is it again?” I asked. “The one you’re here for?”
“College friend—Emma. You met her once at that party junior year.” Pauline started lining my lips carefully. “She’s marrying this guy she met on a dating app of all places. Two years ago. They’re disgustingly happy.”
“Dating apps work sometimes.”
“Apparently. Though watching her plan this wedding has been exhausting. She’s been engaged for five months and I’ve heard about every single detail.” She paused. “But honestly? It’s kind of sweet. She’s so excited about marrying him.”
“That’s rare these days.”
“Right? Most people seem more interested in the party than the actual marriage.” She switched to the lipstick. “Everyone’s so scared of commitment these days—like getting married is signing up for prison instead of choosing someone you want to wake up next to.”
“Tell me about it. Mom literally brings it up every family dinner now.” I tried not to move my mouth too much. “Not about me, thank god. But she won’t stop asking Jack when he’s going to settle down. “Dad’s started too. Last week he actually asked if Jack was ‘batting for the other team,’ because apparently being single at thirty-three means you’re either gay or broken.”
“Your brother?” Her hand paused for just a fraction of a second before she continued with the lipstick. “What did he say?”
“That he was batting for the ‘mind your own business’ team.” I laughed out loud. “Mom was not amused,” I said, then met Pauline’s gaze through the mirror.
“You guys used to be close before he graduated from college,” I said. I remember them being fun around each other. But it didn’t last very long. “What was that about? Did you two actually date or not?”
“I told you we didn’t.” She focused very intently on my lips.
“That’s not what it looked like. You were practically attached at the hip, and then suddenly you could barely look at each other.” I narrowed my eyes. “I think something’s fishy.”
“Maybe you need to clean out your nostrils, then.” She made a motion like she was about to stick her finger up my nose.
I shrieked and batted her hand away. “Pauly!”
“I’m just trying to help with your fish-smelling problem.” She grinned, completely unrepentant.
“You’re disgusting.”
