No one answered. Not because we didn't know, but the question sounded rhetorical.
"The one rule we set?" Emily paused again, clearly waiting for Angela or me to respond.
Right, so clearly, this wasn't a pretend test. Of course, I knew the rule since I was the reason for the aforementioned rule: don't get lit, get married, or bring husband number three back to the condo.
"No strangers at the house," I replied, mimicking the same tone as Emily. "No one comes home with us. And by us, we're referring to me." I pointed to myself. "Not to worry, I'm here to make connections, not meet a man."
Ahem. However…
That didn't mean I couldn't find a nice palate cleanser from my most recent boyfriendifthe opportunity presented itself.
Because that most recent boyfriend of mine? He’d already moved on to Little Miss Perfect.
"I think you should wear your Vegas Bride badge with pride and go for a third husband." Angela finished with her makeup, popping the cap back on her setting spray. "I mean, let's make the trip worth it."
"Cute, but absolutely not," I replied.
There was no way—none—that I would end my twenties with another failed marriage.
If I ever got married again, I wanted a handsome fiancé, lots of chemistry, a four-tier cake, to be married under the stars in the summer, with a jazz band and a pasta bar with six kinds of sauce.
According to the math—since it was already summer—I'd need to be engaged for a minimum of six months to get the full bridal experience. All that to say, my next wedding was at least a year away.
"Third husband. Third husband," Angela chanted.
"On this point, we disagree, Ang,” Emily said.
She wasn't fussing with her makeup because, honestly? She didn't have to.
Emily's tan skin, black hair, and bone structure mirrored what most women desperately tried to achieve through copious amounts of contouring and highlighting. She also stood impressively tall but wasn't afraid to rock stilettos when the occasion called for them.
Occasions like tonight.
I aspired to be more like Emily. A woman ready to flip the calendar on her twenties should have more to show for it than two failed marriages, a job that wasn't totally awful, a kick-ass manicure, and more good hair days than bad.
Emily had the luck in life that would've made me jealous, had I not understood how she worked her tush off to make all that good stuff happen. Case in point? When Jared announced the party plans, Emily jumped to call her uncle about borrowing his condo. Then she wrangled and finagled until she had her girls on an excellent-priced flight, non-stop to Vegas.
Make no mistake: this trip didn't happen to Emily. It happened because of her.
"Maya," Emily said. "I just don't want you to get hurt, that's all."
That was sweet. Really, it was.
"Well, don't worry. I won't bring anyone here, either," Angela said, raising her right hand like she was swearing in to testify.
Angela was queen of the friend zone with men. She was the bomb at the catch and release game, accomplishing it with practiced ease and remarkable skill.
Most guys checked out after a breakup, but not with Angela. With Angela, they stuck around to be her friend.
For real, they called her for advice and everything.
She’d even taught me a few tricks that helped during the annulment and the…uh…divorce. Was it hot in here? My neck was warmer, that's for sure.
"Then it's agreed." Emily snatched her purse and rummaged through, doing her last-minute did-I-get-everything check. "Ready?"
Emily held her hand out, palm down. We both added ours to the stack.
"Ready," everyone said in near unison.
