Renee rejoins the group with two sets of key cards and a clear agenda as to who will be rooming together. She pockets one pink plastic card, then holds out the other set to Chrissy and me, but Gin grabs them first.
“Chrissy, do you wanna be roomies again?” Gin bounces her brows. “Like freshman year?”
“Okay, love that!”
Chrissy snatches the key cards and passes one to Gin, knocking Renee’s smile right off her lips. It’s quick—just a fraction of a second that Renee’s face goes slack before she swallows and pins a smile back in place, passing the single remaining card to me. My throat feels like it’s closing up, but I only smile back, because that’s what a good bridesmaid would do.
Per the instructions of the grump at the desk, we turn left at the neon cactus, twisting and weaving down a series of halls with dim overhead lighting that’s almost yellow against the concretefloors. It’s the opposite of the rainbow lobby, proof that this renovated motel used to be something dingier. We hang a left, a right, and then we’re back to our regularly scheduled color scheme, plus a smell that’s eerily familiar. I pinpoint it instantly: It smells like our freshman dorm, like old buildings and industrial cleaning products and mixed drinks. Unlike the dorms, each hotel door is painted a different candy-coated color, and Renee slows us all to a stop in front of two doors labeled 106 and 107—orange and pink, respectively. Lesbian colors. Nice.
“Should we meet up in twentyish minutes to go check out the pool?” Renee suggests.
I mush my lips together to keep from laughing. Renee is playing this off so casually, as if this twenty-minute break to unpack and refresh before pool time weren’t already outlined in our itinerary.
“Sounds perfect,” Gin says. “Just come knock when you’re ready.” She gives Chrissy a wink. “Our room can be the party room.”
“Honey, wherever you are is always the party room,” Chrissy gushes. “But sounds perf. See you guys soon.”
With ourperfplan decided, we file into our rooms. To match our pink door, we’ve got a pink dresser, pink mirror, and a long hot-pink curtain half covering a sliding glass door overlooking a patio. The carpet is Barney purple, and in the center of the room, a single queen-size bed with a pink headboard is dressed in the usual fluffy white hotel duvet. My stomach sours.A queen? Really?
Renee must be thinking the same thing. She marches straight to the room phone, punches a few numbers, and puts on her sweetest customer-service voice. “Hi, I was calling to see whether you have rolling cots available? I don’t mind paying an extra fee.” Based on her flattened expression, I’d guess it’s not good news.“Uh-huh.” Renee sighs and rubs her temples. “Well, thanks anyway.” She docks the phone and lets out a long, slow breath.
“I’m guessing there’s no—”
She waves me off. “Take whichever side, I guess.”
And I can’t help it. I’m feeling petty. “So you mean I should just do whatever I want to do?”
She blinks at me. “Um, yeah?”
“Cool. So how about I ask you for your thoughts on which side of the bed I should take, but then I’ll just go ahead and take whichever side I want.”
Her stare is one part pissed, two parts confused.
“I could send you a survey,” I go on. “Forty-eight questions about exactly how you think we should share this room for the next two days, and then I’ll still just do whatever I want, even if we agreed not to do it.”
Renee’s nostrils flare. “Ohcome on. This is about the themes?”
My laugh is more of a cry of disbelief. “Yes, it’s about the themes, Renee. And the…oh, what is it?” I page through the massive printed itinerary. “Yes, right. ‘We know our Gin is an early riser, so let’s meet in the lobby at six so we can beat the heat before the sun rises! Please pack a canteen, CamelBak, or other bottled water.’ Blah blah blah.” I march across the room and thrust my itinerary right up to Renee’s nose. “A SIX. MILE. HIKE.”
Renee doesn’t flinch. She speaks plainly. Sternly. Only in statements of fact. “Gin put me in charge of the bachelorette party. I collected input; then I planned the special weekend Gin deserves.”
“Is this?” I tug on my T-shirt, holding it taut. “Not already special? We have matching T-shirts. We’re in fuckingPalm Springs.”
Renee rolls her eyes. “That’s baseline.”
“That’sabsurd.”
“No, actually, it’s not,” she says. “It’s about what you’dexpectfor a bachelorette party, which you wouldn’tknowbecause you’ve never even been to one.”
“Oh, right, Renee. You’re right, as usual. I’ve never been to a bachelorette party, so tell me: Is it normal to share a room with an enormous tw—”
“HEY, BITCHESSSS. Where the fugggarrrryooou!?” The headboard rattles with the repeated thuds of someone—Chrissy—pounding on our shared wall. My breath stills in my lungs. Thin walls. I would have loved to have known that sooner.
More pounding. “It’s been twenty minutes!” Chrissy shouts. “Let’s goooooo!”
“We’re almost ready!” Renee hollers, a bald-faced lie, but the thudding gets wobbly and more hollow…and then it’s coming from the sliding glass door. Renee draws open our hot-pink curtain to reveal a distant view of the pool and, up close and personal, both Chrissy’s and Gin’s asses smooshed up against the glass.
I’m not sure if what flies out of me is a laugh or a shout, but it’s loud, and it startles Renee almost as much as the two surprise butts on display. She flips open the lock, and Gin and Chrissy squeal and sprint back toward their room, tugging up their bikini bottoms and splashing hard seltzer across the concrete.
