You’re fine, Alice.
Gradually, my body unlocks, blood flowing back to my toes as I position myself within space and time. I know where I am. I know who I’m in bed with. Blackout Alice wasn’t invited on this bachelorette trip, and the only drunk woman who got in this bed last night is snoring softly beside me, legs braided into mine.
Wait. Legs braided into mine?
Last night, Renee and I went straight back to the room after dinner at the hotel restaurant, where a gin, dirty, and espresso martini—Gin, Chrissy, and Renee, respectively—devoured chicken tacos alongside their water glass sidecar. Renee and I got readyfor bed in total silence, then fell asleep with our backs to one another, each of us hugging our edge of the mattress. I’m positive. But she must’ve tossed, and I must’ve turned, and here we are, tangled in the center of the bed.
I hold my breath and keep as still as possible while I determine my next move. Should I wake her up? Shove her off? I could fall back asleep and let her deal with this later, but even with the AC on full blast, the pleasant heat of her body is growing less pleasant by the second. I draw in a breath, then gradually lift my leg and Renee’s with it, the soft skin of her thigh slowly sliding off mine until she groans and rolls over, blond hair spilling on the pillow behind her.
I get dressed and ready, wearing my thinnest, most breathable tank top over a pair of swishy black athletic shorts. The high is 107. The sliding glass door is already hot to the touch, and when I open it, it’s like opening an oven. I duck right back inside and triple-check the itinerary. We’re scheduled to leave for our hike in half an hour.
I jostle Renee’s shoulder. “Psssst.”
No movement.
I shake her harder. “I think it’s too hot to hike.”
Renee groans—louder than before—then rolls onto her stomach and sandwiches her head between two pillows. Message received. I slip down the maze of hallways to the hotel restaurant, where I request “the largest cold brew you can legally sell me.” The bartender brings me a very normal-size cup of iced coffee, so I order a second one, requesting that it come in one of the big novelty cactus cups I saw at the pool.
Gin wanders in just a few minutes later, dressed for a hike andlooking a touch hungover. She joins me at the bar, her tired eyes darting to my coffee as she orders one of her own.
“Howdja sleep?” she asks through a yawn.
“Decent.” I take a long sip of coffee. “Not enough. How long have you been up?”
“Not long. I thought I was running behind but…” Gin motions to the empty barstools surrounding us. “Where’s Renee?”
My memory flashes back to the bed, to Renee’s soft legs sliding over mine. I shake it off and grumble, “I tried to get her moving.”
Gin nods, yawning again. “She’s a heavy sleeper, but I think it’s too hot to hike anyway. Are things going okay with you two?”
“Things are…okay.”
The bartender slides Gin her iced coffee, and she pries the lid off and ditches the straw before tipping it back. “I thought maybe rooming together would help you two get closer.”
The word pounds like a bass line through my head.Closer. Closer. Closer.I cough. “We’re closer than ever.”
Gin grins. “I knew you’d get along if you gave it a shot.” She adjusts in her seat and takes another sip. “Anyway.What’s new with you? I feel like I’m so out of the loop on your life.”
“God, I don’t even know where to begin.” I try to sort through my most recent stories, but they all feel too depressing for a bachelorette trip. I’m trying to navigate how to bring up the memorial concert without being a total bummer, but then Gin’s phone lights up on the bar top, and her attention dips. “Sorry, hang on just one sec.” She opens the texts, all from her fiancé. “Did I tell you Rishi and I started a list of stuff we need for the wedding?”
“Like…a registry?”
“No, everything we need tohavethe wedding. Just, like, tables,chairs, and stuff. But I keep thinking of stuff we need to add to it, and we were talking this morning and…” She trails off as her thumbs fly across her phone. “Sorry.” She sets it face down. “What were we talking about?”
“This concert,” I start again, only to be interrupted by the arrival of my coffee cactus. Gin slaps a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh, and she snatches up her phone to snap a picture just as Chrissy struts in dressed in a bright-blue sports bra and matching athletic shorts, a hot-pink baseball cap, plus full glam.
“If I don’t get something caffeinated, I’m going to make a scene,” Chrissy announces to anyone who might be listening, which apparently counts as placing an order when you’re Chrissy. She has a coffee—no cactus—in her manicured hand by the time she sits down beside Gin.
“Are you drinking, Ali Pal?” Chrissy eyes the cactus cup.
“Coffee,” I explain. “Just being festive.”
“Chrissy, I was just catching Alice up on wedding planning.” Gin swipes open her list again, and the conversation is once more pulled into the wedding vortex. I’ve sucked down half the contents of my coffee cactus by the time Renee races in, a frazzled mess of pajamas and outdoor wear. Her hiking boots squeak as she skids to a stop, wide eyed and panting, with a messy blond bun of hair wobbling on her head.
“Renee, yay! Thank God you’re here.” Gin motions to the empty barstool next to mine. “We’re wedding planning, so we obviously need the insight of our professional event manager.”
Renee is frozen in place, mouth parted. Her eyes—somehow both wild and sleepy—sweep down the line of us, getting a read on the situation.
