Renee Roberts
He is pretty hot though…
Chrissy Amato
Right?!?!?!?! The abs?! THE BICEPS?!?! BYE.
Seventeen
The unofficial theme of Gin’s bridal shower isThe Chrissy Amato Show. That much is evident from the moment we arrive; when Renee and I step onto the patio, we’re given hot-pink feather boas, bestowed upon us by Chrissy and Asha. They’re wearing matching pale-pink custom tees that sayVirginia is for lovers, onlyloversis crossed out andRishiis printed over it.
“Welcome, welcome!” Asha greets us with a wide smile and enormous hugs. Gone is the snarling woman from the engagement dinner; Mrs.Bhat has been fully Chrissy-fied. She sweeps her arms, motioning with her feather boa to the patio as a whole—the photo backdrop made entirely out of paper hearts, the big inflatable engagement ring, the pink sequin tablecloths and silver cushions on every seat. “Isn’t this just…” Asha glances at Chrissy.“Perf?”
I barely contain my snort; Renee nudges me, a smile plastered on her face. “Yeah,” she says. “Totally perf.”
Gin is easy to spot from across the patio; her sparkly white feather boa flutters behind her as she scampers toward us, gathering me and Renee in one giddy group hug.
“Yay, all the bridesmaids are here!” Gin says, then softly, still holding us close, “Do you think Chrissy brainwashed my mother-in-law?”
We turn toward Asha, who, mid-conversation with an auntie, tips her head back with a Weedwacker cackle.
“Yes,” I say.
“Definitely,” Renee agrees.
“Cool.” Gin smiles. “I’ll thank her later.”
After a trip through the buffet line, Renee and I carry our bruschetta-packed plates to a table at the far end of the patio. Chrissy appears almost instantly, sliding into an empty seat beside me.
“Any eyes on Waiter Boy?” For days, she’s regaled us with the details of every text, voice memo, and lewd photo exchanged between her and this man whose name she still does not know. I am deeply invested; Renee, less so. Now, Chrissy is halfway through describing what she envisions for her and Waiter Boy’s perfect first date when Renee’s phone buzzes, and she disappears into it, frowning and scrolling until Chrissy pauses to whine.
“Hell-ooooo? Renee? Are you even listening?”
Renee sets her phone face down beside her plate. “Sorry. Just work stuff.”
My body reacts the way it would to a misplayed note.Work stuff? What could that mean?
“Just closing out a few things before we start…” Renee’s eyes flick to one of the card stock programs scattered across the table.“The shoe game.”
Chrissy lights up. “I love the shoe game.”
“I hate the shoe game,” Renee says in near unison.
I’m intrigued. My eyes bounce between them as I prepare to pick a side. “Am I supposed to know what that is?”
“Essentially, the bride and groom each take off their shoes, andthey hold one of each,” Chrissy explains. “So like, one heel and one men’s dress shoe. They sit back to back, and someone asks a question. Like, who is the messy one in the relationship? They hold up Gin’s shoe if they think Gin is messy…” Chrissy lifts one hand in demonstration, keeping the other at her side. “And vice versa.”
“So they can’t see how the other one answers,” Renee interrupts. “It’s to see if they agree on things.”
I nod, only sort of getting it. “Sounds…fine?”
“It’s pointless,” Renee says flatly.
“It does sound like something straight people would like.”
Chrissy, representing straight people, pouts. She flips her feather boa over her shoulder, smacking Renee in the face in the process. “It’s funny,” she says while Renee spits out a feather. “And I’m the one who wanted to play it, so be nice.”
Not five minutes later, Asha taps a fork against her water glass, calling everyone on the patio to attention. Except for me. My attention is still entirely caught up in whatwork stuffmight mean. Based on Renee’s less-than-convincing smile, I’m guessing it’s nothing good, but she seems determined to keep her eyes off mine, like I might see something she’s not willing to share.
