The game begins just as Chrissy explained: Gin and Rishi pull up their black vinyl banquet chairs so they’re back to back, each of them barefoot and holding a high heel and a dress shoe. Asha stands ready with the microphone and a prepared list of questions.
“Who’s a pickier eater?” They both hold up Rishi’s shoe.
“Who’s a better dancer?” They both hold up Gin’s.
“Who spends more time staring at their phone?”
My head snaps toward Renee, who drops her phone on the table with a clatter, caught in the act again.
“Ooh, here’s a good one.” Asha waggles her eyebrows deviously. “Who’s better at keeping secrets?”
Without a second of delay, two nude stiletto heels shoot into the air. Instead of laughter, there’s a collective low-pitched “Ooooh.”
Gin laughs and waves her arms like an umpire callingsafe. “Just secret keeping in general! I’m not keeping anything juicy. No babies or anything.”
My head whips back to face the bridesmaids, brows scrunched. “Did she say babies?”
“I think it’s like, if she’s good at keeping secrets and she’s getting married, she must be pregnant,” Chrissy explains.
With that, I’m officially on Renee’s side: The shoe game sucks.
The questions persist, but I skip the show in favor of a virgin Bloody Mary. The bar is inside, and the bartender looks at me like I’m crazy when I place my order. I look back at him like he’s…wait. Like he’sWaiter Boy.
“Here’s your…soup.” Waiter Boy slides my drink across the bar top, and I giggle nervously because, unfortunately, I have seen this man naked.
“Thanks. I mean thank you…Hey, what’s your name?”
He looks at me, if possible, like I’m crazier. “Chris?”
My gasp is, out of context, completely unwarranted. I try—unconvincingly—to hide it with a cough. “Sorry.” I grip the edge of the bar, leaning in conspiratorially, but I can’t look him in the eye without laughing. “Did you just say your name is Chris?”
“Yes?” He squints at me, suspicious. In fairness, I’m reacting to a top-ten generic guy name as though Waiter Boy had introduced himself as Gizmo the Clown. I slap whatever cash I have onto the bar, muttering something like “Okay, thanks” or “Wow, that’s cool,” and race back outside to the table.
“CHRISSY.” I whisper-shout as I crash-land into my seat. “I FOUND him.”
“You found him!?” Chrissy launches out of her chair like it’s spring-loaded, her whole body pivoting left, then right, like she’s trying to sniff him out.
“YES. He’s inside. And get this—”
Before I can reveal the true identity of Waiter Boy, Chrissy takes off like someone set her on 3x speed, and the rest of the shower goes by almost as fast. Gin and Rishi open presents one at a time, everyone oohing and aahing over trivets, until one auntie squeals that she felt a raindrop. No sooner is it said than the sky opens up and the rain dumps down in buckets. Everyone scrambles to grab a present or decoration, slimy wet feather boas whipping around. Inside, we wring them out in the bathroom sinks or else slop them into trash cans while reassuring a panicked bride that this definitely won’t happen on her wedding day. As if that’s something any of us can control.
The I Do Crew posts up at a table by the window, and Gin chews her lip raw, watching rain pelt down in sheets. Chrissy is the only dry one among us, having been inside talking to Chris when the storm rolled in. She tries to lift Gin’s spirits with a Waiter Boy name reveal (Chrissylovesthat his name matches hers), but Gin is unmoved, her attention entirely caught up in the weather.
“Do you have a backup for the wedding?” Renee is brave enough to ask. “For if it rains?”
“We’ll have a tent if we really need it,” Gin says, still not looking away from the window. “It’s not, like, a circus tent but a classier one. A clear one, so we can see the stars.”
“That’ll look so good,” Chrissy assures her.
“If you even need it,” I add. “Which you probably won’t.”
Gin perks up a little at the positivity. “Yeah! So if it rains, we’ll just move the tables out of the way and have the ceremony under the tent.”
“What about the dance floor?” Renee asks, and Gin’s face falls again. A small breathy “Oh” slips out.
“I, uh…I guess we’ll just…hope it doesn’t rain.”
“And what about the concert, Alice?” Renee spins her worry on me. “Is there a backup venue?”
