“Yeah, I get that a lot.”
They kissed again with limerick lips, and then Rae walked inside by herself but less alone, all the feelings back in her bones.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
MARRIAGE MERGER JITTERS
“I don’t know if I’m ready to get married,” Ellen moaned to Rae in the cozy bathroom of a Savannah rental house where they were celebrating Ellen’s over-the-top-but-stripper-free bachelorette party during the last weekend of May.
Ellen was perched on the toilet in a skimpy black dress, eyes caked with smearing makeup, dark hair thick with southern humidity and adorned with a bedazzled tiara. It was nearly midnight, and they’d been drinking since noon, when they’d overpaid for one of those pedal-while-you-drink bars on wheels, their glutes burning without the Perry Street staircase training regimen. The weekend was turning into a throwback to early-twenties glory days, which they both now remembered hadn’t been glorious in the least.
“I can never hedge or diversify or call my romantic options ever again inmy whole life,” Ellen moaned. “My man market size has shrunk to one.”
“Less finance, more dancing,” Rae said, quoting Stu, who had no problem calling her out on her banker talk on their dates, of which there had been quite a few in the three weeks since they’d reconnected. “You’re crazy about Aaron.”
“I know I am,” Ellen said. “But what if I’m crazy in general and go on a dating app spree like I just did out there?”
The bachelorette party attendees—the four Scramblettes plus a few of Ellen’s college and work friends—had been playing Pin the Veil on the Bride’s Ass in the living room when Mina had missed her turn, too busy swiping through a dating app. She hadn’t moved to San Diego yet, deciding surfer bros were commitment-phobic, but she’d been surfing through the Savannah dating pool instead, as her apparent dream man was “a Southern gentleman who’s also a feminist.”
Ellen had reached for Mina’s phone, and Rae thought she was going to rightly throw it across the room, but she’d just started swiping through the profiles with the expression of a ravenous racoon.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Sarah had asked, yanking the phone from Ellen’s grip.
“I’m the bride!” Ellen had screeched, clawing for it back. “I can do whatever I want.”
Rae had herded Ellen into the bathroom and locked the door. They hadn’t been together in the same small bathroom since Perry Street, and Rae had forgotten what a bonding experience it was.
“I don’t evenwantto look at anyone else,” Ellen said now. “My thumb just gets thisneedto swipe, and I can’t stop myself and I’m going to completely ruin the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
Rae removed Ellen’s tiara, which looked to be poking uncomfortably into her head. “You’re not going to ruin anything,” she said, trying to project presence.
Ellen buried her face in her hands again. “I’m an app addict.”
On Ellen’s phone, Rae pulled up the photo album titledAaron & Ellen♥, with 837 pictures, about 90 percent of them selfies taken by Ellen.
Gently, Rae pulled Ellen’s hands away from her face and gave her the phone. “Swipe through these instead of the app until your thumb gets tired.”
“That’s not going to work,” Ellen grumbled, but she started swiping anyway, as if on a mission to give her thumb arthritis. Gradually her pace slackened, and several hundred photos later, she announced, “It’s better.” She looked momentarily relieved before adding, “But what ifAaron’sthumb gets a need to swipe?”
“Has he ever given you reason to believe that would happen?”
“Well no, but itcouldhappen. And the divorce data—”
“Don’t pay attention to the data,” Rae said, surprised but not surprised to hear herself saying this. “What does your heart say? Do you trust Aaron? Do you want to spend your life with him?”
Ellen looked back from the photos to Rae, back to the photos again. “I really do. But I—I don’t want to lose myself, you know?”
“You won’t lose yourself,” Rae said. “Marriage is a merger, not an acquisition.” She wasn’t entirely sure she believed this, but it was nice to hear the words out loud.
“I’m keeping my last name,” Ellen said.
“That’s my girl,” Rae said. “Now let’s get back out there and dig into the ice cream.” They’d loaded up on Ben & Jerry’s, delighted by how perfectly the Chubby Hubby flavor fit the bachelorette theme.
The living room music was pushing its way under the slit of the bathroom door. It was too loud, all pop and sugar.
“Or,” Rae offered, “we could stay in our bachelorette bunker a little longer.”
Ellen nodded. “I need a toilet nap. Still my best invention to date.”
