Dad:good live it up have some limoncello for me
Ryan:I’m about 47 glasses ahead of you there, Pops.
Mom:Ruby, how’s the home front? How’s Penn? Tell him we love him!
Ryan:Have you murdered him yet? Does he still have a pulse?
Ruby:Can confirm he has a pulse.
18
One Part Rum,
Three Parts Regret
Come Sunday, mypools are not filled with hot-pink sand. But thanks to Bridget, they do contain six beach balls, three floating solar lights, and enough inflatables to keep my many personalities afloat.
It’s a wonder Penn didn’t pass out after blowing up two pastel unicorns, a rainbow-covered swan, and a giant slice of pepperoni pizza.
Bridget didn’t want to go “overboard,” and yet the contents of at least two Party City locations have taken over the mansion. Her mom, who threw us spontaneous themed sleepovers several times a year, would be proud. Pink, orange, and yellow balloons surround the main pool, and colorful streamers zigzag across the backyard. There are paper-flower garlands. Beaded curtains on every door. A pink sign that saysParty, in case guests need an explicit directive or forget why they’re here. A table turned tiki bar boasts eight decorative pineapples, two carved-out coconuts full of swirly straws, and four drink dispensers filled with mysterious tropical cocktails that Bridget explains as “one part rum, three parts regret.”
The party’s on.
So is my neon striped bikini and a pair of pink heart-shaped sunglasses. I considered a modest violet one-piece, but looking like a hot pack of Skittles has started to grow on me, and so has everything about this party. Bridget’s superpower is infectious enthusiasm. And it feels good to give in to it.
While Penn takes charge as the official greeter, Bridget and I stretch out on a pair of lounge chairs. She’s wearing a yellow one-piece and a wide-brimmed hat, and when she isn’t slurping her cocktail through a curly straw, she’s busy texting Hot Librarian, aka Ethan, who somehow didn’t make today’s extensive guest list. Although Bridget told me she’d invited only “a few friends,” twenty-three people made the cut. Not Ethan, though. She worried a group hang would be “too much pressure” for their budding relationship, and, in fairness, she might also be worried that her best friend will tell him we’re living inside a game.
When the first guests arrive, Bridget calls out to a brunette I don’t recognize, waving for her to join us. “Lucy! Hi!”
I plaster on a smile as she approaches. Through gritted teeth, I stress-whisper, “What if she asks specific questions and I can’t answer them? Quick: Give me bullet points that cover the last twenty years with these people.”
“Just drink up,” Bridget says. “They’ll assume you’re a forgetful drunk. Problem solved.”
Ever since I landed here, I’ve been careful not to drink too much. But hosting a party for a bunch of strangers I’m supposed to know feels like the right time to welcome a steady buzz.
I take a sip of my “daiquiri”—actual contents unknown—and try to relax.
Turns out, trips to the tiki bar prove to be a great way to avoidsmall talk. It’s like my own fun little drinking game. At the mention of a night I don’t remember, I sip. An inside joke I don’t grasp? Sip again. And when one guy hints at a night when, apparently, we got quite intimate, I gulp. Bridget’s right: A little fun can’t hurt.
And if his forty-seven turns down the magenta waterslide are any indication, Penn’s enjoying himself, too. Even if, at my request, we’re keeping our distance.
I gave him clear guidelines for the day: platonic touches only. It’s hard enough to wrap my head around us as a concept. I don’t need other people whispering, too, or straight-up asking whether Penn and I are together—especially before I can figure out when and how to tell my brother. Or how all of this might affect, you know, my actual life.
When I get stuck talking to an overenthusiastic dental hygienist named Juliet, with whom I apparently play tennis, I politely excuse myself. I look around for Penn and find him standing by the pool, watching a very tipsy game of Marco Polo.
Staying away proves difficult. And I become rather irresponsible.
I join him, inching closer, until we’re only a foot apart. He side-eyes me, brow arched, and it’s maddening, being near a dripping-wet, half-naked Penn, unable to touch him.
“Could I…talk to you?” I ask, staring straight ahead. “Somewhere…else?”
There’s a smirk in his voice. “Sure.”
Although I’ve been afraid of us attracting attention, nobody seems to notice when I lead Penn around the side of the house. As soon as we’re out of view, I back him against the wall, smoothing a hand down his stomach until my fingers reach the waistband of his blue trunks.
“Watch it.” Penn inhales sharply. “Not sure that aligns with your rules.”
“I thought you didn’t like following rules.”
