Page 64 of A Really Bad Idea

“Do I bring anything? Like an overnight bag? I mean, will we be going back to a hotel room after? He mentioned a room. Or maybe I mentioned a room. We could end up here. Shoot. I should straighten up.” I turn to fix the duvet on my bed.

Beth calls out, “You’re panicking.”

I continue to fix the bed. “I don’t want to look like a slob or too presumptuous.”

“In this scenario, you are absolutely allowed to. Look presumptuous, I mean. Sex is a given.”

“He said nothing has to happen.”

“And if it does?” she asks with a raised brow.

I fluff the pillows.

“Toothbrush,” she states. “And a clean pair of panties. Do you have those little pack-away ballet flats I gave you for Christmas? The kind that roll up and fit in your purse?”

Ballet flats? Let me see …

I rifle through my drawer for the gift she gave me months ago. They were the slip-on flats, rolled up in a beige package. I dig through the nighties and undergarments and find the package.

I hold it up. “These?”

“Glad to see you liked them.” She’s commenting on the fact that it hasn’t been opened.

I lift the top flap. “I have had nowhere to use them. I’m not entirely sure what they’re for.”

“They’re for your ho bag.”

“Ho what?” I pull them out and unravel the shoes. They have a thin bottom. I wouldn’t walk more than a block in them, but a quick skip to catch a cab in these will be fine.

“Toothbrush, panties, flats. That’s all you need if you spend the night with a man.”

“You bought me morning-after shoes for Christmas?”

“And heaven and nature sing.” Her ponytail sways with the words.

“That seems blasphemous.”

“I remember sneaking out of Brian’s dorm room back in the day.” She gives a wistful stare to the sky and then snaps back to attention. “Now, mascara and lipstick.”

I prance around my bathroom and put all the items into my clutch. When I come back into her view, I announce, “Got it.”

“What kind of bra are you wearing?”

“None of your business!”

“It’d better be pretty. Hold on. Aiden wants to say hi.”

I grab my phone off the dresser and hold it up close. “Has he been listening in on this entire conversation?”

“Of course not. He just came up from the basement. Hold, please.”

She passes the iPad to my nephew. He’s wearing his pajamas already and sipping on a juice box of Honest Kids. “Hi, Aunt Meadow. Wow, you’re a princess!”

The six-year-old’s compliment makes my heart sing. “Thanks, bud.”

“Where are you going?”

“A fancy party.” I walk down the hallway with my phone and clutch in hand.