“Please tell me it’s not some elegant affair with snooty sandwiches and sparkling wine,” Kelsey says, worry lacing her tone.
We all send her a look. Does she not know us at all?
“What?” Kelsey shrugs. “We all deserve to cut loose, especially Caroline.”
“Who do you think we are, a bunch of old ladies? We’re going to have cheap liquor and strippers, baby,” Stella says, making all of us start laughing.
Well, except me. I just smile, worry filling me at the idea of strippers.
I suppose they’re fine. It’s an expected part of any bachelor/bachelorette party. I just hope they don’t try to gyrate on my lap and thrust their bulging crotches in my face. That’s kind of gross.
Okay, I find it really gross.
I love men. I really do, but oily strippers who are too tan and just the slightest bit sleazy really aren’t my bag.
Like, at all.
“Don’t worry about the strippers,” Candice tells me later, as we’re all starting to leave the restaurant. She’s resting her hand on my forearm, the giant diamond on her finger glinting in the sunlight. I can’t help but stare at it, completely mesmerized. “I’ll stick with you the entire time, just in case. We’re vulnerable alone yet a force together.”
She makes it sound like we’re going into battle with strippers. I almost start giggling, but I stop myself just in time. I think it’s the champagne.
“Thank you,” I say, my voice solemn, my expression serious. “I appreciate it.”
“This is going to be so much fun!” Candice says, punctuating the last word with the faintest squeal. “I’m so going shopping.”
“Where?” The last time I went to Vegas, we went into those giant souvenir stores, but I can only look at so many things that say Whatever Happens in Vegas or I Heart Las Vegas before my eyes start to cross.
“Oh, I don’t know. Chanel maybe? Louis Vuitton. Gucci. They always have fun stuff in the Vegas shops,” Candice says excitedly.
“Right,” I say, my hopes for shopping with Candice dashed. I could accompany her, but I won’t be able to afford anything. Those types of shops are just too pricey for my blood. I do well in my job. I make decent money. I live in my mom’s old house, which she owns outright, and that saves me big money. I only have to pay the property tax and house insurance, and whatever repairs might be needed—which are manageable, but not cheap.
And while I work at what many consider an exclusive salon in a wealthy area, I still don’t make the kind of money that would allow me to shop freely at any of those designer stores. I inherited my mother’s Vuitton Speedy handbag, and I sort of hate it. It’s just so bulky. But that’s the only thing I’ve got with LVs all over it, so I’ll take it.
There’s lot of hugging and air kisses as we all make our departures, until it’s just Caroline and me standing together on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant. I can’t remember the last time I spoke to Caroline one on one since we’re always in a big group making wedding plans, so I take advantage of my situation.
“Do you have afternoon plans?” I ask.
Caroline shakes her head. “No, none. I was so overwhelmed with the bridal shower, I made sure my calendar was empty for Sunday, save for our brunch.”
“Perfect.” I smile at her. “Should we go to Sweet Dreams and have an iced coffee?”
“Sure. Let’s go.”
We make our way up the street to Sweet Dreams Café and Bakery, the shop Stella’s family owns. She’s the head barista there, and she just told us she plans on becoming the manager after the first of the year. Her father is retiring and handing the reins over to her, which is a big move for her traditional Italian family.
The café is bustling, the line snaking out the front door, and Caroline and I settle into it, me mostly listening while Caroline rattles on about her various wedding plans. This is her day to shine, and I don’t mind that she talks about it all the time. This is a major moment in her life, and she’s making sure everything is going to happen just so.
By the time we’ve paid for our coffees and picked them up from the barista, we’re able to find a small table outside in front of the café, right on the sidewalk. We’re under the awning so the sun isn’t beating down on us, but I still refuse to take off my hat.
“I love your hat,” Caroline says, as if she’d burrowed into my brain and read my thoughts. “It’s so chic.”
“Thank you.” I touch the brim, pleased that she called it chic. I figured I just looked silly. “I ran out of dry shampoo.”
Caroline laughs. “Typical Eleanor, keeping it real.”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
Caroline’s laughter slowly dies. “Well, you know.” She takes a sip of her coffee, and I wonder if she’s searching for the right words to say. “You always have to explain yourself and your choices when someone gives you a compliment.”
“Are you saying I can’t take a compliment?” I ask.
“Oh, you can. It’s just you always have to give us the truth. I’ve complimented you on your clothes many, many times, and you always let me know where you got the dress, or the shirt. Or the shoes,” Caroline explains.
“I’m just trying to help you guys out,” I say with a little shrug. I just want them to find the sale prices like I do. “I always seem to find great deals.”
“I know. Remember those sandals from last summer you found for like ten bucks?” When I nod, Caroline sticks her foot out, pointing it at me. I glance down to see the very same sandals she’s talking about. “I bought them in white.”
Those were great shoes. I wore them so much last summer. “I got bleach on my black ones at work, and didn’t realize it until it was too late. Completely ruined them.”
RIP those cute cheap sandals. I still mourn the loss.
“Aw, I hate that. You should go back to Target and see if they still have them. If a shoe is really popular, they’ll rerelease them each season,” Caroline suggests.
We talk about shoes and clothes and what to wear to Las Vegas, never returning to the subject that’s lingering in my mind.
How I’m too honest. Too real. How I have a hard time taking a compliment. I never really thought about it before, but maybe I do have a problem with that. Sometimes I can become uncomfortable when someone compliments me. I always wonder if they’re being sincere, you know? Like maybe they’re after something from me, and they’re only trying to butter me up.
Why do I think like that? Why do I act that way? It’s something I’ve never really thought about before, but…
I can almost guarantee I’ll be extra conscious of it now.
Four
Eleanor
Sitting in bed alone on a Sunday night is one of my favorite things to do. My Sunday is really like my Saturday. Normally, I work on Saturdays. It’s our busiest day at a hair salon. Weddings and parties and girls’ night out or a hot date on the agenda brings plenty of clients in. Or there’s the fact that a lot of our clients can only come in on Saturdays because they don’t have to work.