“I have a feeling his tune has changed,” Frankie practically sings.
I’m not interested in talking about Luke. Or Rose. “Can we talk about something else? Anything else?”
“One more thing?” Shelby asks and I nod for her to go ahead. It’s not like I can stop her anyway. “Do you want me to kick Luke out of the wedding? I’ll do it. I mean, the wedding is in two weeks, and I don’t have anyone else to fill in as a groomsman for him, but if you can’t stand the sight of him, I’ll do it. I’ll kick him out. I’ll even be mean when I talk to him.”
“Of course, you should kick him out,” Frankie argues. “The man broke our girl’s heart. Kicked her when she was down. And was a total dumbass to boot.”
“Yeah,” Bailey nods in agreement. “He’s a dick. Kick him to the curb.”
“A dick? Really? Pulling out the big, bad words, are you?” Bailey doesn’t swear. Which is totally fine, of course. To each her own and all. If she gets really mad, though, she’ll spell out swear words. Watch out then!
“Um… do I get a vote here?” I ask.
“Of course, but we support you. We don’t care if Shelby’s wedding party is uneven,” Frankie points out.
“Yeah. We give not one fig about the symmetry of her wedding party.”
And now I’m starting to feel bad. Not only are they talking trash about their friend, but Shelby’s wedding is at risk. “You know, you can support me without turning Luke into a villain,” I point out.
“Nope.” Shelby shakes her phone at me. “It’s rule number six. Talk smack about ex to make girlfriend feel better.”
“Give me that.” Frankie grabs Shelby’s phone and switches it off. “Enough with your lists.”
Before they can get in a fistfight, I interrupt, “It’s fine. I’m not going to tell you to kick Luke out of your wedding. But don’t expect me to be nice to him and I won’t be talking to him. I’m going to ignore the dickens out of him the entire time.”
“Oh, this is going to be fun,” Shelby says instead of being annoyed she’s going to have two people in her wedding party ignoring each other.
“Who’s here?” I ask when the doorbell rings.
Shelby looks at her watch. “Our ride is here.”
“Our ride?”
“Yeah. You didn’t think you’d be getting out of my bachelorette party because you’re heartbroken, did you? Rule number fourteen – distract girlfriend with fun activity usually involving alcohol.” No, I didn’t think I was getting out of the party. In fact, I completely forgot about the party.
Bailey pulls me to my feet. “Come on. Let’s get you showered and dressed.”
“I don’t get a pass?” It never hurts to ask.
Frankie completely ignores me to start bossing people around. “Bailey, you make sure she showers. Shelby, you make sure the groceries are put away. I’ll pick out her outfit.”
Bailey and Frankie herd me towards the bedroom. I try to drag my feet, but I’m tired and weak from my twenty-four-hour crying jag. They easily haul me into the bathroom. When Bailey starts undressing me, I’ve had enough.
“Fine! Stop! I’ll take a stupid shower. Just leave me alone.” I point to the door.
“You’ve got five minutes.”
I nod as I watch her shut the door behind her, even though I intend on taking as long a shower as I want. If they expect me to go to a party tonight, then they’ll have to deal.
Chapter 15
Why is it called a bachelorette party? Why don’t they just call it what it is? An excuse to get drunk and make fun of the bride. ~ Violet’s Secret Thoughts
“There’s a back room at The Coach House? I’ve lived my entire life in this burb and didn’t know,” I comment as we walk in. I follow Bailey as we walk past the bar counter down the hallway and into a room about a quarter of the size of the rest of the place.
Whereas the bar was quiet, this room is buzzing. Several tables are already occupied and there are groups of women standing around gabbing. It looks like we’re the last to arrive.
“I didn’t know you knew this many people, Nerd,” Frankie comments.
Shelby shrugs. “I don’t have a clue who most of these people are.” She looks around the room. “Oh wait, isn’t that Grandma’s group of friends?” Sure enough, Rosemary, Eleanor, and Alma are sitting at a table smack dab in the middle of the room. They wave when they see us looking in their direction.
Frankie giggles. “You have the grandma squad at your bachelorette party!”
Before Shelby has a chance to respond, Grandma rushes over. “The bride has arrived! Come on.” When we don’t follow Shelby, Grandma scowls. “All of you!”
In the corner of the room, Grandma has set up a table with party favors. “Here’s your sash.” She helps Shelby put on the sash with ‘Bride’ written in bright gold letters on it. “And your crown.”
I laugh when I see the crown. The jewels aren’t jewels at all, instead, the ‘jewels’ are golden wrappers of condoms. “I thought you wanted Shelby to get pregnant,” I manage to ask between my giggles.
“Don’t worry.” Grandma winks. “I poked holes in all of them.”
“Grandma! That’s wrong. And dangerous. What about STDs?” Frankie tries to grab the crown off Shelby’s head.
“Leave it! I’m queen for the night!” she shouts as she raises her arm in the air. “Whoo! Hoo!”
“You’re such a spoilsport,” Grandma complains. “Jackson is a nice boy. He doesn’t have any diseases.”
“Because nice boys never have mistresses or something,” Bailey whispers to me and I cringe. She has this whole long complicated history with men who cheat. She doesn’t talk about it, but she flat out refuses to see a movie with any adultery in it.
“What are those?” I point at the t-shirts on the table.
Grandma claps. “Those are for you.” She takes one and unfolds it. I read Bridal Squad on the front. “Come on. Put them on.” She hands each one of us a t-shirt. Good thing they’re oversized. I throw it on over my blouse.
“Why don’t you have one?” Frankie asks. “You’re as much a part of this as the rest of us.”
Grandma takes the remaining t-shirt from the table and shakes it out. Bride’s Awesome Grandma. I shake my head. Leave it to Frankie’s Grandma to wear a t-shirt stating she’s awesome. As if she’d ever let us forget.
“Let’s get started. Follow me.” Grandma rushes off again. Shelby skips behind her making sure to stop and show everyone her crown.
“Oh god. Don’t tell me we’re going to have to play lame bachelorette party games,” I moan.
“Here.” Bailey tries to force a glass of champagne in my hand. “We’re going to need this.”
I shake my head. “No, thanks.”
“What’s wrong?” She tries to put her hand on my forehead, but I slap her away.
“Nothing. My tummy is just a bit off.” Not surprising since all I’ve eaten in the past two days is the half a roll of chocolate chip cookie dough I inhaled in the car on our ride here.