Chapter Nine
Nine
Where am I? Whose bed am I in? Did the tour van leave without me?
My eyes shoot open, heart stepping on the gas.
Some dormant neural pathway has sparked to life and thrust me back in time.
I’m fresh off my breakup with Gin. On tour with Cold Sweat.
In a stranger’s bed. And another. New city.
New stranger. I’m late. I’m still drunk, waking up beside a woman whose name I don’t know.
No.
Breathe.
You’re fine, Alice.
Gradually, my body unlocks, blood flowing back to my toes as I position myself within space and time.
I know where I am. I know who I’m in bed with.
Blackout Alice wasn’t invited on this bachelorette trip, and the only drunk woman who got in this bed last night is snoring softly beside me, legs braided into mine.
Wait. Legs braided into mine?
Last night, Renee and I went straight back to the room after dinner at the hotel restaurant, where a gin, dirty, and espresso martini—Gin, Chrissy, and Renee, respectively—devoured chicken tacos alongside their water glass sidecar.
Renee and I got ready for bed in total silence, then fell asleep with our backs to one another, each of us hugging our edge of the mattress.
I’m positive. But she must’ve tossed, and I must’ve turned, and here we are, tangled in the center of the bed.
I hold my breath and keep as still as possible while I determine my next move.
Should I wake her up? Shove her off? I could fall back asleep and let her deal with this later, but even with the AC on full blast, the pleasant heat of her body is growing less pleasant by the second.
I draw in a breath, then gradually lift my leg and Renee’s with it, the soft skin of her thigh slowly sliding off mine until she groans and rolls over, blond hair spilling on the pillow behind her.
I get dressed and ready, wearing my thinnest, most breathable tank top over a pair of swishy black athletic shorts.
The high is 107. The sliding glass door is already hot to the touch, and when I open it, it’s like opening an oven.
I duck right back inside and triple-check the itinerary.
We’re scheduled to leave for our hike in half an hour.
I jostle Renee’s shoulder. “Psssst.”
No movement.
I shake her harder. “I think it’s too hot to hike.”
Renee groans—louder than before—then rolls onto her stomach and sandwiches her head between two pillows.
Message received. I slip down the maze of hallways to the hotel restaurant, where I request “the largest cold brew you can legally sell me.” The bartender brings me a very normal-size cup of iced coffee, so I order a second one, requesting that it come in one of the big novelty cactus cups I saw at the pool.
Gin wanders in just a few minutes later, dressed for a hike and looking a touch hungover. She joins me at the bar, her tired eyes darting to my coffee as she orders one of her own.
“Howdja sleep?” she asks through a yawn.
“Decent.” I take a long sip of coffee. “Not enough. How long have you been up?”
“Not long. I thought I was running behind but…” Gin motions to the empty barstools surrounding us. “Where’s Renee?”
My memory flashes back to the bed, to Renee’s soft legs sliding over mine. I shake it off and grumble, “I tried to get her moving.”
Gin nods, yawning again. “She’s a heavy sleeper, but I think it’s too hot to hike anyway. Are things going okay with you two?”
“Things are…okay.”
The bartender slides Gin her iced coffee, and she pries the lid off and ditches the straw before tipping it back. “I thought maybe rooming together would help you two get closer.”
The word pounds like a bass line through my head. Closer. Closer. Closer. I cough. “We’re closer than ever.”
Gin grins. “I knew you’d get along if you gave it a shot.” She adjusts in her seat and takes another sip. “Anyway. What’s new with you? I feel like I’m so out of the loop on your life.”
“God, I don’t even know where to begin.” I try to sort through my most recent stories, but they all feel too depressing for a bachelorette trip.
I’m trying to navigate how to bring up the memorial concert without being a total bummer, but then Gin’s phone lights up on the bar top, and her attention dips.
“Sorry, hang on just one sec.” She opens the texts, all from her fiancé.
“Did I tell you Rishi and I started a list of stuff we need for the wedding?”
“Like…a registry?”
“No, everything we need to have the wedding. Just, like, tables, chairs, and stuff. But I keep thinking of stuff we need to add to it, and we were talking this morning and…” She trails off as her thumbs fly across her phone. “Sorry.” She sets it face down. “What were we talking about?”
“This concert,” I start again, only to be interrupted by the arrival of my coffee cactus.
Gin slaps a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh, and she snatches up her phone to snap a picture just as Chrissy struts in dressed in a bright-blue sports bra and matching athletic shorts, a hot-pink baseball cap, plus full glam.
“If I don’t get something caffeinated, I’m going to make a scene,” Chrissy announces to anyone who might be listening, which apparently counts as placing an order when you’re Chrissy. She has a coffee—no cactus—in her manicured hand by the time she sits down beside Gin.
“Are you drinking, Ali Pal?” Chrissy eyes the cactus cup.
“Coffee,” I explain. “Just being festive.”
“Chrissy, I was just catching Alice up on wedding planning.” Gin swipes open her list again, and the conversation is once more pulled into the wedding vortex.
I’ve sucked down half the contents of my coffee cactus by the time Renee races in, a frazzled mess of pajamas and outdoor wear.
Her hiking boots squeak as she skids to a stop, wide eyed and panting, with a messy blond bun of hair wobbling on her head.
“Renee, yay! Thank God you’re here.” Gin motions to the empty barstool next to mine. “We’re wedding planning, so we obviously need the insight of our professional event manager.”
Renee is frozen in place, mouth parted. Her eyes—somehow both wild and sleepy—sweep down the line of us, getting a read on the situation.
“I’m…I’m so sorry I’m late?” she tries.
“You’re fine.” Gin waves her off. “You want a coffee? I’m serious about wanting your insight, if you wouldn’t mind.”
Renee slowly lowers herself onto the stool beside me.
Her calf slides against mine, and she mumbles a “Sorry,” but it reboots the memory of our legs tangled up in bed, and I flush.
It was just a minute of my morning, nothing more than a side effect of us tossing and turning in our sleep, but it’s a side effect I can still feel on my inner thigh, warm and tender.
God, I need to think of anything else. I laser focus on my cactus cup.
“Why didn’t you wake me up?” Renee hisses, leaning close enough that her breath tickles my ear. It absolutely doesn’t help my case.
“I tried,” I say, voice low. “You made a pillow sandwich out of your head.”
Gin passes her phone down the bar, and I hand it to Renee.
She only has to glance at the list before all concern regarding her lack of wake-up call is redirected.
I watch as she swipes her red thumbnail only once, instantly hitting the bottom of Gin’s wedding plan.
She flinches, then swipes again. Certainly there must be more.
“Is this…” Renee clears her throat. Her voice is gentle, but I can hear the panic bubbling just below the surface. “What else are you using to wedding plan, Gin?”
“Just this right now,” Gin says. “Should I be using something else? See, I knew I should ask the professional.”
Renee’s eyes are two blue windows into the battle waging inside her head, a tug-of-war between polite and honest.
“This is…” Renee sets down the phone and slaps on a smile. “It’s a good start. You know…some of what you need.” She passes the phone back. “But let’s set a time to discuss that more later. This is your bachelorette party, right? Shall we discuss our plans for the day?”
Per the itinerary, we should have left an hour ago for this hike. Per the temperature, we may never want to step outside again. Renee pitches a shortened route on the same trail, promising that we’ll be back before the worst of the heat, but Chrissy’s sunburn alone makes it a no go.
“That’s fine. I have backup plans.” Renee fumbles for her phone, reading from a document I don’t recognize.
Of course she has a separate page of contingency plans.
“Option one.” Renee holds a finger aloft, the bar lights bouncing off her rings.
“There’s a spa nearby with availability for massages at 11:00 and 12:00, so we couldn’t all get them, but maybe Gin and—”
“I’d kinda prefer we do something together.” Gin’s face twists into an apology. “Is that okay?”
Renee swallows and nods, eyes set on her phone. “Sure, of course.” But she sounds uncertain.
“I heard there’s this aerial tramway thing that you can ride up to a restaurant,” I suggest, and Gin instantly brightens.
“That would be cool!”
“Maybe if we bought tickets a month ago.” Renee’s eyes snap to mine, a sharp, scolding blue. “It sells out, Alice. Everything does.”
“Sorry,” I grumble. “I was just brainstorming.”
“We don’t need to brainstorm. I’ve already done all the work. For example, there’s a paint-and-sip place with same-day availability and a karaoke bar that opens at two o’clock…”
“Or we could just wander around downtown,” I suggest. “See what we find? It could be fun to explore.”
“It could be more fun to pick something we already know we’ll enjoy,” Renee argues.
“But half the fun is finding something together,” I point out.
“Is the other half getting sunburned and lost and blowing a bunch of money?”
“I’m sure there’s plenty of shade.”
“And I’m sure there’s—”
“Can I say something crazy?” Chrissy interrupts, flashing a saleswoman’s smile. “Would you guys just wanna go back to the pool?”
Gin slaps the bar with both hands, visibly relieved. “Oh my God, thank you. That’s exactly what I was thinking.”
Based on Renee’s eye twitch, I’d guess we’re not all on the same page. “Are…are you sure?” Her lips tug around a smile she can’t quite commit to. “We have pools back home.”
“But we had so much fun there yesterday,” Gin says, eyes twinkling at the memory. “And I know we won’t have a cabana today, but so long as we can get umbrellas…and frozen drinks? And SPF?”
I chew my cheek, thinking before I speak. I’m not in love with the idea of risking sun poisoning, but the soft, hopeful smile playing on Gin’s lips is tough to argue with.
“I did have fun at the pool,” I admit.
“I packed three other bikinis, and I need to send Waiter Boy a pic of me in at least one of them,” Chrissy adds.
Our bride turns toward our undecided voter. “Is that okay, Renee? I don’t mean to suggest that your ideas aren’t great. I just don’t want to be zapped before we go out tonight.”
Renee gives a wan smile, folds her hands, and says, “The pool sounds perfect.” For an actor, she’s not very convincing.
Back in our room, I expect Renee to give me the third degree about this morning’s alarms, but she seems to have dropped that grievance and moved on to a larger one—today’s change of plans.
“We flew all the way here, and for what? To sit by the pool? You just had to push the pool, didn’t you?”
I rip the tags off a highlighter-yellow tankini and sigh. “Renee, has it occurred to you that maybe we’re on the same team?”
She stomps around the room, still in her hiking boots, her full lips pressed into the smallest, grumpiest pout.
The thought drifts by like a pool floaty in the deep end of my brain: Renee is pretty cute when she’s mad.
I shove the thought back to wherever the hell it came from. I am absolutely not going there.
The I Do Crew regroups on the patio: Gin in her same white suit from yesterday, Chrissy in an orange string bikini, and Renee in a plunging red one-piece that feels less like a bathing suit than a trap.
Ever since this morning in bed, it’s like my brain has recalibrated.
It’s impossible to keep my eyes off her tan lines, the soft pale skin of her breasts against the honey-bronzed parts of her that have already seen the sun.
I slip on my heart-shaped sunglasses to block my wandering gaze, but for the rest of the day, it’s like the universe is playing pranks on me.
Somehow, I’m the one who ends up rubbing sunscreen into Renee’s back.
Not long after, Gin orders a frozen pina colada and Renee ties the cherry stem into a knot with her dexterous tongue.
It makes me pulse. Whatever activated this morning when we woke up intertwined, I can’t shut it off.
It’s like an alarm, ringing in the background every time our eyes catch from across the pool.
“This heat is starting to get to me,” Renee mutters. The water whirls around her as she turns and wades back to the shade of the shallow end. I watch the sun tattoo between her shoulder blades dip in and out of the water, undecided on whether to rise or set.
Maybe the heat is starting to get to me, too.