15. Jellies n Lube
EVA
I’ve made it through the day, and “Like a Virgin” blares from the vintage boombox of Paige’s honeymoon suite—a gorgeous, plush living room with a two-story stone fireplace, wrap around views of the ocean, a separate room with a king bed, a massive flatscreen, and stocked bar. Right now it’s decorated in neon lights, cassette tapes, and Pacman, and cameras surround the place as I shimmy to the beat wearing my off-shoulder pink Flashdance sweatshirt. For Paige’s bachelorette party, we’re going full-on eighties because she’s obsessed.
And I’m so glad to have some fun scheduled. After brunch and dealing with Paige, I came to this room to find West’s parents here decorating for me, which was an amazing surprise, especially because I had to make sure everything’s set for tomorrow’s dinner cruise on the bay. They rock.
“Guys, I look like I raided Studio 54.” I spin around in my jelly shoes, which are so uncomfortable, by the way.
“Or Molly Ringwald’s closet.” Jess’s leg warmers slouch around her ankles while she dances. Coco Chanel, decked out in a mini neon tutu, yaps in agreement.
“Hey, respect the decade that gave us Dirty Dancing.” Paige sways with a glass of Chardonnay in one hand and Dior’s leash in the other. The poor dog looks confused by her faux mohawk.
We all raise our glasses—bubble gum pink plastic—and clink them. Paige herself is head-to-toe Cyndi Lauper, right down to the ratted red hair and armful of chained gloves.
“Girls just wanna have fun, right?” She grins, wrangling Balls, who’s more interested in the chip and dip than in our festivities.
“Most definitely!” I sink into the comfort of being surrounded by my sister, her friends, and her canine babies. The energy is electric, laughter mingling with the synthesizer beats and electric rhythms of the music, and for a moment, the weight of all the wedding planning, trying to give Foster a chance, and taking over Dad’s law firm doesn’t feel like a pair of concrete shoulder pads.
I reach for the volume dial. “Time to party like it’s 1989!”
“And pretend we aren’t in our late twenties,” mutters Jess.
“Oy vey!” Paige points at the dogs, now drinking their water from martini glasses. “I want to join them—someone pour me another drink.”
I wave a server over to give her a refill, pushing aside the familiar tug of duty. Tonight I’m not Eva the wedding planner or Eva the lawyer; I’m Eva, party host extraordinaire, here to make sure Paige’s last weekend as a single woman is epic.
“Ooh, can we do gifts?” Jess waves a neatly wrapped box above her head, her neon bracelets sliding down her arm.
“Hit us with your best shot.” I motion for everyone to surround Paige in a gift-opening circle. Shortly, ribbons are flying, and paper is tearing amidst fits of laughter and the occasional bark from our four-legged bridesmaids and groomsman.
Olivia holds up a gaudy-looking contraption from West’s parents’ notorious basket. Her eyebrows arch higher than her teased bangs. “Is that a... wait, what the hell is this?”
Brielle snickers. “That’s something you won’t find at Bed, Bath Beyond.”
“Give it.” I snatch the device and turn it over in my hands like a risqué Rubik’s Cube.
“Maybe it’s avant-garde?” Brielle laughs, sipping through her penis straw. The room fills with giggles.
“No one said art couldn’t be made of silicone and batteries.” I set the mystery gadget aside. My focus shifts to Paige, who’s too busy downing her drink to care about her latest toy. Good. That’s how it should be. Her phone rests safely in my lap, her night unmarred by anything but good vibes and bad dancing.
Olivia winks at Tyson and bends over to show her cleavage. Then she puts the biggest dildo in her mouth and starts sucking it off. “Your camera like this?”
“I dunno, but I do.” Tyson flashes her a huge smile, which I didn’t know he could do. He usually just stands there, expressionless, while shit and chaos swirl around him.
God, Olivia is wasted. Or she’s doing anything to get camera time—I didn’t think of that! I’ve got to keep my eyes on her.
“Guys, seriously, how much booze is in these cocktails?” Paige slurs, her gaze fixated on a lacy thong now draped over her wrist like a corsage.
“Enough to make us consider auditioning for a Madonna video.” I raise my glass. “Let’s make a toast. Paige—may your marriage be as exciting and unpredictable as whatever the hell is in that sex toy basket.”
“To Paige!” Everyone cheers, our penis straws pointing skyward in a salute.
“Hey.” Paige locks eyes with me, her voice suddenly soft. “Thank you for doing all this. You’re the best sister a girl could ask for.”
“Always.” I squeeze her hand. It’s moments like this that remind me why family trumps everything—even when it means playing hostess for a group of horny, boozed up women.
The room erupts in giggles as Paige attempts to strap on the latest enigma from the basket—a contraption with more loops than a roller coaster. “Zach will love this, which is why I’m marrying him. Now to figure out what it does.”
“Maybe it’s a slingshot for kinky elves.” Olivia downs her drink with a glint in her eye.
“Probably need a pilot’s license to operate that thing.” I smirk, but my attention is snagged by Paige’s phone lighting up like Vegas. Unknown number. Curiosity gets the best of me; I glance at the screen and nearly choke on my own spit.
“Jesus,” I mutter under my breath, fumbling to make sure only my eyes scorch at the sight of Zach in these pictures from his bachelor party happening right now.
Holy mother.This is an unmitigated disaster.