Chapter 11 #2
Priya runs games the way generals run campaigns.
There’s a point system tracked on a whiteboard she either packed with her from Arizona or acquired from Pam, and within forty minutes she has fifteen grown women screaming over a game called “Dahlia or Lie-lia” in which contestants must determine which outrageous facts about the bride are true.
Dahlia once got a personal thank-you letter from the Columbus Zoo.
True.
Dahlia has been banned from an Applebee's.
Also true.
Really, if it sounds ridiculous, the chances of it being true are over ninety percent.
Bev is wearing a sash that says HOT AUNT that nobody provided for her, and she keeps raising her glass and saying things like, “In my day we didn't have parties like this, we just got knocked up and signed papers,” and doing shots of what the bartender calls Purple Devil.
Renata has mentioned her own engagement eleven times already and counting. “This is so fun,” she says. “It's giving me so many ideas for my shower—” and Dahlia looks over. We both drink.
Dahlia sits in the middle of all the crazy in her little white dress, letting the love hit her from all sides. When Mom stands up and dings her glass, my sister's eyes soften.
Mom starts with marriage advice, which seems like a bold move, but is actually a Quinn girl inside joke.
When she could finally function again after Dad left, she’d say things like, “Girls, listen to me.
Never trust a man who says he doesn't dance.
He dances, he's just saving it for someone, so make sure it's you.” Then we’d laugh and have a dance party in the kitchen.
The memory makes me a little weepy, just as she ends with, “And the secret to a long marriage is something I never found out, so I'll be taking notes with the rest of you!”
The room howls, and Mom takes her little bow. She leans in and squeezes Dahlia's face. “You picked a good one, baby.”
And I drink.
I’m about to excuse myself to the bathroom when my phone buzzes. It’s a notification from the cruise app. A message from my own room?
BACHELOR PARTY STATUS REPORT, 1915 HRS. Cigars distributed. Theo has been forced into wearing a captain's hat. Morale: adequate.
I laugh and spin on my stool so nobody can see my screen.
Me
Report acknowledged. Casualty count?
It looks like I’m sending messages to myself, which only adds to the experience.
Finn
Rhys lost $40 to Garrett at poker within 11 minutes. Garrett shows no remorse. We believe this isn’t the first time he’s targeted the weak
A photo comes through. Theo in the captain's hat, looking very debaucherous, Finn's arm around his neck. A deep ache rolls through my body like the stomach flu. Why didn’t I just kiss him? Staring at his unbuttoned, sleeves-rolled, dimpled photo, I regret all previous life decisions.
Finn
Update: your cousin Garrett is a menace, and I'm out $60. The pediatric residency is a cover
I grin and lift my phone to take a selfie of the group. They all notice and lean in. Why are they all sticking out their tongues? I send it anyway, along with a close-up of one of the anatomically scandalous party straws that Priya provided.
Me
Keeping it classy over here
Finn
Those are structurally unsound. The cantilever alone
I snort and read the small imprinted letters on the bottom side of the . . . well. It could only be called the shaft.
Me
Seems like you should get in touch with Maid of Dishonor Unlimited to pass along your suggestions
Finn
Obviously
Me
They’ll probably need example photos
Finn
I’m well stocked
I'm grinning at my phone like an idiot when Dahlia leans over and snatches it from me. “Dahlia—“
“Shhh.” She's already scrolling, holding the phone above her head with the reach advantage she's abused since 2003. Her eyebrows climb. “The cantilever—“
“Give it—“ I climb her arm like it’s a tree.
“I'm well stocked?” She whirls on me. “Harper. You're sexting—“
“Umm, keep your voice down, and that is NOT sexting!”
Dahlia laughs and hands me the phone. “I’m about to be married tomorrow, which basically makes me a wise elder, and that, my dear sister, is totally sexting. Or at least foreplay.”
My phone lights up, and we both see the message.
Finn
You look good in green
Dahlia points at me with a “Ha!” and I shove the phone in my dress that I only bought because it had pockets.
She grabs my arm and pulls me so close, I can smell her vanilla body spray. “You love him.”
“You're drunk.”
“I'm right. Those are different things that are both happening.” She grabs my face with both hands. “Harper. Harp. Light of my life. Do you know how I know?”
I laugh, my lips smooshed. “Enlighten me.”
“Because you've never stopped.” She says it so easily.
A total ambush. “You think I didn't know?
I shared a wall with you. You used to watch for his window light before you'd close your curtains.
You cried for two days after the whole Melanie Fisher thing.
You told me and Mom it was about a math test, but you've never cried about math in your life.”
My eyes burn.
“And every time Theo and I bring him up, you get so uncomfortable.”
“What?” I try to pull away, but she holds me tight.
“Don’t even!” She holds me tighter.
“Okay, but it’s completely unfair! You tell me things about him all the time when I’m just trying to live my regular life, and then you’re telling him things that I didn’t—”
“Babe, I never volunteer information about you to Finn.”
“But he said—”
“I only answer questions that he asks.”
That strikes me dumb. Dahlia grins, knowing exactly what she just did. She drops her hands, gives me one last pointed look, then slips back into the group.
* * *
By eleven, the party is losing steam. Predictable since half the attendees are over fifty or lightweights like me.
When Dahlia slings an arm over my shoulders and says, “Take me home, Harp,” I gladly say my goodbyes and make an exit.
It's 11:04. My sister, who has closed down every party she's ever attended, who once talked a DJ into “one more song” nine consecutive times, is done at 11:04. And under the glow, the exhaustion that’s been gathering all week bleeds through.
“Best bachelorette ever,” she says. “Priya should run countries.”
“Maybe small ones, to start.”
“Ones that don’t care about whether everything is penis-shaped.”
I laugh and clutch my stomach. “Stop. My abs can’t take much more.”
“Mom was funny tonight.” A few steps. “She's been weird this week, right? Or is it just me?”
My pulse ticks. “Weird how?”
“I don't know. Like, hovering. She keeps looking at me like I'm about to fall off the edge of a cliff.” Dahlia shakes it away. “Whatever. Probably just a holdover from all the crap Dad put her through.”
“She’s probably terrified,” I say it out loud, and feel the truth of it. Especially because she has a legitimate reason, whether she knows it or not, to worry.
We reach Dahlia’s cabin door. She swipes her card and shoves it open. The smell of fresh flowers rolls out into the hallway, and the room is dim. There are rose petals on the bed and Theo—
I laugh and retreat, letting Dahlia go ahead. His captain's hat still on, a bow tie the only visible clothing from this vantage point.
“There she is,” he says, his consonants a little sloppy. Dahlia gives me a slow wave, and I wink before pulling the door closed.
I walk down the long hallway to 6042, grinning to myself. And then I open the door, and everything gets complicated.
Finn is sprawled on his bed, still in his clothes from the party, hair wrecked, remote in hand. His cheeks are flushed, and the way his head turns. His smile when I come in . . .
“You’re back early.”
“Uh, yeah.” My voice comes out about a third too high. “Dahlia was ready to turn in.”
“Did she see—?”
“Oh. We both saw.”
Theo laughs, pretending to straighten an imaginary bow tie. “C'mere, look.” He gestures at the TV with the remote. The image is black and white. Cary Grant, I think, being harassed by a woman in a good coat. “An Affair to Remember was just starting. That's a boat movie, Harper. We're on a boat.”
I laugh. His face is a picture of pure delight.
“Do you think all the movies are boat movies?” I ask.
“I don’t know, but we probably have to watch them all to find out.” He looks over at me as I slip off my heels. “You want room service? I want a grilled cheese. Do you—? Hey. Split a grilled cheese with me. I don’t think I can eat the whole thing.”
And just like that, I see the whole night ahead of us. We’d both need to change, and it was unlikely that Finn would put on a shirt. Then it would only make sense to push the beds together so we could both see the tiny screen, and after the sandwich, why not order dessert?
“I’m pretty tired. I think I'd better get ready for bed.”
“Sandwich will be here either way,” he says easily, eyes back on Cary Grant.
It makes it worse that he’s not pushing.
I grab my things and retreat into the bathroom, warring with my head and the rush of heat that’s been slowly moving south since he started texting me.
Damn it. Dahlia was right. About everything. And Finn was asking about me?
I brush my teeth aggressively at my own reflection, reciting my next moves like a mantra. Get into bed, don’t look at Finn, shut off the light, and—
“Uh, hey, Harp?”
Finn’s voice has lost its cheery edge.
I spit and rinse, then re-enter the room. He’s not on the bed. I walk to the hall and find him standing there with the door open. On the other side of the threshold is, “Dahlia?”
Her mascara’s streaked, her eyes watery. “Hey.” Her arms wrap around herself. “Can I—can I stay with you guys tonight?”