Chapter 3
We walk up the hill to a path that leads to a series of white cabins.
They’re bigger than I thought they’d be, each with its own porch.
Porch swing. Rocking chairs. Windows with flower boxes brimming with purple impatiens and jolt pink dianthus and red snapdragons.
Me five years ago would be horrified that I could identify these flowers, that I’ve become a plant lady.
It’s one of those things that I can’t tell if I actually care about or just feel like I’m supposed to care about. Do I like to garden, or did the need to pull weeds from the lawn teach me how to dissociate with my hands in the dirt?
Cassie greets us at the door. She wears an old cutoff sleeveless T-shirt that shows off her tattoos, cigarette pants, and fuzzy slippers. Her bleach-blond bob is pulled into a low, nothing ponytail.
“Thought I smelled gossip,” she says, drawing me in for a hug. “Come in. Let me show you. This is this room…”
She gestures vaguely. The walls are white shiplap, adorned with framed postcards from the camp’s bygone era.
There are leather chairs and couches, plaid blankets, dried flowers in vintage milk jugs.
There’s a fireplace mantle but no fireplace, a TV mounted above it.
I count three doors—two at the back, and one directly to my left.
I’m guessing that’s my room, since my suitcase is in front of it.
“Me?” I ask, pointing.
“It’s a twin bed. Sorry,” Cassie says, making a please-don’t-be-mad-at-me face.
I flip her off.
“You two. So well-mannered,” Evan says, grabbing one of the plaid blankets and draping it over his shoulders.
“Oh, hey! Willa the Killa.” Luke appears out of nowhere, shooting me with finger guns.
I return fire. “Luke the Nuke. How are you?”
He wears a button-up shirt unbuttoned, no undershirt, saggy sweatpants, rainbow boxers. He’s the same lanky stoner I met freshman year. He hasn’t aged a day, and the rest of us are green with envy.
“Did you get the cooler?” Cassie asks him, annoyed. “The thing I fucking sent you to the car to get?”
He turns on his heel and walks out of the cabin.
Cassie throws her hands up. “He’s so stoned. Five minutes without the kid, and he’s high out of his mind.”
“You don’t send me enough pictures,” I say. “Such a cute baby, and I never see him.”
Cassie takes her phone out of her back pocket and shows me her lock screen—baby Theo with his nose scrunched, tongue out.
“He’s a ham,” she says, smiling.
“So cute! Oh my God, Cass. He’s growing up on us!”
Wyatt wanders into the room, a tie loose around his neck, a confused look on his face. “Help?”
Evan kiddingly rolls his eyes and goes over to assist.
“What time does it start again?” Cassie asks. “Should I be getting dressed?”
“The pre-ceremony welcome reception is at five,” Evan says. “So, yes.”
“I don’t need three hours to get ready,” Cassie says. “I’m insulted.”
“I do,” I say. “I need to look good. Somehow.”
“Somehow,” Evan and Cassie say in unison, all melodramatic.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” I wave them off and roll my suitcase into my room.
It’s a glorified closet. There’s a window that looks out to the porch, which is great for privacy.
There’s the twin bed, as promised. A nightstand with a frosted glass lamp, a small retro alarm clock, and a key card that I assume is for the cabin.
A clunky wardrobe that makes the space even more claustrophobic.
There’s a pocket door that leads to the bathroom.
Toilet, sink, standing shower stall. Those tiny hexagonal black-and-white tiles.
The mirror’s a decent size and the lighting isn’t terrible, so there’s that.
I kick off my shoes and start to undress, pull down my jeans, then remember I’m potentially putting on a show for anyone who steps foot onto the porch.
I scurry over to the window and pull the thick burlap curtains closed.
Now it’s dark, and I’m half naked, and I can hear my name being whispered in the other room.
“Willa is…” Cassie starts. I miss the rest, so I tiptoe to the door and press my ear against it. “It’s not good, Ev. It hasn’t been good.”
“She’s fine,” Evan says. Whispering is not one of his many talents. “Is there a small chance she’ll have a nuclear meltdown in the middle of the ceremony tonight? Perhaps.”
Cassie sighs.
“Exceptional acoustics in this place,” I say, at a normal volume.
A moment of silence.
“I didn’t say anything I wouldn’t say to your face,” Evan says.
“Me, either,” Cassie says.
“Yeah, thank you. Thanks for that. I’m about to get in the shower so you have an approximately fifteen-to-twenty-minute window to continue your discussion of my shit show of a life.”
“Good to know!” Evan says.
“He’s kidding,” Cassie says.
“No, he’s not,” I mumble. I take off my shirt, unhook my bra behind my back, step out of my underwear. Leave the dirty laundry in a pile on the floor.
I turn the shower on, dial it to the left as far as it will go.
The room fills with steam, and I disappear inside it.
The water trickles over me, the pressure too light.
I don’t know if I appreciate this softness or if I resent it.
If I want to be held or to be beaten. If I want the universe to reach out and pet my hair, or to grab me by it and drag me through the streets.
If I want forgiveness and relief or pain and punishment.
I press my head into the tile. I turn the water cold.
—
Cassie knocks on my door but doesn’t wait for permission to enter.
“Look at you,” she says. “Stunner.”
“Is it too obvious how hard I’m trying to look good? Is anything about this”—I gesture to myself—“desperate? Like, without knowing me, would you look at me and think I’m—”
“I get it.” She cocks her head, thinking it over.
“Fuck,” I say, turning back to the mirror.
“Willa. Relax. I’m mulling.”
“Exactly. If it requires that long of a mull—”
“Did you want an honest answer, or did you want bullshit? Because my honest, mulled answer is that you look casually stunning. Not at all like you’ve been in here for hours torturing yourself, letting your anxiety spread through the cabin like carbon monoxide.”
“Phew. What are you wearing?” I ask her. She’s still in her day clothes.
“A wedding dress. Do you think Steph will be mad?”
I snort.
She tosses her makeup bag onto my bed and flops down beside it.
“Babe?” Luke from the other room.
Cassie looks at me and presses a finger to her lips, shakes her head. I tiptoe over to the door and close it.
“He’s driving me fucking crazy,” she whispers. “Oh, actually. Luke? Luke!”
He opens the door. “Yo!”
“Do you have the—”
He hands her a canned cocktail, then takes another out of his pocket. “Willa, you want one?”
“I’m good,” I say, then immediately change my mind. I need anesthetic. “Who am I kidding? Good? Me? I do want one. Need one. Yes. Please.”
“That’s my girl!” He makes the decision to toss it to me, which I realize too late, after I haven’t caught it, after it hits the wall and explodes all over my room. All over my dress. Hair. Shoes.
“Shouldn’t have done that,” he says, turning on his heel. He returns a second later with towels.
My hair, which I just spent the last hour blowing out, is now sticky with margarita. My dress, too. I burst out laughing because why not? What else am I going to do? Cry? Self-immolate?
“Okay. Here’s what’s gonna happen,” Cass says, jumping up, jumping into action.
“I have a pack of Tide pens in the van, and, Jesus Christ, let that be the most mom thing I ever say. I’m going to clean this dress tonight for you to wear tomorrow, and whatever dress you packed for tomorrow or as a plan B you can wear tonight.
And I’ll fix your hair. And I’ll kill my husband.
Or you can kill him. Whichever you prefer. ”
“You want a replacement, Willa? I won’t throw it this time. Promise,” Luke says, holding up another canned margarita.
“Do you have straight tequila? Is this safe to inject directly into my veins?”
“I got whiskey,” he says. “You’re a whiskey gal.”
“Go to the car and get the Tide pens. They’re in the center console. And get the whiskey,” Cassie tells Luke. She materializes her vape and takes a hit.
“Whatever you say, boss! Willa, you look great. Don’t even worry about it. Tanya’s got nothing on you.”
“Go!” Cassie says, exhaling.
“Going, going,” Luke says, kissing Cass on the cheek before bolting out of the cabin.
“Tanya?” I ask.
Cassie opens her can and passes it to me. “Ravi’s date.”
“His what? He brought a fucking date?”
“Hey, hey! Oh my gosh, I’m so happy to…”
We turn to see Steph in the doorway observing the margarita mess.
She looks so beautiful that I literally can’t breathe, with her long, dark hair in a glamorous updo, birdcage veil, her makeup perfect, her dress simple—a shade of lavender that suits her, that is her. Sweet and lovely and fun and unique.
“Get out of here, you look like a fucking dream,” Cassie says, taking another pull on her vape and then tucking it into her bra.
“Is everything okay?”
“Luke threw a cocktail at my head,” I say, as Cassie unzips my dress. “Now I’m going to look like a wet dog in front of my ex-fiancé and, apparently, his date.”
“Did no one tell her?” Cassie asks Steph.
Steph gasps, slapping her hands to her cheeks in horror. “I assumed you knew.”
“Never assume.” I don’t have it in me to be self-conscious, even though I’m now in my underwear.
We’ve all seen one another naked—swapping outfits in our dorm, squeezing into the same bathroom at parties to gossip, skinny-dipping on group vacations.
But that was a long time ago. Our bodies are different now, as we skid into our thirties.
“Oh, Wills. I’m so sorry!”
“It’s not on you, Steph. It’s your day! Your weekend!”
Evan’s voice carries through the wall. “What are you bitches doing in there? Sounds like Friday night at the asylum.”