26 - Cabin Rules
MFM / Ménage / Spanking
Chloe: THE CAKE PEOPLE AREN’T ANSWERING.
Chloe: I’ve called them three times.
Chloe: What if they forgot the order?
Chloe: What if there’s no cake, Mia?
Chloe: WHAT IF THERE’S NO CAKE?
I stare at the ceiling. The ceiling offers no answers. I’ve been a bridesmaid four times. This is the fifth. I should be used to this by now.
I’m not used to this.
I type back: It’s 5am. They’re not open yet. The cake is fine. Go back to sleep.
Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.
Chloe: But what if?
I mute the conversation. Roll onto my side. My alarm isn’t set to go off for another hour. I have a shift at the library at nine. I was supposed to sleep.
My phone buzzes again. Different contact this time.
Jade: She texting you about the cake?
Me: How did you know?
Jade: She texted me about the cake.
Jade: At 5:17.
Jade: I told her to fuck off and call them at 9 like a normal person.
I laugh despite myself. Jade doesn’t do gentle. It’s one of the things I love about her.
I push myself up against the headboard. The apartment is gray with early light. My coffee maker is programmable, but I never remember to set it. Another small failure in a week full of them.
Me: I wish I had your energy.
Jade: It’s not energy. It’s boundaries. You should try them sometime.
Me: I have boundaries.
Jade: Name one.
I stare at the screen. My thumb hovers. Nothing comes to mind.
Me: I’m going back to sleep.
Jade: That’s avoidance, not a boundary.
Jade: Also, no, you’re not. You’re lying there worrying about whether Chloe is okay.
Me: I hate you.
Jade: You love me. I’m the only one who tells you the truth.
I toss the phone onto the pillow beside me. She’s right about that. She’s been right about most things since freshman year, when she found me crying in the dorm bathroom over a boy who wasn’t worth it and handed me a shot of tequila and a reality check. She’s been handing me both ever since.
The phone buzzes again. I pick it up.
Jade: So. The wedding is in three weeks. You surviving?
Me: Barely. I’ve gained five pounds in stress eating, and I had a dream last night about seating charts.
Jade: Sexy.
Me: The opposite of sexy. I haven’t had a sexy dream in months.
I regret it as soon as I send it. Three dots appear immediately.
Jade: Not even about your firefighter?
My face warms. Eli. She’s never going to let me live that down.
I met him at the engagement party six months ago. Josh introduced him as his “best man and the guy who once carried me out of a burning frat house.” Eli had laughed and said it was only smoldering, not burning, and the way he smiled made something in my chest do a slow flip.
He’s not conventionally handsome. His nose has been broken at least once. There’s a scar through his left eyebrow. But he’s tall and broad, and when he shook my hand, his grip swallowed mine completely.
I’ve thought about that grip more than I should.
Me: I don’t know what you’re talking about.
Jade: Liar. You told me you wanted to climb him like a tree.
Me: I was drunk.
Jade: You were honest. There’s a difference.
Jade: Also, you mentioned the turnout pants thing like three times.
I groan out loud. The turnout pants thing. Jade had found his Instagram. There’s a photo from some charity calendar the department did. Eli in his gear, suspenders over a white T-shirt, helmet tucked under his arm. Smiling at the camera like he knew exactly what he was doing.
I saved it to my phone. I’m not proud of this.
In my head, he’s always carrying the helmet. Even at the engagement party, where he definitely wasn’t. My brain just adds it in. Like a prop in a fantasy I can’t stop directing.
Me: Can we not?
Jade: We can absolutely not. But you’re still thinking about it.
I am. I’m thinking about it right now. Eli and his easy confidence. The way he looked at me across the room at the engagement party like he was actually seeing me, not just another bridesmaid in a matching dress.
Jade: You should do something about it.
Me: Like what?
Jade: Like anything. Talk to him. Flirt. Remember flirting?
Me: I’m not like you.
Jade: No. You’re like you. Which is someone who wants things and never asks for them.
I stare at the screen. My thumb hovers over the keyboard. She’s not wrong. She’s never wrong about me. That’s the problem with having a best friend who’s known you for a decade.
Me: It doesn’t matter. After the wedding, I’ll probably never see him again.
Jade: That’s the spirit. Really shooting for the stars.
Jade: Remember Ryan?
I wince.
Me: That was different.
Jade: It was exactly the same. You liked him. You were never going to do anything about it. I made you text him. You dated for eight months and thanked me for a year.
Me: And then we broke up.
Jade: Because he moved to Seattle. Not because I was wrong.
My phone buzzes with a new message. Chloe again. I unmute the conversation.
Chloe: Can you come over? I need help. The florist just called, and there’s a problem with the peonies.
I sigh, swinging my legs out of bed.
Me: On my way
Chloe’s apartment looks like a wedding planning bomb went off. Fabric swatches on the couch. Seating charts spread across the dining table. A pile of favor boxes in various states of assembly on the floor.
Chloe is in the kitchen, phone pressed to her ear, voice climbing toward hysteria.
“What do you mean you can’t get peonies? I ordered peonies six months ago. I have a contract that says peonies.”
Jade is already on the couch, coffee in hand, scrolling her phone like this is normal. Because at this point, it is.
“How long has she been at it?” I ask, dropping my bag by the door.
“Twenty minutes. The peonies are unavailable. There was a frost somewhere. I stopped listening after ‘supply chain issues.’”
Chloe hangs up. Stares at the phone like it personally betrayed her.
“They’re offering ranunculus instead,” she says. Her voice is flat. Dangerous. “Ranunculus. Do I look like a ranunculus bride to you?”
“I don’t know what that means,” Jade says.
“They’re smaller. The petals are different.
The whole aesthetic will be off.” Chloe’s eyes are filling with tears.
“This is a disaster. The cake people aren’t calling me back, the florist is trying to ruin my life, and my mom keeps asking if we’ve finalized the seating chart when she knows we haven’t finalized the seating chart because Uncle Richard and Aunt Paula can’t be at the same table and there aren’t enough tables to keep them apart. ”
She’s spiraling. I’ve seen this before. We all have.
I cross the room. Put my hands on her shoulders. “Hey. Look at me.”
She looks. Her mascara is already smudging.
“The cake people will call back. They always call back. The ranunculus thing is fixable. And Uncle Richard and Aunt Paula are adults who can sit at the same table for two hours without murdering each other.”
“You don’t know my family.”
“I’ve known your family for eight years. They’ll be fine.”
Jade walks over. “Call the florist back. Use your bitch voice.”
“I don’t have a bitch voice.”
“Everyone has a bitch voice. You just never use yours.” Jade takes the phone from Chloe’s hand. “Tell them you have a contract. Tell them you expect them to honor it or find peonies somewhere else. Tell them you’ll leave a review on every platform that exists if they don’t fix this.”
Chloe blinks. “That seems aggressive.”
“That’s the point.”
I guide Chloe to the couch. Jade hands her a tissue.
For the next hour, we work through the crisis list. Chloe calls the florist back, and Jade coaches her through it in whispers.
I draft an email to the cake people, polite but firm.
We rearrange the seating chart twice until we find a configuration that keeps the warring factions apart.
By noon, Chloe is asleep on the couch, exhausted. Jade and I stand in the kitchen, drinking the cold remains of the coffee.
“She’s going to be fine,” Jade says.
“I know.” I lean against the counter. “I just wish she’d believe it.”
The front door opens. Josh walks in, still in his work clothes. He sees Chloe on the couch, and his face softens.
“Bad morning?” he asks quietly.
“Peonies,” I say. “And the cake. And the seating chart.”
He nods. Runs a hand through his hair. “Thanks for being here. Both of you. I know she’s … a lot right now.”
“She’s stressed,” Jade says. “It’s normal.”
Josh reaches into his jacket pocket. Pulls out an envelope. “This is from me and the guys,” he says, holding it out to me. “A thank you for everything you’ve done to keep her sane.”
I take it. The envelope is plain white, a little thick. My name is written on the front in handwriting I don’t recognize.
“You didn’t have to do this,” I say.
“I know.” He looks a little embarrassed. “It’s nothing big. Just an invitation. No pressure.” He glances at Jade. “There’s one for you, too. Eli has it.”
My stomach does something at the name. I keep my face neutral.
“An invitation to what?” Jade asks.
“Open it later.” Josh smiles. “And seriously, no pressure. It’s just an offer.” He moves past us toward the living room, kneels beside the couch, brushes hair from Chloe’s face.
Jade and I exchange a look. She raises an eyebrow. I shrug.
We leave quietly. Chloe doesn’t stir.
In Jade’s car, I turn the envelope over in my hands. She’s watching me instead of starting the engine.
“Well?” she says. “Open it.”
I slide my finger under the flap. Inside, there’s a single card. Nice paper. A drawing of a cabin on the front.
I flip it open.
You’ve earned a weekend off. Cabin at Rocky Ridge, first weekend of next month. No wedding talk allowed. Drinks, food, and hot tub provided. What happens at the cabin stays at the cabin.
Below that, a list of names. Josh. Eli. Four others I recognize from the groomsmen lineup.
At the bottom, in different handwriting: Hope you’ll join us. — E
Jade snatches the card from my hand. Reads it. Her face splits into a grin. “Holy shit.”
“It’s just a weekend,” I say. My voice sounds strange. “A thank you thing.”